#the shadow staring into soap's eyes...damn i wish that were me

[ohgeesoap]

Just like old times.

@deadbranch

[lostintransist]

I've come and gone from your page like four times, contemplating how to do part four with our stupid pretty Johnny "Soap" MacTavish.

The stupid pretty man with the pretty blue eyes that constantly seem to swing between shades of blue as they stare down at the black ink swirling on the operator's cheek bone across from him. Another shit mission and co-op with Shadow Company. AGAIN. They've become far to common and this... /Soldier/ laughed and bullshitted with their friend far to much. Even with the eye black masking those familiar curves. The straw broke on the camels back when the man snapped. Slamming the Operative against a wall, hand over that mouth that talked to damn much for a damn stealth mission. Those burning blue eyes searing (SROP AUTO CORRECTING ME DAMMIT) into the shocked ones, a loud 'bang!' echoing out. Having Johnny freeze stomach in his throat, breath held, staring... Staring... Staring... Before slowly looking down, seeing that smoking gun so dangerously close to his side. Turning back to look at an enemy soldier on the ground. "'m a decoy Sir, don' forget. Supposed to play stupid, doesn' make it so."

SUCH A GOOD IDEA! I wanted to expand on this a bit so anything in italics is taken exactly from @lialucis' delicious ask.

Soulmate AU if you wanted to see more about Johnny's tattoo before reading this.

Not proofread. The sun has been gone to long for my eyes to stay focused long enough to fix any errors I might have made.

The stupid pretty man with the pretty blue eyes that constantly seem to swing between shades of blue as they stare down at the black ink swirling on the [your] cheek bone [as you sit] across from him [at the long eating table].

The letters never made any sense to you. Though you once had a language professor chase you down to ask if you knew your tattoo was in Gaelic. You hadn't known but thanked him for the information. You had a tattoo artist you trust add vining leaves and small thistle flowers. Hiding it wasn't the goal, but you wanted to control who got to know. Almost everyone else had their marks in a hidable spot, able to mess around and not cause hurt feelings until it could be confirmed the marks don't match.

Not you though. Never had a first kiss because someone's claim to you superseded your autonomy. God sometimes you wish you could find the bastard and knock their block off. You had been close, once, to a first kiss. You had been sixteen and your mother found you sneaking off the back porch to meet up with a classmate who claimed to have your name inked across their inner right knee.

She broke down, disbelief and heartbreak crossing her face so fast tat even at sixteen and knowing everything you paused.

"The name on your birth certificate? The one we call you by? That isn't your first name. It's a tradition in a lot of places to give a secret first name so you can learn and grow into adulthood without having to worry about falling in love. I was going to tell you when you turned eighteen."

Despite all the justifications it had sliced at your bond with the claws of lies. You had gone to college out of state the same week you graduated and joined the military soon after bailing on your first semester. You had managed to flunk out of basic and ended up with a paramiltary contract group. You were a shadow because you liked to blow shit sky high and you were good with a weapon.

You were in Los Alamas on a job, functioning under Shadow Company Leader Phillip Graves. The man reminded you of fungus, creeping by so slow into your system that by the time he struck the killing blow you had been dead for weeks. Thankfully you didn't actually work for him. No. Phil lead the Shadows but he didn't create them. You worked directly for the head of the company, and she had given you a specific job.

See she thought that Phil was taking to many liberties in leading her company. Your job was to sniff it out, kill anyone you deemed necessary, and report back. The payout from this single job would set you up for life. You financial planner confirmed it. Now all you had to do was survive.

That brought you back to the man staring at you. His eyes trailed up and down the bits of your soulmate tattoo he could see. It extended up into your hair which had grown long again.

Pulling down your lower lid and sticking your tongue out at him before lifting your tray and disappering among the bodies of the other shadows. You kept running into him, almost as if he were searching you out. It grated at your already frayed nerves.

Another shit mission and co-op with [the 141]. AGAIN. They've become far to common and this... /Soldier/ laughed and bullshitted with their friend far to much. Even with the eye black masking those familiar curves. The straw broke on the camels back when the man snapped.

Phil had made his move, detaining Alejandro's men, and going home by home searching for the two members of the 141 that escaped. You slipped into the darkness behind them, skirting both the men who would kill you and the teammates who would label you a traitor. If you made it out of this they would know who really betrayed them.

[You had the misfortune of choosing the same wall for shelter as one "Soap". Slamming [you] against a wall, hand over that mouth that talked to damn much for a damn stealth mission [he snarled down at you. Again his eyes strayed to your tattoo insted of your eyes.]

"What are you doing here?"

A loud 'bang!' echo[ed] out. [Soap froze], stomach in his throat, breath held, staring... Staring... Staring...[at your eyes finally and not just your face], before slowly looking down, seeing that smoking gun so dangerously close to his side. Turning back to look at an enemy soldier on the ground.

"'m a decoy Sir. [The owner of the Shadows is not pleased with Phillip Graves and I am the nail in his coffin]. Supposed to play stupid, doesn' make it so."

The crackle of a radio between you breaks the moment.

"Johnny, you find any supplies yet?"

"Not yet L.T." he releases you and the button on the radio.

"Let's get your arm patched and get the fuck out of here. I have the city memorized. I had a feeling that something might happen." Peeking around corners you confirm the clear shot to an empty building.

Soap moves with you, on your heels and breath on your neck. Inside the empty builing there is a solid desk. You order Soap to sit there and begin to bandage his bleeding arm with the only roll of gauze you keep in your vest pack. Focused on wrapping and tightening down on the bleeding you miss his hand moving until a finger traces each letter with surity.

"I think this is my name." His whisper is shared to the dark as your eyes snap to his.

"What does yours say?" The quiet question comes out, harsh and haunting.

"That's the oddest thing, it's as if it's two names mashed together. As if their parent wanted to be sure they would know who their soulmate was."

Stumbling back you trip over your own boot. That conversation with your mother drifted back to you across the canyon of time.

"We slapped two family names together for you. We, I, wanted you to be sure when you found him," her heartbroken confession rocking you to the core.

"Holy fuck."

Soap grinned down at you before standing and offering you his uninjured side. Taking his hand he helps you up. You don't protest when his fingers slip between yours.

"How 'bout we go find my L.T. at a church and get the hell out of here bonnie?"

"You know I don't have much else going on tonight. That sounds like a plan."

His laugh is loud, and so much more gratifiing when it happens for you and not only near you.

Masterlist

[lotsofthinkythoughts]

tell me (sweet little) lies

Summary: Astarion thinks over the things he's said to Tav, the lies, and comes to a realization. Maybe they weren't lies at all.

AO3 Link

----

“You can trust me.”

The words echoed around his head, louder and louder as if amplified. That night, the terror of waking from the reverie with Cazador’s voice still in his ears, sat like a knot in his gut. It was the beginning of everything.

It was only a test.

For himself. To see if he’d truly slipped the leash.

The heady warmth of her blood thumping in her veins had sung to him like a siren on the shore, and weak and hungry and desperate for safe harbor he’d followed the call. When Tav opened her eyes, it had been a shock, the kind that rang a death knell over his head, but she’d only stared at him. She hadn't moved, hadn't reached for a stake or blade as he scrabbled backwards like a beast in flight.

And then had let him drink, had protested firmly but gently when it was too much for her, had agreed with his plans of feasting on the blood of their enemies all while offering herself up as a backup.

It was too kind. Too much. No one could give so much and not want recompense. But he simply couldn’t afford to lose the shield she was. Her damned too soft heart led them into too much trouble to simply trust she could be pragmatic.

And while it was damned convenient when she was helping him specifically it made things all the more complicated that she wished to help everyone. Too often she’d give him a disappointed look when he suggested cutting from all this nonsense with the tieflings - it wasn’t as if they mattered. What mattered was making the most of these tadpoles. What mattered was that he would never go back to Cazador. He refused to be owned ever again.

But Tav - Tav had taken him at his word - that she could trust him. More fool her. But she was providing him a service, even if she didn’t realize it.

And a service, well, a service he could earn. A service he could repay.

--

“What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our mutual ecstasy.”

But she’d seen - eyes too keen by half, and he’d had to try harder. To push aside the disgust at bartering himself again, and yet, it’d been easier than any time in memory.

“You know we don’t have to do this, don’t you?” She said, fingers in his hair, as he kissed his way down her belly, her skin warm and soft and smelling of flowers from the soap she’d so proudly showed off from pocketing in the wreckage of Waukeen’s Rest earlier.

He looked up at her, chin resting just below her navel. Her eyes were shrouded in shadow, but that couldn’t hide the soft concerned look from him. It made a part of his heart ache, and for a moment resentment sparked in his gut. She’d said yes. She’d agreed. And she was trying to pull away his only method to insure she’d stay on his side now?

Pasting a charming smile onto his mouth, he pushed himself up, hovering over her naked body. “Whatever do you mean, darling?”

“Only what I said. You don’t have to pretend, you know. If you don’t actually want this - it’s fine. I don’t… it’s fine.” She glanced away, eyes trailing over to the side, to the tree he’d pressed her against only moments before.

He frowned. The spark of anger faded into confusion. This wasn’t how it was meant to go, he needed her present, needed her invested, needed her to care. But she was pulling away, going somewhere else, and he needed her to come back.

He lowered himself down to one elbow, raising a hand to cup her face, and turned it so she was facing up at him once more. She blinked twice, her eyes filmed over with tears. “What’s this?” He said, running a thumb under her eye as they spilled over.

“Just… You wouldn’t be the first. To … change their mind.”

That momentary ache surged once more, a strange understanding and kinship that he hadn’t expected. It made his gut twist. He had to keep her on his side, had to keep her close. Tether her to him.

He leaned in, running his nose over the apple of her cheek, smelling the perfume of her skin, and the distant iron and wine flavor of her blood underneath it.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, darling. Don’t you worry about that.” He whispered, sucking against her neck without biting.

It was enough to make her gasp softly, tension ebbing out of her as she tilted her neck to the side. “Astarion,” she whispered.

He ghosted a hand along the curve of her hip, fingers trailing along the crease of her thigh, until he reached her centre, dipping a finger inside.

She gasped his name again, her fingers wrapping around his hair, arm slung over his shoulder. Her hips bucked up against his hand, and her blood thumped even louder in her veins. His fangs scraped against her skin and she inhaled raggedly.

“You can - it’s okay. You can bite if you want, ‘starion.” Her fingers carded through her curls, gripping tight when he pulled his mouth from her skin again. She whimpered and clung.

“That’s right, pet. Trust me,” he said, before biting down, drinking that precious nectar, taste blooming over his tongue.

And yet, he couldn’t appreciate it, because a knot of guilt was building in his gut. Trust.

It was the last thing he deserved. But oh he wanted it.

--

The weeks passed, days in the endless twilight of the Underdark, where he was forced to rely on her even more than before. She never complained, never resented his need for blood. And still the knot of guilt grew.

She swore to protect him from Cazador. But he could take no pleasure in it, couldn’t revel in the triumph when she looked at him with those sad earnest eyes.

What was it about her?

There was nothing special about her, she was NOTHING. No one. A girl with a good eye and too much kindness, flitting between all of the weirdos they’d picked up, looking at them all with the same concern, wanting to know what they wanted, needed, how to help.

Even the druid - a foot and a half taller than her and prone to turn into a bear - but she’d invade the elf’s space and try to draw him out into conversation.

And every time Astarion saw it a part of him burned, deeply aware of how easy would it be for any of them to take her away.

The one thing he relied on.

The one person he could trust.

He closed his eyes and shoved the thought down ruthlessly. He didn’t trust her. Couldn’t rely on anything he didn’t trade for. And hells how he’d traded for her goodwill. Never mind that he’d been more present during sex than he’d been in a more than a century's worth of memory - never mind that when he’d enticed her out to the woods after the tieflings’ party she’d spent more time simply curled against him, sharing a bottle of wine, hand curled against his saying they had time.

It had been… nice.

He didn’t know what to do with nice.

Then suddenly, when he’d gotten used to the knot in his gut and the feeling of guilt for taking her desire to be loved and known and using it for his own gain, she tilted the entire plane on its axis.

“He’s his own person.”

The drow had scoffed, irritably waving them all away as if they were no more use to her. And perhaps it was true. She’d gotten Tav’s blood, red rusting on her fingertips where the blood merchant had drawn it. He wanted to take her hand, not to lap away the last remnants that lingered there, just to feel her there, warm and alive.

“Astarion?” She whispered, giving him a queer look as they approached the door to the basement.

“Hmmm?”

“Are you alright?”

“Of course! Why would I be anything else?” He said, panic welling inside him. It was too soon to talk about this. He’d not made sense of it yet.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about…” she gestured to the passageway they’d just exited.

“No. Not… No.”

Her eyes turned sad, and he could feel his dead heart seize. No, she wasn’t supposed to be sad. But he couldn’t give her anything but sadness. What did he have?

Bloodlust? Pain? A deft hand with a knife and a needle?

That was why he’d come up with the plan in the first place. He didn’t have anything to offer. Nothing she would want. All he had to do was project someone worth caring about. Someone worth protecting.

And fall into the web she had, sweet and soft and trusting, leaned against him by the fire, keeping him alive with her very blood in this place where nothing lived to sustain him. It was easy to hold her close.

He’d never realized he was slipping down the same slope.

It hammered in his mind as he watched her talk her way out of a fight with the jailor. It was the litany that whispered in his ears as they’d snuck through the prison to free the gnomes and tieflings.

I trust her. I love her.

The thoughts echoed over and over as the water sloshed against the prow of the boat they used to make their escape.

I love her.

But none of it had been real.

If he’d been alive, the knot of guilt would have made him vomit up bile into the lake. Instead, he sat, turning it all over in his mind.

That was where she found him later, sitting on the beach behind the Inn.

“Astarion?”

Her voice was questioning, but undemanding as her toes scraped softly in the sand behind him. He sighed, fingers clinched tight so he didn't reach out as he turned to face her.

“We need to talk.”

[nuclearforest]

@edgygayguy tell me how i did lmao. hearing that there’s no male!reader x pip seemed like an easy problem to fix. and in theory i should write more for pip in general, but i don’t have a good feel for his character. anyway, word clocked this in at a wordcount of 700 exactly in under an hour so i’m taking that as a good sign. 

“What, moi petit copain?” Pip breathes into the shell of your ear, one hand on the other side of your head and one hand on your hip, “do you think those paintings are actually staring at you?” Despite yourself, a chill rolls up your back as blood rushes to your groin. He’s talking about the portraits leering down at you from the Hellsing manor’s walls. Being brought into such a posh place after serving in war torn regions of the world was jarring enough, but for your captain to return to his habits of sexually charged teasing in these same halls was another shock entirely.

“Don’t be an ass,” you snap back, hands rising to grab the lapels of his jacket in challenge, “we’ve all seen that inexplicable shit going down here.” Just because he already had you caged in an empty hall on your boring (safe) rounds didn’t mean that he was going to get away with it easily. He pulls back from your ear to evaluate you, letting his emerald green eye trace the lines of your face, softening slightly when it meets your own. The almost affectionate edge takes you back for a moment, to stolen touches and silent nights on shared watch.

For all the ways to be bored in the world, none of them could apply while your captain was around.

“Relax,” he huffs, “it’s not like there are any cameras. And you’ve been too on edge lately.” His hand on your hip squeezes lightly, thumb gently rubbing up and down. “Thought I’d steal a moment of your watch to fix that.”

You take a deep breath, soaking in the pleasant scent of the man before you—a mix of well-worn leather, fresh soap, and faint cigarette smoke—and let your grip on his lapels loosen. He wasn’t wrong. Dare you say he was even painfully observant; nothing could escape his watchful gaze, even back when you’d first joined and tried to hide your instantaneous crush under a heavy veneer of stoic professionalism. The real stare to be afraid of is his. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“With your consent,” he settles, corners of his lips quirking up into a smile that has your heart thumping in your chest. At the faintest nod of your head he dives in, surprisingly smooth lips pressing to yours as he steals the breath from your lungs. The hand beside your head drops as he presses into you, chest to chest, and grabs your other hip, sliding his hands under your thighs.

He was moving awfully quickly, but you were already hard and could only think to hope that he happened to think to grab a bottle of lube before coming out here. His hands pull up, urging you to jump and wrap your legs around him. You follow through and pull his lapels tighter, holding him close as you start to nibble at his bottom lip.

“Just because the paintings can’t see doesn’t mean I don’t,” a deep and entertained voice sounds from the wall behind you. The manly shriek you let out as you cling tighter to Pip, who stumbles backwards with you haphazardly secured in his arms, echoes down the halls. “My; my. Don’t stop on my behalf.”

You finally whip your head around to glare at the tall man made of red and shadows emerging from the wall. Embarrassment forgotten for fury, you damn near growl at him. “Some of us prefer a little privacy.” Fuck, it was maybe the first time in months you’d been alone with the captain like this and you were interrupted by this scary bastard? No, thank you.

“Then take it outside the manor,” tall, dark, and annoying says with a shrug before walking across the hall and phasing into the wall. Pip just pants against you before having a sigh. “Wish I could say that ruined the mood but I think I’m harder than ever.” You win some and you lose some; Alucard would just have to sit tight, because as soon as you feel Pip’s hard length through your pants, you know that the portraits on the hallway are the least of your worries in terms of witnesses.

[funtimebunnyblog]

Hi 👋 can you do a scenario for the pillarmen with a s/o who is a little shy and has a bit of trouble standing up for herself? I always struggle to speak up for myself because I feel like I’m being irrational or mean. But there has been a few times when I’ve stood my ground. Mainly when someone I care about is also being affected. But every other time, I see that I can be a bit of a push over because I’m too nice to people. I need a big intimidating pillar man to help speak up for me when I can’t 😔

Oh my dear Anon ❤❤❤

Believe me when I say that I wouldn't hesitate to stand up for you if I ever saw you getting pushed around ❤ Keep your chin up!

But for now, let me send you 4 gorgeous Ancient Aztec Vampires to stick up for you 😇🥰😘

The Pillarmen (separate) standing up for an s/o who can't stand up for themselves... (Under the cut for length!)

Kars:

• From the moment he met you, he always found your shyness quite endearing.

• Not to mention your small size.

• You two were quite the case of "opposites attract" for sure.

• One day, you and him are out getting some coffee at a Café after running some errands like you did every Saturday together.

• Kars went to pick out a good place to sit by the window looking out to the street while you go grab the coffee you wanted.

• He was halfway across the room when suddenly he heard the sound of you gasping, only to turn around in time to see you getting pushed out of the way by an older man.

• The man was much taller than you, looking very riled up as he had simply stormed into the place.

• "Move it! I'm in a hurry!" The man growls at you as he takes your place in line.

• Kars watched as you opened your mouth with some hesitancy, visibly shaking as you attempted to put your foot down and confront him.

• "I-... I was here fir--" "I told you, I'm in a hurry, you stupid bitch! Now fuck off and wait!"

• Kars had, quite frankly, seen enough.

• In a fraction of a second, he was across the Café and standing right behind the man; acting as a barrier between you and the offending jerk.

• He tapped the man on the shoulder.

• "Do I have to fucking tell you--" the asshole whirled around, expecting to come face-to-face with you again only to come face-to-chest with, the great and terrible Kars.

• The jerks eyes went wide and he craned his head back to meet the unrelenting gaze of the over 300lb, muscular and larger than life Pillarman who was staring at him like a predator would prey.

• "Is there a problem?" His voice was eerily calm but cold enough to make shivers run down your own spine, ruby irises piercing the man like the sharpest knives.

• The man could only stand there, gaping like a beached fish. "Uhh, I--"

• Kars cut him off, uncaring as to what he had to say. "I do believe my beloved wife was standing here before you."

• One glance down at the massive hand that was now wrapped around yours and the man caught sight of your matching rings.

• "I--... I--..." the man was floundering, starting to sweat profusely as the dots connected.

• His sweating only increased as Kars' face soured even more into a scowl, looming over him as straight and as solid as an oak tree.

• The mans face went positively white. "Oh! M-My mistake.... actually, I-I... uhh... should go..."

• Suddenly, the man didn't want his coffee anymore and was in even more of a "hurry" than before as he bolted out the door.

• Kars chuckled lowly, Mortals...

• Finally, he turned to face you. The Pillarman gave you a once over to make sure the jerk hadn't done you any physical harm when he had shoved you out of the way.

• He didn't miss that you were still shaking, looking a little doe-eyed as you were still reeling from your confrontation with the man.

• He smiled softly, leaning down to press a dotting kiss your head.

• "How about you go sit by the window and I'll bring you the coffee, my sweet little sunshine."

Esidisi:

• Your shy nature always enamored Esidisi.

• You could say it fueled his fire (tee-hee)

• He wasn't very shy himself and he was always willing to do things for you when they were out of your comfort zone, like waiting in line for you or accompany you anywhere.

• One of his most favorite places to accompany you was the supermarket on the weekend.

• "Oh! I forgot the laundry soap in the other isle..." you said, looking at your checklist as you marked through it. "Could you run back and get it while I get the cereal?"

• "Of course," he said with a smile, leaving you with the cart as he walked 4 isles down to get it.

• He was not expecting to see what he saw when he returned with it in hand however.

• You had gone to get the cereal like you told him and there were two boxes of the kind you liked left on the shelf. You had grabbed one to put in the cart and continue on when suddenly a woman appeared out of nowhere and ripped it straight out of your hands.

• The woman regarded you with a knot in her face, "I have two kids, I need these more than you." She spat, taking not one but both boxes and dumping them in her cart that was already overflowing with things she "needed more" of.

• Esidisi watched as you stood there, contemplating telling her that was unfair but ultimately deciding it wasn't worth your time.

• This wasn't the first time something like this happened to you and it was just cereal. You didn't want to cause a scene over something so small, it felt irrational.

• Esidisi on the other hand, wasn't just going to stand back and let you get disrespected like that whether it was over cereal or not.

• Lord help anyone who disrespected his Queen.

• Just as the woman tried to strut away with her overflowing cart, Esidisi blocked the isle exit, standing like a roadblock in front of her cart.

• His arms were folded and he had a calm and collected aura about him that any onlooker could see but only you could see the fire that was blazing in his eyes.

• "Get out of my way!" The woman ordered, as if she could look half as threatening as him.

• "You took something from my wife. Give it back." He said sharply.

• The knot in her face returned as she looked the Pillarmen up and down with a scrutinizing eye, "I already told her, I have two kids. I deserve it more."

• You knew very well she was about to threaten to call the police or something if he didn't move. You had seen this scenario PLENTY of times before.

• Esidisi pursed his lips, raising one brow. "Oh, children you say?"

• You knew that look in his eye to damn well.

• A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, reaching into her cart and grabbing both boxes of cereal.

• The scorching heat of his hands torched them in mere seconds and the woman watched helplessly as they blazed and crumpled into ashes before her.

• "In that case; apologize to them for me." He leaned over the cart, his grin stretching as he lowered himself to face level with the gobsmacked, ill-manered woman. "Now they don't get any."

• The woman stood there, mouth agape, trying to say something but failing. All she could do was watch, filled with no doubt terror, as Esidisi linked his arm with yours and walked away with your own cart.

• "Cereal is overrated." He told you, pressing a warm kiss to your knuckles. "I'll just make you breakfast instead."

Wamuu:

• Your sweet shyness was one of the things that made Wamuu absolutely over the moon for you.

• Going anywhere with him always felt like he was your personal bodyguard due to his massive size, even if he wasn't protecting you from anything.

• One particularly hot day, you both decided it would be lovely to spend it at the beach and cool off with a swim.

• "Wait here, I'll go get the sunscreen from the car." He told you, smiling softly as you made yourself comfortable on the towl he laid out in the sand.

• Always mindful of your Human needs, he didn't want you to get burned while in your swimsuit.

• He departed for only a minute, coming back in time just to witness a creep looming over you, right where he had left you.

• "C'mon babe. Why don't you go for a swim with me?~" the man purred, grinning slowly as he ogled you.

• "N-No thank you." You muttered, shrinking under his gaze. The heart that was pounding in your ears made it hard for you to be as firm as you wanted with him.

• You hoped, you prayed, you begged this man would take NO for an answer and leave you alone.

• You really didn't want to cause a scene with this weirdo.

• His first mistake was not giving up there.

• "Oh, don't be difficult." He went on. "Have some fun~ You're at the beach~"

• You shook your head, cheeks burning with more than the heat and a lump starting to form in your throat, rendering you unable to speak at all now.

• You really didn't want to deal with this. You wished the sand would just swallow you up. You kept praying he'd leave you alone.

• The mans second (and greatest) mistake was laying even a finger on you.

• He grabbed your hand quite forcefully, trying to pull you to your feet as he kept pressing you to "spend some time with him".

• Suddenly, a great and dark shadow passed over him, blocking out the burning sun and shrouding him completely in darkness, paired with a huge hand gripping his shoulder like a vice.

• Immediately, you were let go as Wamuu forcefully spun the offending man around to face him.

• There, he came face to face with the greatest and most powerful warrior who ever lived... and that warrior was scowling down at him in all his terrifying and gargantuan glory.

• The sun shined off the living Gods bronze and bulging muscles, his eyes burning with an intense and unmatchable anger.

• "I do believe my bride told you NO, Human." He growled, his brow knitting. "I would take that order and leave while you still can unless you plan on me having fun with you as well."

• The creepy man backed away from both you and the Pillarman, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

• Wamuu clenched his own hands into fists, knuckles crackling and popping like fire crackers.

• He couldn't even get so much as an apology out, his knees quaking as he staggered away as quickly as possible in fear that Wamuu would tear him in half like a sheet of paper.

• When the creeper was far, far away from your spot Wamuu dropped to his knees beside you, taking your tiny hand in his, his face now radiating with concern.

• "Are you alright, my beloved? Did he hurt you?" If you should happen to say yes Wamuu fully intended on taking chase down the beach and carrying out his previous threat.

• When you assure him you're not hurt he presses soft, loving kisses to your already sun-kissed cheeks.

• Finally, he smiles and holds up the bottle of sunscreen. "Now, let me get your back for you, my sweet. And then we can go for our swim."

Santana:

• You two were always like two peas in a pod; sharing a similar sort of shy nature and all.

• You were his sweetheart and you were the only person in this world who made his stone heart absolutely melt.

• Santana was quiet and reserved on the norm, he was also very passive like you, but an onlooker shouldn't be fooled by those things, as he was also very protective of you.

• He was walking to where you worked one afternoon; you both had made plans to go get some dinner together after your shift to celebrate the end of a long week and unwind.

• He opened the door to the shop you were working in, only to be greeted by the sounds of yelling hitting his sharp ears, making him stop on a dime.

• "I-I told you, sir, we're out of that product." Your voice was brittle, very unlike the sweet and cheery tone he was used to. "We're getting a shipment next Wednesday, I can put you down as--"

• "I DON'T FUCKING CARE!" The man you were serving at the counter roared into your face, slamming his hands down and making you jump. "You're going to get me it TODAY. I need it TODAY."

• Your throat was squeezing tighter and tighter as the man just kept yelling and yelling; this had been going on for the past 10 minutes now.

• Your shift was supposed to be over by now but this customer was downright mean and unrelenting without signs of giving up and facing the facts that he just couldn't have what he was looking for today.

• The man fully intended on bullying and belittling you until you somehow made what he wanted appear out of thin air.

• "I--" Inevitably, you were cut off again by the surly customer.

• "You stupid fucking bitch! Do I need to draw you a fucking picture?!" He snarled. "Get me what I want RIGHT NOW!"

• As soon as Santana saw the tears beading in your eyes starting to trickle down your cheeks, he had enough of this show.

• Wordlessly, he walked right up behind the man, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set.

• He looked uncannily like a wild animal closing in on a helpless prey, ready to pounce and kill.

• "Hey." His deep voice rumbled, grabbing the mans attention.

• The man whirled around, full on glaring at Santana before directing his anger onto him.

• "Wait your fucking turn!" He snapped, not fazed in the slightest by the sight of the Pillarman. "This idiot cunt won't take a SIMPLE order and--"

• This time, the man was cut off as Santana grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. You didn't miss the fact that your Husband's fingers start to phase into the mans body as if becoming one with him.

• The man let out a gasp, his words dying in his throat as he curled in on himself slightly. His body grew very, very pale and noticeably he became the slightest bit thinner, wheezing hard as his eyes bulged.

• Santana didn't plan on killing him, but the youngest Pillarman definitely intented to drain a decent portion of his energy to teach him a lesson he would never forget.

• With his blood red hair swaying and his cold eyes piercing, he leaned in close to the man, not once raising his voice as he spoke.

• "Leave." He commanded. "And never, ever, come back here again, primitive."

• And just like that, Santana pried his hands off the man; leaving him gasping for air.

• Without another word, the once haughty customer ran out of the store, not daring to look back as he feared Santana would be right behind him.

• Santana huffed, his mane bristling like an angry cat with its hair sticking on end, before turning to you.

• He came around the counter, reaching out and cupping your cheeks with his large hands.

• His thumbs swiped away your tears with a gentleness he sure as Hell didn't seem capable of after that display, kissing your head softly.

• "He is gone now." He murmured. "You are safe now, my beautiful bride."

• With Santana's help, you calmed down and eventually you both left hand in hand to finally go to dinner.

[queenxxxsupreme]

Soft prompt idea: First time Lambert's SO tells him "I love you" ❤

A/N: I AM ON FUCKING FIRE TODAY and I’m so happy 🙂 I hope you like this babe!! Also this might be a little OOC for Lambert, but he’s being a softy in this so it really is OOC for him to be a big softy but that’s okay because we love him anyways!

***

 Lambert followed a few paces behind you, guiding Champion by his reins. 

The three of you were traveling through a swampy area in Velen. Lambert promised you on this part of your journey that you’d be able to take a little bit of time in the swamp to collect whatever herbs and things you wanted while you were passing through. You were excited. The swamps held so many wondrous things you couldn’t find in the North. 

The witcher made sure to follow behind you, but not too far behind you. He wanted to be able to keep his eyes peeled for any signs of danger without his paranoid behavior distracting you. 

You came to a stop, pulling the knife on your hip out. You stepped off of the small dirt path, picking up your skirt as best as you could with one hand, and moved towards a large rock covered in moss. 

“Watch where you’re stepping, bug.”

“I am.” You knelt down by the rock and examine the moss. “Can you hand me one of the empty jars from my satchel?”

Lambert moved around to Champion’s side, opening your satchel and digging around inside for a moment to find an empty little jar. 

“Is this one good?” He asked, holding up a relatively small jar.

“Yes, that works. Thank you.”

Once he passed it to you, you were able to scrape off enough moss to fill the jar.

“What is that for?”

“Moss is good for lots of stuff.” You passed the jar to him. “Coughs. Covering wounds.”

Lambert furrowed his brows together for a moment. 

“Isn’t that what bandages are for?”

“Yes.” You grinned just a little. “Don’t question my ways, Master Witcher. I don’t question your methods, do I?”

The corners of his lips tugged up a little as he gave Champion’s reins a little tug to continue following you. 

You lifted your skirts up and stepped into a rather deep mud puddle, sinking a few inches into the dark brown substance.

Lambert chuckled a little. 

“What’s so funny?” You asked him, moving between a couple trees to get to a fern bush. 

“You always get after me when I get mud on my boots.”

“Because you don’t take them off at the door and wear them through my house.” You shot him a look. “And most of the time, you boots stink of rotten corpses.”

“It’s not my fault the dead monster juices get everywhere.” He muttered. 

Your nose scrunched up at his choice of words. 

You gathered what you needed from the fern bush and began to make your way back to him. 

“Please never describe it that way ever again, Lambert.”

He grinned, happy with himself, and took the fern pieces from you to put into a sachet. 

A little while had passed and you found quite a lot of ingredients for your work. A peaceful silence had fallen between you and Lambert. He’d pull out a jar or sachet whenever you needed it and then put it away for you. 

You couldn’t find the right words to describe how happy you were that he was okay with this. Previous lovers had all looked down on you going out and getting dirty in the woods for plants and rocks. Some even discouraged you from doing so even though it was a necessary part of your job. 

As the end of the swamp came into sight, you moved on to the dirt path to walk alongside Lambert. You looked over to him, chewing on your bottom lip. He met your gaze, confused. 

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” You shook your head, smiling a little. “Just…. Thank you for doing this with me.”

“I wasn’t going to let you come out here alone.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And we were passing through anyway.”

You nodded your head a little. 

***

When nightfall came, you were lucky enough to find an inn. While Lambert went to stable Champion, you had a bath drawn. 

You were absentmindedly dragging the soapy washcloth up and down your arm when there was a knock on the door to the room. 

“Bug?”

“In here, Lambert.” You lifted your head, sitting up a little straighter. 

He walked in, closing the door behind himself. 

“I was gonna go down to our room, but there’s a lot of unsavory folk lingering around in the halls and I’d hate to have to skip town tonight ‘cause one of them decided to do something stupid.” He said, leaning against the door. 

“I’ll be done in just a few minutes.” You told him, picking up the chunk of soap sitting on the side of the tub. You got the washcloth nice and soapy again before you went back to work on cleaning yourself. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet today, bug.” Lambert commented. 

You looked up at him for a moment, then brought your eyes back down to your leg. 

“Usually you talk my damn ear off.”

“Just…. Thinking.” 

Your tone was off. You had been thinking all evening. He knew something was wrong, that there was something on your mind you weren’t telling him. 

The witcher pushed himself away from the door and moved to the side of the tub, kneeling down so he’d be at your level. Silently, he held his hand out for the washcloth. You handed it to him. He used his other hand to gently take hold of your chin. He turned your head towards him and began to wipe the dirt and mud from your forehead. 

“About what?” His breath was warm against your face.

“How I…. I’ve never had someone do what you did for me today.”

His eyes avoided yours, choosing instead to focus on the smudge on your temple. 

“Wasn’t much I did. We were just traveling through a shithole. Figured you’d have fun messing around in the mud.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t help but look down, tilting your head too. “But my previous partners, they’ve never…. They’d never allow me to do such a thing as walk out in the swamps like that. They’d never let me off the horse, let alone off the path. Some…. Some wouldn’t even let me collect herbs or my stones.”

Lambert furrowed his brows together. 

“What kind of moron wouldn’t let a mage get shit they need for their work?”

You smiled just a little. 

“Not everyone is as open minded and as nice you, darling.”

“You make me sound like some sort of saint.” He snorted. He dipped the washcloth into the water to rinse it off. 

You were silent once more. 

Lambert put the washcloth on the side of the tub and stood up. 

He wasn’t too sure what was going through your head, sometimes it was difficult to read you, and sometimes it was hard for him to figure out the right way to approach the situation to get you to open up to him.  

He turned to go back to the door to stand guard, but he got just a few steps away from the tub when you spoke. 

“I think I’m…. That I’m in love with you.” You whispered.

The witcher turned on his heels to face you, brows drawing together. 

“.... Because of the swamp?” 

“No, no. I-I mean, it’s a combination of things.” You suddenly felt like maybe bringing this up while you were naked in the tub wasn’t the best of ideas. You pulled your knees as close to your chest as possible and crossed your arms over your chest. “I’ve-I’ve wanted to say it for a while. I mean, we’ve been together for a year and a half, almost two years. I just….”

Lambert looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“If-If you don’t feel the same-,”

“No, I do. I do.” He shook his head. “Just…. didn’t think this would come up here, in the dingy bath of a crusty inn in Velen. Kinda wanted to try to be a little romantic about it. Maybe do it on our two years? But romantic shit makes me queasy.” 

You smiled softly at him. 

“Why don’t, uh, why don’t you get out and get dressed? And then we can finish this not in here?” 

You nodded your head. 

You stood up and Lambert retrieved a towel for you, wrapping it around your shoulders. You thanked him and stepped out of the tub to dry off. He moved back to the door, wanting to give you space while you got dressed.

Once you were in proper clothes, you walked together down to the room you’d be staying in for the night. While Lambert secured the door, you climbed into bed. 

“What was your idea of making it a little romantic?” You asked him, watching him as he came around to the side of the bed and got in. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders, running his hand over his hair. “I was hoping it would be at Kaer Morhen so I could make you dinner. Eskel has a stash of really nice wine in his room. I was going to steal a bottle.”

“It sounds lovely.” You rested your head on his chest. “You know, you can still do that.”

“I know. I will.” Lambert began to trace shapes on your back as he stared at the ceiling. “I know I’m not the best at showing it, but I do…. I love you, bug. You mean a lot to me.”

“It’s okay. I love you too, Lambert.” You looked up to kiss him softly. “And I think it’s rather cute that our first time saying it to each other was in a crusty Velen inn.”

“It sure fits us.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @she-wolfoftheinquisition

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[yacoka]

FIFTY FIRST DATES, AND THE FIRST REAL ONE

──⊱ for my one and only, wee to my woo, love of my life — @doughnuts-5ever

pairing — kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre — angst but it ends very fluffily i swear on my doggie socks

beta(s) — @sugasugawarau @taiyaki 

kisses — hello i am,,, not back,, but here's a little thing that i did for my cow and it might as well be a valentine's day fic bc why not xoxo see y'all in a few days (psps sorry to everyone to has messaged me on discord or here or anything, i haven't been on tumblr or discord in a bit i'll be back sOON)

You sat at the dinner table, staring down at the meal laid out before you. It was by far the best thing you had ever tasted, and yet, it was bland. So, so bland and bitter, that you hated it. Nevermind that it was your favorite dish made by your mother the other day, nevermind that you always loved it better as leftovers. It tasted bland and bitter, and you couldn’t help but wish what he was eating tonight was too.

It was pathetically selfish of you - you knew. But how could you not feel that way when the man you loved was out on a date with some stranger he met on the internet? He had left the house in a burgundy button up that looked like it was made for him, paired with black slacks that made him look like it should be illegal for him to be out in the streets without a warning sign.

It was his first attempt at online dating after having miserably failed at picking up girls from school. And now here he was, out with some chick with a name you could barely pronounce, and the stereotypical description of her bubbly personality that loved nature and volunteered at the animal shelter. Oh, and lets not forget, she’s a gemini!

You rolled your eyes, stabbing your fork into the now cold dish. Stupid boy, with his stupid date, with that stupid red shirt, and with his stupid personality.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. That’s what you were for falling in love with a boy who never saw you for more than another pity project, the pathetic little thing that needed friends but never had any guts to make one until he came along.

You picked up the container of food and stalked over to the bin, dropping its contents into it. You weren’t going to eat it anyways, especially not after how you had  massacred it.

After you left the dirty container in the sink, you flopped onto the couch, sighing heavily as you sank into the worn sofa. It smelled like Kuroo’s body soap, though from the amount of time he’s spent lying on this couch, it was to be expected.

You leaned forward, hand outstretched for the remote. Just a little further, a little more-

The door slammed open and you lurched forward, landing on the ground with a thud.

“It was horrible. She came into the restaurant and she looked amazing, but then we started talking and oh god, I don’t think I can be with someone who thinks that only the rich should be allowed to do whatever they want just because they’re rich.”

“Well hello to you too, Kuroo,” you grumbled from your spot on the floor, flipping yourself over to face the ceiling.

He jumped over the sofa arm, landing perfectly on it like he always does.

“I mean, how can I accept that? That’s just morally wrong and if her basic morals are wrong, what about other more important things? I walked out right after that, that doesn’t make me an asshole right?” His head popped out, brown eyes staring down at you. The cologne he wore tonight drifted down, washing over you and clouding your mind with its deliciously warm and thick and-

“I mean I did pay for the meal before I left,” he mutters, dropping his head onto the cushion, voice muffled slightly by it. “So it counters the fact that I left, right?”

The sigh that begs to pull its way out is caught by you, stuffed into the depths of your stomach in exchange for a soft pat on his head and words you know he wants to hear.

“No, you’re not an asshole. Maybe that was an asshole move, but that doesn’t make you one. Besides, her lack of a moral compass cancels out any asshole you might’ve been.” You combed through his hair, drawing it out of the careful style he had forced his bed head into. “This hairstyle though? It makes you look like an extreme asshole.”

Kuroo scoffed indignantly and his head popped back over the edge once more, brown eyes glaring at you. “I worked hard on this!”

“Doesn’t make you look any less of an ass.”

“The date was incredible.” He sighed dreamily, leaning against the counter with his chin in his hand. The temptation to throw your fork at him increased, and it took every sane cell in your body to set it down on the table instead, albeit rougher than you intended.

If Kuroo noticed your intensity, he didn’t mention it, instead continuing on to sigh and gush about the wonderful date he had last night with this amazing woman at this delicious place.

For someone who was incredibly perceptive, he could be incredibly dense as well. You wonder at his obliviousness to your feelings, to the poorly concealed hurt that peeked through in every little move of your body.

All you wanted to do was scream at him, to wake up, open his eyes, and see you.

You, who had been there since the beginning, who had watched him grow from the shy, introverted kid to this cunning, charismatic man who excelled and went beyond what had been expected of him. You, who had seen him at his worst, and still stayed, patching him up and helping him to his feet. You, who knew who he was to the core, every detail, every fact about him.

But it seemed he didn’t know you as well.

“That’s great,” you interrupt him. He glanced at you, surprised by your abruptness. “I gotta go get some work done, I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, did I do something wrong?” He called after your retreating back. “Hey, I’m sorry if I pissed you off.”

“No, it’s nothing!” You slammed the door shut, slumping against it. God, you were a fool to have fallen for an idiot. Dashing away the burning tears that slip down your cheeks, you gathered just enough strength to crawl beneath onto your bed and beneath the covers.

The cat plushie he got you a long time ago sits at the bottom of your bed, staring at you. You glared at it, before giving in and grabbing it, tucking it into your chest. Stupid Kuroo with his stupid face and this stupid cat. You hate him so much.

(No, you don’t, you really don’t. And it hurts so much more to know that.)

You’re back here once more, glaring daggers at the clock. The slow ticking of the hands pisses you off, every second gone is a second more Kuroo’s out there, with another girl, on another date. With the number of bad first dates he’s gone one, you’d think he’d give up. But no, this man was persistent, and he wanted to “experience life!”

Well, he was going to experience death soon if he didn’t come back home soon. Your vigil continued, all the way till three am where you gave up and went to bed, your exhaustion outweighing your annoyance and worry. He’s a grown man, there was no need to worry about him.

Honestly, you didn’t know how you got here. To this suffocating silence that rested upon your chest, pinning you down as you listened to the sounds of cars rushing past and the occasional laughter that seeped through the walls. To where you spent your nights alone in your shared apartment, waiting for Kuroo to come home from yet another date. Like some married person waiting on their cheating husband, you smiled bitterly at the ceiling.

Only you weren’t married to him, and you certainly weren't his anything.

If only you were less of a fool, you might’ve moved on long ago. Maybe you might have even found someone who might be just as in love with you as you were with them. You might have already been in a happy relationship, going out on dates, spending your nights with them, being loved. But you were a fool, a fool in love with another fool.

So you continued to lie there, the infinite weight of your one-sided love pressing you into the ground, holding you prisoner to Kuroo Tetsurou.

“Hey, do you wanna go get dinner?” Kuroo called out. “There’s nothing left in the fridge, maybe we could get groceries after.”

You ignored him, focusing on the dimly lit screen of your phone. There hadn't been a proper conversation with him in a while, and you were content to leave it that way if only it meant you didn’t have to hear about his dates with those seemingly perfect women and their seemingly perfect food.

Kuroo called out once more, and you burrowed beneath the blanket, curling up into a ball.

No, you did not want to get dinner with the man you’re so desperately in love with it almost hurts to even breathe in his presence.

The door creaked open, and you could see his shadow stretch out across your bedroom floor, casting its shape upon your walls. It took everything in you to tear your eyes away from it and back onto your phone, though it lingered in your peripheral, taunting you with the way it twisted and leaned closer to you, the scent of his cologne growing stronger by the second, until it almost felt like he wa-

“Why are you ignoring me?” Kuroo whined into your ear as he draped his body over yours, strands of inky hair tickling your cheek.

“Ku-roo-” you gasped out, fighting to twist your body out from under him. “Can’t- bre-breathe.”

He groaned into your ear, dropping even more pressure down. “Don’t care, you ignored me.” He sulked as he burrowed his head into the crook of your neck.

A blind kick to his legs has him flopping off you, spread eagle on your too tiny bed.

“You’re too heavy to be pulling this crap,” you snapped at him.

“And you’re too old to be ignoring me when something’s wrong,” he shot back just as fast, and you were left stunned. To be fair, you should have expected it, Kuroo being one of the most perceptive people you’ve ever met.

(Not perceptive enough to see the deep feelings you harbored for him though.)

“So what’s wrong?”

‘Everything,’ you wanted to scream. ‘You, those stupid dates, my feelings, every god damned thing on earth.’

Instead, what came out was: “I’m just stressed. Work, you know?” You shot him an unconvincing smile.

Kuroo frowned, his lips pinching as he stared at you. He knew better than to push you though, and settled with a curt nod, a forced smile slipping onto his face. “So…. dinner?”

You sighed in exasperation, and let him yank you up and out of bed. The way his stiff smile melted into an easy, fond one was enough to wash away your hesitance, and temporarily dam up the river of doubts that threatened to drown you.

Just for tonight, you’ll enjoy his presence, before he gets caught up in another’s embrace.

(You let yourself get swept up in him again, chasing after the ebb of his warmth when his encompassing presence surges away from you. But you find that you don’t really mind drowning in him, not when the peak of the surf reveals such beautiful sights in the form of lazy smirks and sly hazel eyes.)

It’s another failed date that sends him home in a fitted suit, one that you had turned your nose up at. Kuroo doesn’t understand what’s going wrong, why he never felt like the date was right. The people he had gone on dates with were nothing short of amazing, with the exception of a few. But they just lacked… something. And so he always leaves them with a grateful goodbye and an apologetic smile, returning home to the apartment he shared with you alone.

He’s spent nights and days trying to convince himself that they were an ideal candidate to date, listing out their positive notes to you, and somehow he can’t seem to find the thing that made him just click with them. It’s bordering on frustrating, really, and Kuroo is more than ready to relieve some of the building tension in his body by hanging out with you.

His entrance home is muffled by the sounds of music blasting through the apartment, and it’s a wonder the neighbours haven’t complained yet. He’s about to call out for you as he drops keys on the coffee table, one hand loosening his tie when he catches sight of you dancing in the kitchen.

And everything clicks in place.

It’s a stunning clarity that leaves him reeling, and he wonders how he could have missed it in the first place. It’s a simple truth: Kuroo Tetsurou was completely, utterly, irrevocably in love with you. And it only took him fifty bad first dates to realize that the only person he wanted to go on a date with was you.

Objectively speaking, you look like a complete mess, but to him, the sight of you twirling around in sock clad feet in an oversized shirt with a lame chemistry joke printed across it was infinitely better than any of the people he had gone on dates with. You’re absolutely perfect to him, yelling out lyrics to a song that’s blasting at full volume from the living room.

There isn’t a moment’s hesitation as he surges forward, a force tugging him to you. And like just like two opposing magnets, you spin around just in time for him to collide into you, his head hazy as his mouth crashes down upon yours.

You taste of leftover pizza and something sweet, and he thinks it might be the best damn thing he’s ever tasted. The shocked gasp that escapes you is swallowed by Kuroo as he deepens the kiss, arms winding around you to pull you impossibly closer. And he isn’t sure why he’s so surprised when you reciprocate the kiss, melting into him as your hands grip the lapels of his blazer.

It feels like an eternity spent wrapped around each other, the beat of the music matching the rhythm of your hearts, and the warmth of each other.

Kuroo pulls away first, only because rationality comes sinking back into his muddled brain, and there’s a brief moment of panic when he stares down at your flushed face, lips swollen from his sudden attack. But the absolute relief and love in your eyes has him calming down, and the soft peck you deliver next settles those doubts.

“It’s been you all this while,” his voice cracks, and he winces. “You’re my best friend, and I’m in love with you.”

The smile that breaks out across your face is everything he’s been looking for, and he feels like a fool for being so blind. You’re everything he’s wanted, and everything he’s needed.

“I’m in love with you.” He repeats louder, an incredulous laugh bubbling out of him. “I’m in love with you!”

“I’m in love with you too!” You yell back, and in his excitement, he can’t help but twirl you around, and you burst into giggles. There isn’t a better sound in the world than this, he thinks.

“Be mine.” He catches you by the shoulders, face alight with adoration.

“I’ve been yours for a long time now.” Your answer fills him with a rush of delight and guilt, and he’s ready to spill apologies and promises to make it up to you when you yank on his tie hard, pulling him into another kiss. Every unspoken word, every drop of emotion that has ever begged to be exchanged between you two is said with a simple kiss.

Kuroo thanks the heavens for you, for blessing his life with someone who is more than he deserves. The weight of you in his arms is a comforting pressure, and there he has his last first date, at the beginning of a new chapter in the story of him and you, eating leftovers and dancing to songs of your childhood.

He’s in love with you, and you are with him too.

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 - Part 4 (Finale)

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST BRI GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!!!

I absolutely despise how Tumblr formats these on mobile. If anybody knows how to fix this, let me know PLEASE

thnx for waiting

—

You assumed it was around high noon when you woke up, judging by the thick layer of sweat that replaced your sleeping bag in hugging your entire body. It was now sprawled across the canvas floor, forgotten, and your hair clung to the skin of your forehead. And between the heat and the events of the prior night, you felt almost feverish and sick.

It was a nice surprise that nobody had disturbed you, though — and you silently hoped that theme continued throughout the remainder of the day as you begrudgingly emerged and reveled in the cool fresh air that greeted you on the outside of the sauna that was simply a tent in the Georgia summer heat. Judging by that sun... it was going to be another miserably hot day.

Before, you had never been one for swimming in any body of water that wasn’t a clean and chlorinated pool. Maybe it was the small part of you that had been spoiled, but ponds and creeks weren’t your favorite means of cooling off until you, quite literally, had no other choice; but you would always fondly reminisce of the in-ground swimming pool at your moms house growing up as you waded into the cloudy pond water. You were only ever there one week a month, so it was a damn luxury even then, and a far-fetched dream now.

The suns reflection shimmered on the water ripples you caused as you waded in and you sighed contently, actively trying to ignore the constant lingering scent of fish and mud and algae as you scrubbed your filthy fingernails against the soap bar in your hands, lathering it up enough so that, maybe after one or two rounds, your skin might begin to feel relatively clean again. Your now-soaked tank top clung to your skin — you think maybe it was white at one point, but decided not to question the faded stains that decorated it now.

Dunking beneath the surface you rubbed your fingertips vigorously against your scalp, silently wishing you hadn’t spent years taking advantage of all of the luxurious products and fancy soaps always at your disposal. Fuck — even a new, cheap 50¢ soap bar would be like gold right now compared to the slimy old bar in your hands. Your hair was dry and coarse, and admittedly you’d be mortified at the current condition of it if you had any time to worry about anything other than not starving or getting eaten alive. You scrubbed your eyes free of the murky water and stretched, content to take your time and daydream for the moment until you had to start your day. You’d been left alone, and figured it was intentional.

Good. You could get some shit done.

So you hadn’t expected to turn towards the shore and find Daryl standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights when your eyes met — yeah, modesty had gone out the door for you months ago, but you couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on your face when Daryl instantly whipped around and threw a hand up to shield his eyes as if he had really anticipated finding you pond bathing, what, fully clothed? What was he expecting to see?

“Shit,” he stammered, “uh, ‘m sorry, I just —“

“I do have some clothes on,” you replied as you fully emerged onto dry land and doubled over to pick up your dirty towel tossed carelessly into the grass. Even in the skew of the sunlight and shadows you could see the flush creep up his neck and cheeks and turn the tips of his ears pink. But you found yourself wanting to squash any sort of relief or joy you’d first experienced upon noticing him there when last nights fiasco began to run through your mind. You had no idea what he possibly wanted with you — was he going to chew you out again? The mere notion had your stomach twisting in knots as you rung out your soaking wet hair and cast your eyes back down to the ground and away from his own piercing gaze that had returned upon hearing you weren’t completely nude.

“I thought.. I thought you were doin’ laundry,” he explained, again turning away as he spoke, quickly and sheepishly. Like a child caught red-handed, he was always fleeting and nervous and ready to escape. “Nevermind, ‘m sorry, I’ll — “

You didn’t allow him to finish because, when you saw him start to take a step forward and leave, you lunged your hand on to his shoulder. Where the sudden balls came from, you had no fucking idea. Daryl was the one notorious for his bravery when everyone else needed the strength, but situations like this? He would turn tail and run away at the very first opportunity you even hinted at that might give him some sort of escape. But the way you saw it, he had obviously sought you out for a reason; and the way that things had ended last night left a bad taste in your mouth that you, whether you admitted it to yourself or not, we’re desperate to alleviate.

“Stop.” It was a bit more forceful than you’d intended but you were so positive that he would break into a sprint just to get away from you at that moment that you didn’t try to soften it. To your surprise, he stiffened, but nonetheless halted in his tracks. “Do you need something?”

Almost as if to prove to you that you knew nothing about him the way you thought you did, he spun toward you abruptly: “M’sorry — for last night.”

The apology took you by surprise in the best way, uncoiling the anxiety that had slowly begin to twist around in your gut. He had a way of keeping you on your fucking toes, it sure seemed. Quite literally speechless, he’d blindsided you, and you shook your head to clear the swarm of thoughts and prioritize your next words knowing that you didn’t have a lot of time to voice them before he would inevitably shut you out again or take off running. “Wait,” you tried, feeling him start to pull away at your lack of an immediate response; you could see the uneasiness etched in his features and even feel it in his stance. “Wait —“

But he cut you off, just like he did when he was chewing you out back in the woods the night before. This time, however, was far different, and you couldn’t quite decide what exactly had changed.

“Jus’ listen to me for a second, alright?”

He was breathing heavily and rapidly through his nose — not from overexhetion, but in an unreliable attempt to keep his voice steady and confident. You nodded in response.

The tensity in his body, the stiffness in his muscles, it was tangible — his legs were actively trying so hard to move him away from the situation, to let him pace like the caged animal he always reminded you of, desperate to run and hide. He wanted so desperately to speak, but seemed unable to form the words.

“I didn’t... I never meant to...”

Seeing him so vulnerable and helpless, it absolutely broke your heart as you stood there watching. Waiting. Waiting for some other words to come to you because the ones that you kept drumming up inside your head just weren’t good enough to fall on his ears.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Daryl’s head dropped, and he choked out a sob.

You felt strangled. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the sound. The guilt that followed was crippling and seized your entire body within its white-knuckled grip, but was almost instantly overshadowed with fear; fear and regret and shame and you thought you might be sick with the overwhelming emotions before you just decided to throw your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your still damp body so close to his that maybe you could meld the two of your souls together.

“I’m sorry, Daryl.” Face pressed into his chest, your words were muffled and wavered unsteadily as you struggled yourself not to break down. “I never shoulda said what I said. It was fucked up, but it was a lie. I swear I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to piss you off.”

“That don’t make it okay to hurt you!”

Admittedly, you faltered at his reasoning, but your mouth kept rolling on autopilot because you knew how Daryl would take to your silence as a reply. “No, but —“

“No, it ain’t ever okay to do what I did.”

He shook you off with a violent shrug of his shoulders, your arms falling limply to your sides.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you offered, not surprised when he shook his head in response and gestured wildly with his hands on either side of your head, hands clenched in fists, almost as if he was fighting some internal battle and, by the looks of it, losing miserably.

“Ya don’t get it, Y/N!” He spun on his his heels, abruptly turning away from you and replacing that distance between the two of you that you were growing to detest. “Ya don’t get it. Ya were right.”

You raised your eyebrows at him though you weren’t sure if it mattered with how he faced away from you, and you weren’t sure if you could just see his own features particularly well today or if it’d come from hours of staring at him, watching him, studying him while you simply tried to figure him the fuck out.

“I dunno why, but ya get me so.... fuckin’ mad sometimes. It’s like, ya know how to get right under my fuckin’ skin.” His voice was low now, rough with exhaustion and the scent of lingering alcohol. And while you could feel your heart drop at his admission, you had to fight the sense of pride and joy you were feeling that he even fucking admitted it.

This is what you’d been working so hard to get from him; it’s also exactly what got him so mad in the first place, and therefore the mess you were currently in that ensued. Whether or not the alcohol coursing through both your systems had anything to do with it didn’t matter to you anymore.

“When ya said that, it just...I dunno. I didn’t wanna fuckin’ believe it,” he ran an exasperated hand down his face before turning away from you, fueling your unconscious need to step forward after him again, softly, like you were trying to catch a wild animal, fearing that he would turn and break away from you at any second. “But what I did — Merle woulda done the same damn thing! He woulda done it without a second fuckin’ thought!”

His hands raked through his hair, distressed and frantic, and you reached out to grasp his wrists and steady him, your hands comically small next to his, strong and secure and familiar. At first, he flinched; tugging away from you half-heartedly before giving up and allowing you to gingerly lower his hands down in front of him, in between you, where they remained trapped in your grip.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Daryl,” you said softly, choosing your words carefully as if any wrong one would scare him off and send him fleeing again. As firmly as you held his wrists before you, one foot remained turned as you anticipated him doing just that. And the fear of watching him run again had, at some point, outweighed the fleeting fear that Daryl might actually want to hurt you — and you felt disgusted in yourself when you realized it. “You aren’t like Merle. You’re so much better.”

It was almost worth celebrating when he didn’t reply, and instead remained still as a statue, towering over you in the blazing mid-afternoon sun. The same type of heat, you thought, that burned inside of his very being; one that he’d spent so many shadowed years trying to extinguish. Thinking it was wrong. Thinking it was weak to simply care about somebody. All because of one single person.

You hated Merle Dixon, and if you ever saw him again, you swore you’d make sure he’d hate you just as much.

“You said Merle would’ve done that without a second thought — but you? Look at yourself, Daryl. You obviously feel so bad, so... guilty. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here. Do you think Merle ever felt this way about anything he’d ever done before? Do you think he ever apologized to anyone?”

Once again, his silence was reassuring. He was listening, considering your words... you only hoped that you wouldn’t say the wrong thing this time.

“The fact that you have so much remorse just shows that you are nothing like your brother. You are so, so much better. You are worlds away from ever being anything like him, Daryl.”

You could almost hear the gears turning behind his ocean blue eyes as he took in your words, deep and powerful though they were short. You couldn’t deny you were just content that he had stopped his angry outburst although now it was clear he was far more mad at himself instead of you.

“And I... I’m so sorry for the things that I said. I hope you can forgive me. I was drunk and angry. But I want you to know that... you can trust me. And I’m here for you.”

Now, you could almost feel his stare boring through you, the intensity behind his eyes unable to be ignored as it rose the hairs on the back of your neck and sparked goosebumps that trickled down your spine with a shiver you tried to stifle.

Now what? Daryl was unpredictable. Especially when it came to raw emotions like this, you thought to yourself. Can you stop him from turning tail and running, should that be his next move? Did he believe anything you were saying?

With one swift motion, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, warm and familiar, quick enough as to not be able to stop himself from doing so once he decided it was what he wanted to do, it seemed.

Though it was forceful, it was good. It was much more natural than the last time he’d moved that quickly toward you, you recalled. Much better actually, you realized, as you silently acknowledged that, this time, you sure as fuck didn’t flinch away and instead, hugged him back.

You looked down at the ground, sighing contently — oh. Despite your minimal clothing and every excuse to be totally naked in the cool water of your pond bath, your boots were still strapped on tight. You know... just in case.

[ddagent]

Can we have some King Jaime paragraphs?

Of course, Anon! 

He was no longer King Jaime, first of his name. No longer the Golden Lion; no longer, perhaps, even The Kingslayer. He was a shadow; the Stranger with a bloody crown. A cripple. A one-handed man who could barely protect his wife, let alone the whole realm. 

And everyone knew it. 

The first time Jaime ventured out of his chambers since his return to King’s Landing, he saw them whisper. The men who had stared upon him with awe, the women who wished he would entice them into his bed – now they just stared, and whispered, and smiled. He had been broken on the King’s Road; his sword hand, his crown, his whole world taken by a man who had been slain not by Crown soldiers; not by Lannister men. 

No, King Jaime, first of his name, had been saved by his wife. 

“Your–your Grace,” stuttered his squire; a slight boy with a mop of brown hair. Jaime could not recall his name. “A��are you planning to d–dine at your usual spot?” 

Jaime shook his head. “No, boy. No.” 

He took himself back inside, then. Away from the whispers; the stares. Away from everyone. His sweet sister was the first to visit. She didn’t stay long; the absence of the hand that had touched her, loved her, bringing nothing but revulsion upon her delicate features. Cersei’s children – their children – did not visit at all, even though Joffrey had been at Jaime’s heel since he was a boy. His children with his wife did not visit him, either. He was not surprised. Tyrion has visited; Addam, too. But after a while, no one but servants came to see him. And even then, Jaime told them to get out. 

And then, four weeks after his glorious return to the capital, the doors to his chambers opened. “If you’re bringing food, leave it by the door. If you’re bringing anything else, you can get the fuck out.” 

“Charming as ever, I see.” 

Jaime’s head snapped in the direction of the doorway. His wife was framed in the dwindling afternoon sun; her ocean-blue eyes catching the light. He turned away; his face cast in shadow. “Wife.” 

Queen Brienne swallowed. “Husband. The servants tell me you’ve barely been eating. Your squire—”

“—should not be talking to you.”

“Would you rather he talk to your father?” The Hand to the King hadn’t visited his son, either. Jaime bristled at the mention. “Thankfully, Podrick prefers my company to the rest of your family.”

“How delightful, Wife, you’ve finally found someone in Court who can stand you.”

“Other than my children, of course.”  

Jaime’s gaze met Brienne’s. He’d always been...fearful of looking directly into her eyes. They were guileless, and innocent, and he had loathed his reflection in them. He could say that that was what had driven them apart all these years, but in truth, they had never been together. Brienne of Tarth, Northern ward turned rebellion leader, forced to be his Queen to unite the kingdoms. He, the Kingslayer; she, the starlight who had helped save the city. Bound together by vows, hatred, and three blonde cubs with bright blue eyes. 

He sagged back in his chair. “What do you want, Brienne?”

“To see how you are.”

Jaime laughed: the sound strained; his vocal cords unused. “And now you have.” He stood, inelegantly. His clothes, a mere muslin shirt and breeches, hung from his thin frame. He hadn’t shaved in some time; the only thing he’d done was change the bandages on his wrist. Jaime gestured with his right arm, waiting for his dear wife to pull away; run away. 

She did not. “Sit down.” He didn’t move. “I said, sit down.” Brienne shook her head. “Honestly, it’s no wonder where Cat gets it from.” 

As Brienne turned towards a nearby table, Jaime did, in fact, follow her direction. The corners of his mouth twitched at the mention of their eldest daughter. “How are the children?” 

Brienne thumped a basin of water down beside his elbow. "You’ve never cared before.” She folded herself into the seat opposite him. “Cat is fine. She’s avoiding your father; he keeps foisting suitors upon her. That is, however, when he’s not grooming Brynden to replace you as soon as possible.” She swallowed. “Joanna asks after you daily. She’s still young enough to love her father.” 

“I’m sorry, Brienne.” 

“For what? Agreeing to marry me? Loving your sister? Having three bastard children and loving them more than mine?” Brienne sighed, trailed off; instead busying herself with soap and a sharp blade. Yanking his face close to hers, she lathered his cheeks and began to scrape the hair from his face. “I knew you were an oathbreaker when I married you. I should have known you wouldn’t keep your vows to me.” 

Jaime didn’t offer a rebuttal. Just allowed Brienne run the blade over his cheeks; the steel rinsing in the basin. He felt lighter with every stroke, as if it were a sparring match in the yard. Jaime sighed. He would never spar again; never pick up a sword again. But Brienne...she’d slain Locke without a second thought. She was good. Graceless, but good. 

“Back in the woods, you were...I’d never seen you use a sword before.” 

“Well, you were safely tucked away in the Red Keep when I was fighting with Robert and Ned.” The blade glided under his chin; no nicks or scratches. Perhaps he had been too premature in calling her graceless. “I’ve kept at it these last sixteen years or so. There’s a spot overlooking the Blackwater that we go to.” 

“We?” 

Brienne flushed. “Catelyn and I. I taught her myself. She’s good. Better than Brynden. She was made to have a sword in her hand.” 

“You can be un-made.” 

The blade fell from his face. Brienne dabbed a corner of a cloth in the basin and wiped the soap residue from his face. The pads of her fingers ran over the hollow of his cheeks, the roughness of his bottom lip; finishing the job. Her hands then pulled away, only to settle on his right arm. Brienne held him tight. 

“I cannot imagine the pain you are feeling. But I do know you are the most stubborn man I have ever met. You will re-train; you will be good – a damn sight better than most of the men in this city. You will fight, and you will be the Golden Lion once again. And when you are, all I ask is that you set my children and I aside and find a new wife. You will let me and my children return to Tarth.” 

“Brienne—”

“—I’ll train you myself. And you can find someone younger, and prettier, and have babes your family can devour whole. But not my son. Not my daughters.” 

Jaime hesitated, but ultimately nodded. If he could do one thing right by them, it was this. “You have my word, for how little it means to you. When I’m fit again to retake the throne, I’ll set you aside and remarry. You and the children can return...you can go home, Brienne.” 

“Thank you, Husband.” 

"Jaime.” He said as Brienne rose from her seat. It was always Husband or Your Grace; even after the times they’d fucked, there was always a barrier between them. He did not deserve her kindness and he felt no love for her, but he’d like to hear her say it, just once. “My name’s Jaime.” 

“We’ll start tomorrow at sun rise. Jaime.”

Brienne left with a single nod. He watched his wife depart and then stared at the space where his hand should be. He’d lost everything. Cersei couldn’t bear the sight of him; his wife and children were desperate to escape him. But if he could fight again, that would be something. It wouldn’t be much of a life, but it would be something. 

[nagia-pronounced-neijia]

scream (until you’re satisfied)

It's a quiet night for once: peaceful, even.  The sun sits low on the horizon, casting gloam over the usual summer mist; insects buzz in the trees, loud and soft and loud again.  Ligiea smiles out her open kitchen window at the little copse that has taken over the edge of the complex parking lot, then slides her thumb over her phone for the last time before she starts on her dishes.

On the windowsill, a bluetooth speaker -- designed to look like an antique radio; it had delighted Nate for about four seconds before he realized he couldn't actually tune it -- begins to croon a soft jazz cover of an early 90's grunge song.  She smiles, humming along, and gets to work rinsing tzatziki and chili sauce from her plates.

Something rustles in the copse.  She doesn't hear it; she sees birds suddenly burst from the green, wings beating, out of the corner of her eye.  She sets the pan she'd fried her flatbread in back down in the sink, watching with instincts sharpened by too much shit having tried to kill her.

She hasn't made it back to the dishes when the scream cuts through the night.  It lasts so long and comes so deep from within someone's throat that she hears it gurgle for a beat before it pitches back up.  When the voice finally gives out, there's only enough time for a sharp intake of breath before it starts again.

Ligeia ignores the chills that roll down her spine, the hot-cold rush of adrenaline through her veins.  She picks up her holster and pepper spray, the Agency-issue Volt, and  tucks her badge into her pocket.  Detective Attano steps out the door, pacing in the direction of the scream.

##

First fun fact of the night: the scream didn't come from the damn woods.  That would have made sense.

Second fun fact of the night: Bobby's standing at the entrance to the laundromat.  This makes Ligeia instantly suspicious, and he apparently knows it.  The red ambulance lights flash onto his face and then off again, lighting him up before they leave him in shadow, and it makes what he clearly wishes were a fetching smile look demented.

"Miss me, angel?"

Ligeia bites down on her first reply, because she can't think of their college years -- or make a crack about her annual fucking chlamydia infection when she'd dated him -- without wanting to hit something.  She smiles like she doesn't want to punch her ex and says, instead, "What do I do with myself when I'm not watching your career circle the drain?"

That one hits the mark.  He flinches and takes a reflexive step back, like she'd slapped him.  And then he pours on the greasy smile, but there's an angry edge, a tightness, to his smile.  "I see dinner didn't go down so well all alone."

She's not allowed to say, 'shut up and get out of my way,' but she can say, "This is a crime scene, Bobby.  Just because the caution tape's not up doesn't mean you get to lurk."  She makes a shooing motion with her fingers.

He's not dumb enough not to move, but she hears his feet on the concrete as he tries to peer through the windows into the darkened building.

Third fun fact: when the ambulance is sitting in the parking lot with its lights on, and the paramedics are sitting uselessly in the open back of the bus, there's no good news.  Ligeia nods at Jeri and Ryan, and mouths three letters.

Ryan just nods dejectedly.  Beside him, Jeri winces, shrugs, and mouths them back: DOA.

Ligeia doesn't let herself sigh, much though she wants to, and jerks the door open.  She ignores the words "Spin Cycle 365" printed in white on the glass, focused as she is on finding the lightswitch.  It takes a few useless, obnoxious moments of groping in the dark before her fingers touch plastic.  She flips three switches in a row and the lights return with a click and a buzz.

She sees exactly how Jeri and Ryan had come to the conclusion of 'DOA.'  It's rather hard not to, given that the poor girl had fallen onto the floor, eyes wide and staring, mouth still open in a scream.  But there's no sound coming out of her throat anymore.  No breath in those apparently very powerful lungs.  Pale white marks dot the very corners of her mouth and jaw.

Ligeia kneels down next to the girl, considering, and pulls a pair of latex gloves from her blazer pocket.  She skips looking for any kind of trauma -- there would be blood, probably -- and instead picks up the girl's hands.  The victim's fingers are cool and soft, still flaccid rather than in rigor mortis, and it is the worst kind of intimacy.

She can't imagine how Verda does this every day.  Maybe she just likes people and all their intricacies too much.

Not a single defensive wound.  Not even a sign she'd thrown her arms out to catch herself as she fell. That's a reflex; she must have been unconscious or dead before she started to fall.

There's no new sound, but she feels something like a shift in the barometric pressure of the room.  Adam and Morgan both have a quality to them, an intensity that seems to suck up all the air and interest, even when nobody's looking at them.

Ligeia straightens.  "Looks like a heart attack, but I'll know more after Verda or the Agency pathologists take a look," she says.  She doesn't need to look back to know they're watching.  "Will we let Doctor Turner and Verda take the lead on this, or is the Agency going to take custody of her just in case?"

The words come out professional.  Not cheery, certainly, but smooth, practiced.  Like her heart isn't beating hard inside her chest, like she's not thinking about Murphy.  Like there's something going on in her head other than an endless litany of a prayer she keeps hoping she'll get to stop praying: no more deaths, please, not in my town.

"This is a known phenomenon to the Agency," her mother's voice says.  The tone is endlessly gentle.  "We'll take custody."

It takes her a few more moments to look away from the girl and the blue puddle of laundry soap.  It smells like fake tropical flowers and banana; it's probably called something like 'Bahama Breeze.'

#

Ligeia drives back to the warehouse, stopping only for fuel and a cup of petrol station coffee.  It's thick and tarry as the stuff she puts in her car, smells about as astringent, but it wakes her up.  Unit Bravo beat her back by at least fifteen minutes.  That doesn't surprise her, given her slow car and pit stop.

What does surprise her is that Adam is waiting for her by the entry.  He had been standing stiffly by the wall, like particularly handsome statuary, and as she passes him, he unbends.

"So what was I looking at in there?"

"A fae victim," is Adam's reply.  He stops moving when she does.

Ligeia starts putting together 'fae,' 'screaming,' 'laundry,' and 'death,' and what she comes up with makes her groan.  "You're kidding, right?"  But this is Adam, and he wouldn't joke about this.  Not even Farah would.

"They aren't what the folktales make of them," is his reply, steady and a little snide, like usual.  He sounds a little softer when he adds, "So few of us are."

They've had the talk about his disapproval of humans romanticizing vampires.  She even understood it, to an extent.  She felt the same way about the slew of torture porn and serial killer movies that came out in the early 2000's.  She still feels that way about the Purge movies and the way they glamorize surviving violence, the way they assume everyone's first thought is murder.

Point is, Ligeia sees where he's coming from.  She doesn't push.  She stays right where she is, just a little too close to him to be professional.

"I guess I should go inside and find out what they're really like," she says.

Adam holds the door for her.  She turns her head just enough to look over her shoulder at him as she goes through.  She offers him a smile and watches his jaw relax by a fraction.

Nate smiles up at her from where he's found an armchair -- she could swear he's always making himself smaller, and he's so big that the back of her neck thanks him, but she hates it, too.  There's a haunted edge to the way half his jaw has tensed, and when the smile slips, she can see that his focus on her has wisped away.  He's the same Nate as always, but he's somewhere else right now.  Somewhen else.

Morgan's the one who says the word.  She breathes it out around grey smoke, her tone heavy and dark not only from the cigarette but from her own closely guarded feelings.  "Banshees," she says, and near her, Farah actually sighs.

[raziroo]

Karma | The Marauders

[Chapter 5] Nothing More

Gulping slightly, Karma turned to her left, and lo and behold – there stood Sirius. But God, oh, God, what had they done to him? What did they do to the person she once lived and breathed for, the one who was all the life she had left? The Prince Charming in her fairytale, the Casanova of Hogwarts, Padfoot? What had Dumbledore done to him? His face had become gaunt and weak and exhausted to the point where you wouldn’t know he was Sirius Black, a man who once looked to be sculpted by the gods themselves. His eyes had sunken drastically, there were circles underneath his grey orbs; his cheekbones stood out against his face which wasn’t in the least bit attractive – they weren’t sharp as they were scary. His skin that he spent hours on was now full of spots and ridges he’d have been disgusted by; well, the past Sirius would have, at least. His body, just from afar, looked frail; his once precious, luscious, silky locks were matted as if they hadn’t been washed properly, just hastily combed through. His cheeks were hollowed, his forehead had lines – lines, oh, her Sirius would have never – his stubble was messy, and his eyes, those grey, no, that wouldn’t do them justice – the storm in his eyes had calmed down immensely, and not in a good way, no, not at all. All the glory of the ebony and the pearly sheen and shadows and ash and charcoal, which could be disrespectfully simplified to clouds and the rain and thunder, it was all gone, just… gone.

And that was why it hurt. Because this person who was standing before her – this was not her Sirius. It couldn’t be. This was a man who didn’t have a trace of the storm that were Sirius’ eyes. This was a man who’d bore the full weight of being wrongfully thrown in a cell in Azkaban. And she knew, she knew it was so selfish of her, so incredibly selfish to not accept him for what he was now, but how could she? Sirius and Remus – those two were the only parts of her life she didn’t burst into tears thinking about. Their images in her mind had become spotless, flawless, whilst everyone else’s had become this miserable remnant with tears and holes and spots she didn’t ever want to think about again. She’d be damned if she thought about them fondly.

But who was she to care? After all, Sirius wasn’t hers anymore, was he? All this talk about her Sirius doing this and her Sirius saying that and her Sirius, when the reality was that her Sirius had died – died along with Lily and James and Marlene and Regulus and all the others. Her Sirius was just a false hope she’d been clinging to all this time. A hope that when she’d come back, if she’d ever, he would be standing there with open arms and that warm and cheeky smirk and smug expression on his face saying ‘told you so’. That she’d act annoyed, hit him on the head and they’d go back to what they were; not the high school sweethearts, never. They weren’t the high school sweethearts – tat title was reserved for James and Lily. They were that couple; the one with a not-so-serious forbidden love that was more teasing than romantic; the heartbreakers, the rebels, the ones with family issues. The ones who you looked at and thought, them? But you looked closely and that furrow in your brow disappeared and you understood why it was them, why it was always meant to be. And sometimes the fantasies would extend so far that their friends would join them and voila! – Slytherins and Gryffindors bantering together, what a sight. But then the true nature of those words together – Slytherins and Gryffindors – would come seeping in, and the friendly teasing and chummy banter would turn to hostile duels and vicious sneers and disgusted scowls.

But that – the sneering and scowling and curses and jinxes – was what Karma liked to fondly look back at, now, fourteen years later, at thirty-three.

Mentally smacking herself across the face because she was just staring at Sirius and Sirius back at her and everyone else at both of them, the woman pressed her lips together, and managed in as curt a tone as she possibly could, ‘Sirius, nice to mee-’

Holy crap.

She squinted her eyes just a bit, going over the boy’s face once again. The same raven, nest-for-hair, the ditto tan skin, that replicated slightly-mad-slightly-confused look in his eyes for having been woken up in the middle of the night – but wait a second – his eyes weren’t hazel… they were… green. Lily’s green. Her eyes jumped to his forehead, and there it was – the infamous lightning scar. James would’ve envied it, if Karma was being honest, because it made this boy look kind of rad.

But on second thought, James wouldn’t’ve been jealous at all; he’d have been proud. After all, this was his son. Harry James Potter.

Getting over the initial shock because she was sure she looked dumb, Karma turned to Sirius once again. She’d be getting straight to the point this time.

‘Where’s Dumbledore?’

Sirius made a face. ‘Dumble… Why would Dumbledore be here? It’s the middle of the night, Karma.’

She suppressed an eyeroll. ‘I know that. I got a letter… about twenty letters, actually, inside the deepest crevices of my home saying that he wanted to see me. Dumbledore. So, do you have any idea where he might be, beca-’

‘Didn’t he give you any address?’

‘Well, I was just going to mention that before you cut me off. All the addresses he gave me were of here. I found it weird too, but it’s Dumbledore, so… what can you expect, really?’ she mumbled the last bit in frustration. The man had asked to speak with her, given her this address, and was now clearly not here. What was she supposed to do?

‘I… Karma, I really don’t know why he’d do that. None of us have any clue as to why he wished to meet you. None of us even knew that you were… that you were supposed to be coming here.’ A couple, who she assumed were Arthur and Molly, nodded in agreement.

Karma sighed. Why couldn’t Dumbledore behave like a normal human being? Yes, the man was wise and powerful beyond anyone she knew, but this was preposterous. She hadn’t apparated across the Earth at 6 o’clock in the morning just to be greeted by remnants of her past that she was coaxing herself to forget. Time flew past especially quickly, and she was sure that it’d been half an hour already. If her neighbours didn’t find her in the morning, who knew what could end up happening? And then there was-

‘Well, you’re welcome to come inside,’ Sirius offered with a hopeful smile. How could she resist?

. . . . .

‘Si- Siri…Sirius, hey, hey, listen,’ Karma breathed out, chest heaving as she panted for air.

‘What, what is it, love?’ She looked up to see the boy look at her with pure mischief, mixed with adoration in his eyes. She wanted to kiss him so bad.

‘…First of all, I’m not your “love”, okay?’

Sirius had this smug look on his face. His smirk was ever-present. ‘You sure ‘bout that, love?’

Karma growled slightly. A look of pleasant surprise crossed Sirius’ face, then he began laughing. ‘Ooh, she growls.’ He’d gotten closer to her face, impossibly closer. His shallow breaths were felt on her skin, and the look in his eyes had switched to something else completely, something that she didn’t have the wits right now to decipher. If only she just pushed a little closer, there lips would brush, and-

‘Pads! Padfoot, you there?’ They jumped apart impossibly quickly; pretty violently too, it seems, because Karma ended up slipping and falling among a heap of mucky cauldrons. Gross.

Sirius helped her up, and dusted her off. ‘…Pads?’ Sirius rolled his eyes.

‘Yes, James, it’s me, your dearest friend. Stop shouting please.’

‘Where are you, anyway?’ asked Karma with a frown.

‘Here!’

‘AHH!’ Karma jumped. James had poked out his head from the window she was standing in front of, her back facing it. Her and Sirius were serving detention in an abandoned classroom for ‘vandalism of school property’. As if. They’d been stuck scrubbing old cauldrons while the entire school was at Hogsmeade. Unfair, and impossibly so. The reason why Karma had been panting earlier on was because the two of them had engaged in quite an enthusiastic soap fight.

‘I came to rescue you-’

‘That doesn’t matter, you nitwit! You know McGonagall is already mad at you, you don’t want to make her angrier, do you? You’ve already gotten six detentions in the past four days, you both.’

‘Eh, since when did you become such a buzzkill?’

‘I’m not-!’

‘Love, Minnie loves us,’ said Sirius casually. ‘James, wand.’ James handed Sirius a wand – it was the former’s – and the latter whipped it about a bit, and boom! Cauldrons squeaky clean.

‘You have an extra broom?’

‘What d’you think?’ Both the boys grinned impishly at one another. Karma frowned.

‘Wait…if there’s one extra broom, then I’m sitting in front.’

‘Why, love, don’t you trust me?’ questioned Sirius.

‘Nope,’ she made the ‘p’ pop. Snatching the extra broom James was holding, Karma swiftly perched on it.

‘Well, Padfoot. Hop on.’

. . . . .

‘So, Karma,’ said Sirius as the woman took a seat on the couch, ‘would you like something? Tea, perhaps?’

She simply shook her head, missing the way Sirius’ face fell. The man’s godson didn’t.

‘Who are you? How do you know Sirius?’ asked he.

Sirius and Karma looked at each other.

‘We just happened to be attending Hogwarts at the same time, and had a mutual friend. Nothing more,’ said Karma.

Sirius nodded, a cold look suddenly overtaking his eyes.

‘Yes, Harry. Nothing more.’

[kazbrkker]

Chapter 8: Second Chances

Chapter summary: Aftermaths of the Wolf’s escape & two painfully, oblivious pining idiots. 

Warnings: mention of stitches, old scars. (3502 words)

28 October 2019, 2330 "Alexis" and "Alex" | Codename Aces CIA with SAS and Urzik militia Sakhra, Urzikstan

    "Stop moving," Alia grumbled exasperatedly for the fifth time. Her nimble fingers were supposed to make stitching up Alexis' gnarly forehead gash easy—if she could stay still. Then again, nobody could sit still through that without anaesthetic.

Begging for a distraction, Alexis' teeth scraped against her pale lips and her fingernails subconsciously dup deeper into Farah's arm with every stitch.

"I don't know why you do this without painkillers," Alia mumbled absentmindedly, every movement meticulous. It went unanswered, for Alexis refused to supply the 16-year-old with more horror. A few more stitches later, the young girl leaned back and smiled.

Thank Heavens. High pain tolerance, sure, but needles... Alexis was wise enough to stay far away.

Alexis' impatiently patted the medical gauze, nodding at the decent patch-up. Of course the Marines had professional medics on deck, but when Alexis awoke, she felt responsible for Alia's red-rimmed eyes and loud sniffles. So, pain be damned.

Alia scowled, swatting her nosy hand, "No! Do you want an infection?"

"I am older than you," Alexis reminded.

"Yes. More stupid too."

Bewildered, her neck craned towards Farah, jaw-slacked at the commander's blatant shrug in agreement. Overwhelmed by the thunderous support, "This is a mutiny of some sorts..."

"Uh-oh, your boyfriend is coming," the young girl loudly announced. Her accusation reeled stares from closer bystanders.

Heat found its way to Alexis' cheeks, spreading under Farah and Alia's teasing grins. Dizziness soon trickled in, forcing her to blink rapidly in an attempt to concentrate past the nasty headache. "Alex is not my boyfriend."

"Did I say it was Alex?"

Farah huffed, bumping fists with the younger. The conniving duo displayed megawatt smiles when Alex and Kyle came into hearing distances. Holding a box of ration packs, Kyle gestured for them to take their pick. That knocked their smugness off.

Alex plopped beside her, eating out of his rations. "Tell me you feel better," he more than demanded, giving her battered state a once-over. His eyes lingered on her forehead.

"Am I supposed to lie?"

A shadow flickered past his face, "Should I bench you?"

"Yes, if you wish to die in your sleep," her quick movements to snatch away his wristwatch communicator intensified the pain. "Although blunt force trauma is not as deadly as this headache."

"Crack another joke and I'll deliver you to Price," Alex threatened at her lightheartedness. Though his menace soon faltered at her radiant grin.

"Boss is not in a good mood," Kyle chimed in.

"Mutiny..." Alexis mumbled. "Fine, no more jokes about concussions."

The group chatted about their game plan for tomorrow when a rude growling stomach sounded. It certainly didn't go unnoticed by Alex, who willingly gave up his rations. Packaged pasta had never tasted better, she mumbled gratefully, "Have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

Alex laughed, "Now I know you hit your head too hard."

"Would you be open to the idea of getting matching injuries?"

"Are you flirting with me?"

"No, it's just in season," Alexis shook her head, bemused. "Shut up and eat your veggies, you're giving me another headache."

The scorching look of triumph was clear in Farah and Alia's expressions and for the same reason, she purposefully evaded their eyes.

"I thought the CIA frowned upon dating in the circle?" Kyle asked casually.

The unexpectable question forced her to choke, coughing loud enough to render someone patting her back. Alexis flushed at his concern, aware of the stutter in his pats. Both CIA agents were red, and boy, were Farah and Alia having a field day.

Alexis prayed her face was the usual controlled indifference. This wasn't the first time someone mislabelled their friendship, so why was this suddenly a big deal? "Yup. They hate it."

Kyle's lips formed an 'o' upon realisation, "Sorry, I thought you two were..."

Alex cleared his throat, "That's a popular opinion."

"Maybe everybody has a point. You did call her baby–" Alia cheekily added.

You little...

Alexis gently slapped a hurried palm against her mouth, muffling the jocular giggles from the young woman. It didn't stop her from cheekily winking at the group. Other than the two in cynosure, the others wore matching grins.

Perhaps they were playing matchmakers, but right now, her priority was to dig herself a hole.

From the unreadable look on Alex's face, he felt the same. When Alia tried to wrestle out of her grips, she thought the reddish hue on his face was a figment of her imagination. Yet if it wasn't, he sure didn't spare her the glory with this knowledge, as his head swiftly lowered to observe the hardwood floor panels.

Witnessing him this taciturn was a rare sight. Before she could entertain her illusions that maybe her friends were onto something, Price yelled for Kyle.

The tension in the air snapped.

"Get some rest. We need energy to catch the Wolf tomorrow," Farah gave a friendly side hug, saving Alex from Alia's nagging reminders about her stitches. He replied with a salute.

And then there were two.

"She's awfully like you," Alex smiled. Spitfire personality, dauntless and stubborn.

"Hopefully not, I'm a horrible person," she joked wearily, eyes losing in a battle against the slurry languor that washed over her. Coupled with the splitting headache, she wrangled between climbing upstairs to find a bed or staying here. The latter almost won until she was hoisted up.

"Don't bother, you're not walking," came Alex's reply and she obliged. When she reopened her eyes, Alex had already sat her down a bed to unlace her boots. She carelessly slithered her sweaty top off her skin.

They squeezed into a tightly-confined shower, sighing in bliss as warm cascades of water enveloped them, splashing the warfare away. Her arms looped contentedly around Alex's neck as he started to wash her blood-crusted hair, careful to shield her head wound.

"Hi," Alex wore a suspicious smile.

She sighed, "Here we go."

"Damn right. You have an immaculate talent for making people worried."

"Why thank you..."

Goosebumps raised as he silkened down her arms, tracing the red streaks clearly shaped from her nails. The way his dark eyes fastened on her made her heartstrings twitch nervously, "You could have died."

She laughed humourlessly. "You think too little of me."

"I'm serious, never do that again. You run into anything you can't handle..."

"I had him under control," she retorted.

"Clearly not enough."

"The bastard got to me. My fault, okay? I messed up. I don't need another reminder," she snapped, and the hands in her hair stopped. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Sure you did," he nodded, not in the slightest offended. The fact that someone managed to one-up her caught his attention instead, "What did he say?"

Now Alexis suspected he could read minds. "Why did you think he said something?"

"Call it a hunch."

Alexis sighed, not fond to revisit her failure. "Alex..."

That was her warning, and he took it. "Just saying, I've never seen Price that worried."

She closed her eyes and shook her head dismissively, "He's just annoyed he'll have to answer to Maddox and Forbes. I'm a prized possession."

The cubicle echoed with their laughs.

Alex worked past the scars that littered her body, leaving trails of soap bubbles. He could pinpoint them with his eyes closed, yet with today's new additions, he had more to commit to memory. His thumb brushed over a spot on her upper right thigh, smirking at the slight shudder he induced but more so at the memory.

Was she nervous?

Hearing Alexis' hoarse voice confirmed his suspicions, "Remember this?"

"'course, you took a bullet for me," Alex said, still glazing over the raised bump.

August 2016, Brazil. 30 grand bounty over their heads. They played a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the entire city. A mercenary almost tore through his kneecaps until she knocked him out of the line of fire.

A charming smirk reappeared, "Few things say "I love you" like a bullet to a non-essential area."

She snorted, punching his chest. Cloudy mist floated around them, the water was too hot, almost scorching. Or maybe it was his warmth, she guessed. Her mind was foggy, only thinking how much endurance she had to not bask in the feeling of his coarse hands.

Then again, she was a soldier. Willpower was all she got.

Maybe not, her hormones decided. As hard as she tried to toss the raunchy thoughts, Alex made it difficult. Especially his arms... she was a real sucker for strong arms. The temperature was sweltering and with their bare bodies practically pressed together was not aiding.

"Switch," was all she said before she forcefully flipped them, leaving her under the running water—hoping it would clear her mind. Hasty fingers weaved in his wet hair, her turn to bathe him.

"Nasty scar," she picked up their conversation, "Scares people away."

"Maybe you should revaluate your definitions of a partner," Alex scoffed, "Scars are god damn sexy."

"In theory, I must be sexy as hell."

Hm. You have no idea.

The bullet scrap on her arm healed nicely by now—still an open wound, though it no longer hurt when she raised her arms. Useful to know, as she foamed his hair. Her gaze traced the numerous tattoos across Alex's body, eventually landing on his chest.

Her favourite tattoo of his—a butterfly.

Butterflies are the universe's proof that second chances exist, this stuck with her ever since she read that somewhere in a digest.

A similar tattoo rested along the sides of her ribcage, accompanied by an eye on top of it. The idea struck her when she finally made Lieutenant. It felt symbolic, a parting gift to her old life.

She always had a sneaking suspicion Alex wanted a matching tattoo but was too afraid or embarrassed to say it. He'd chat her ears off about parallel tattoos, as if she didn't pick up on it. So it was no surprise when one day, he suddenly showed up with a butterfly stuck on his chest.

It was a sweet gesture and thus made her way more resolute to not jeopardise their friendship. Tattoos were sacred to a man like Alex, who never stood a chance against Command. He'd make sure to find something he loved in every location he went, and inked it. His way of establishing control over his job—by remembering parts of the good.

Her finger skimmed past his butterfly before grabbing the showerhead to drown his hair clean. They were two people engrossed in good memories among warfare. And it felt liberating.

That was until she noticed he was looking at the prominent area on her chest.

Burnt flesh, the size of his palms, staring back at them.

The entire atmosphere shifted. A shiver of glacial magnitude rushed from her toes and her heart sank. The scar's jaggedness made her feel even more self-conscious.

Hot poker on her skin, an iron branding from the mob. If she closed her eyes, she could envision the exact scene. Fear not, if the mental baggage wasn't enough, there was a physical one.

"You deserve the best, you know that?" She didn't know which irked her more, the sympathy in his tone, or that he placed her on a pedestal.

I'm damaged goods, the thought fed her demons. So why do I deserve the best?

She peered at the man in front of her, every word earnest. He'd say it a million times and yet she wouldn't believe him.

Perhaps it was the head injury or hormones, but her eyes soon welled up with tears. Within seconds, what started out as small sniffs transformed into full streaks of tears. The tears blended into the stream of falling water but it was unmistakable.

The sight broke Alex's heart. Shattered it, really.

Silently, Alex switched off the faucet and dressed her. Every step jerked new tears that stained his bareback. At her quiet sobs, he berated what an idiot he was for reminding her.

The contact of soft mattress made her flinch. With tear-stained eyes, she gaped at the man who Omar Sulaman promised to kill and it almost made her whimper pathetically.

The malice thoughts stopped whispering when warm touch on her face descended her back to reality.

Alex.

"Yeah?" She hadn't realised she said it out loud.

"Stay with me," she implored. His head was already nodding, but it didn't satisfy her.

A hand shot out anxiously, "No, not this. You can't ever die on me." Her sudden request puzzled him. "Promise me."

"I promise," he said. "What happened, Alexan– Alexis?" Her birth name sat heavily on the tip of his tongue, almost escaping in his concern.

Over time, she'd built a reasonable resilience from Alex's relentless questionings, yet today her defenses lowered. "Back there... He said he'd kill you, he'll make me watch," she swallowed the rising bile. "And I let him go... Fuck."

Alexis felt like an utter failure. Not only did she fail to extract information about the stolen gas, but more people would suffer as a result of the Wolf's escape.

Losing the usual silver lining from her interrogations made her dangerously close to spiral out of control. In her mind, she unjustly tortured a man. And it was vile—even if that man was Omar Sulaman. Now, she found the line between her and her torturers blurred.

Though she didn't specify, Alex placed two and two together. "The Wolf?"

She merely nodded, still gripping his arm painfully like he'd slip away. The desperation her pleads carried haunted him.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," He saw red, only able to suppress his anger by making this promise. Without hesitation, he levelled their faces together, mumbling reassurance of I'm not going anywhere.

In the moonlight, Alex could still see the faint tint of pink that stained her nose—he compared it to the pink chrysanthemums he saw earlier today. How could anyone still look this enchanting while sobbing was a mystery to him, though he was staring right at the answer.

She never ceased to amaze him.

"I'm with you, okay? Always." This sentence never lost its genuineness. He'd do anything for her—the world begins and ends where she says so.

She felt his lips move against her ear, and her racing heart slowly composed itself from his assurance. Losing composure was uncommon for her, but even in this exception, she was sagacious enough to know the air between them had long changed.

Refusing to play host to her desire, her head stay lowered. She opted to wipe her tears and joked about how she didn't want his ghost to haunt her, hoping a distraction would alleviate her pounding heart.

Despite her prayers, Alex tilted her chin upwards to meet him, "Never happening."

They were so close. "Even when you're a ghost?"

"Mhm. I'm pretty hard to shake."

"You'd definitely be one of those annoying ghosts... With no sense of boundaries."

The magnetic allure of her lips called to him. On its own accord, his thumb ghosted ever so slightly over her parted lips, stealing a sharp breath from them both. They were dead silent.

And something in Alex warned him to reduce his voice to a whisper, afraid that he might scare this moment away, "Boundaries... You want it...?"

Everything was electrified. His touch, his gaze. Alexis worked hard not to crumble under his intense stare.

Then it happened, his gaze fell on her lips. She definitely didn't imagine that.

"Do you?" she deflected. Mildly embarrassed that her voice had the abraded texture of stone against stone.

Even when her lungs screamed for air, Alexis still forgot to breathe. She was busy listening to the angel and the devil warring inside her, pleading to her rationality. It was clear which side won when she closed her eyes.

Her world was pitch black. Senses put into overdrive. The touch along her jawline felt like it burned. She thought if this was what being set on fire felt like, she'd gladly pay the price.

His breath fanned across her nose. And then their noses touched.

Alexis felt horrible for her overworking heart, rapidly pumping oxygen to her brain—she certainly dared not to breathe, terrified to screw this up. Maybe there was a screeching voice inside her head, but it was fogged by her desires.

Tingles rushed through her when his lips brushed her own, the velvety feeling of it already so addictive. Alexis closed her eyes, waiting for the impact, and then–

A sharp knock forced them both apart.

She almost got whiplash from how fast she turned to the door, making her clutch her head in pain. The silhouette of Kyle Garrick stood in front of them, head still bowed while reading a prescription off a medicine tube.

"Nero- no, Neosporin," he cluelessly recited. "Antibiotic cream." When Kyle finally raised his head, a look of doubt crossed his face upon the flustered duo.

He awkwardly tossed the tube to Alex. "Okay... Weird vibe. Alia said to apply it or else."

"Thanks, Garrick," Alexis grimaced at her slightly pitchy voice, "Um. Get some rest, yeah?"

"Mhm. As you were..."

The door closed after him. Tensed at the shuffling sounds behind her, her brain replayed the scene much to her protest.

"Still want me to stay?" Alex said in a low voice. She hadn't realised she was still staring at the empty doorway.

What was that? She never loathed her noisy thoughts more than this moment. Oh fucking fuck, shit. I'm so stupid.

No... Why am I embarrassed? He initiated the stupid kiss! She reasoned, digging for some form of consolation to find the courage to snap around, preparing herself for what might come next. But she wasn't expecting the smug smile he so proudly wore. She then wondered if she should feel relieved or nervous.

But as a wave of dizziness forced her to grab a handful of bedsheets, she inwardly spoke gratitude that she didn't have to decide.

What was this? What were they, really? Too many questions and too little answers.

"Come on, it's past your bedtime," Alex pulled her back into the bed and started to administer the medication on her cheek wounds. Today was already a heck of a day, and with the soothing circles rubbed into her skin, she surrendered to her tiredness.

"Night..."

Upon her steady breathing, Alex tossed the tube across the room and it landed accurately on his vest with a soft thud. His finger outlined a path from her forehead and hovered hesitantly above her lips. The very same one he should have already felt.

Thanks, Garrick.

A frustrated sigh escaped him, loud enough to make Alexis nuzzle deeper into him, an arm draped over his waist.

He laid back down, replaying their scenes from earlier. A bolt of lightning might as well strike him now—maybe that would explain the bursting feeling in his chest.

"Wow," he mouthed in realisation. "I'm a damn idiot."

Years ago when she tipsily ended up on his doorstep desperate for him to take the pain away, he willingly obliged. No denials that he had the biggest selfish reason to say yes.

Fuck, it was a strange feeling to finally get all that he dreamt of. That night, he was too busy planning a confession in his head to sleep. But by dawn, the demons inside him questioned if he truly deserved someone like Alexis.

Someone like her? For him? It was too good to be true. His mind raced with the "What ifs?"

"What if our jobs clashed?"

"What if I put her in danger?"

"What fucking if the long distance fucks everything up?"

Their friendship would be in shreds. And she was one of the– the most important person in his life. No way would he lose her.

So he pushed her away—looked her in the eyes and lied. For Heaven's sakes, he wanted to punch himself. And he knew he made the right decision because when their friendship took a hit for a few weeks, the loneliness was unparalleled.

He didn't want to feel that way again. Ever.

Alex might have kept their friendship, but at the cost of everything. He liked to picture how different things would have been, if not for his cowardice. He thought about it frequent enough to imprint a permanent gnaw in his heart.

Now, here it was. A bloody second chance. His second chance.

Alex peered down to the butterfly tattoo on his bare chest, smiling. The universe's proof, alright, he whispered, "Gotcha."

The night ended with Alex falling into dreams of the woman he loved.

‧͙⁺˚*·༓

a/n:        they're such stupid fools... & omg i hate this chapter so much idek. btw what do yall think alexis’ real name is?

taglist: @flyboidameron​​ @wanderlustgiant​​ (wanna be tagged? lmk!)

[6v6taeminisloveshineeworld]

House of the Damned Chapter Two: UNDEAD KISS

PART 1: BLOOD AFFAIR

Summary: Lust is neither love nor passion, it is but a starving beast driven mad by thirst and unyielding desire. A natural hunger akin to flame. As a daughter of the Church, a trial of purity is thrust upon you when a series of events leads you to live in a manor with six vampire brothers who are eager to possess you and claim their birthright as the strongest of the clan descended from Vlad.

Pairing: Taemin X Female Reader, SuperM X Female Reader

Genre: Vampire romance, Diabolik Lovers Crossover

Word Count: 3.3k+

Authors Note: Most dialogue in this story is from the Diabolik Lovers game Haunted Dark Bridal Translated by maichiruhanabira and used with permission. It is not all my original work and will follow the DL game story with some extended or altered scenes. For original content read my other works, this work will be a side project since I am a fan of the game. If you are unfamiliar with Diabolik Lovers then I hope you enjoy the plot.

The cold school rooftop wasn’t the most ideal place to hide in between classes but you found that sticking with Taemin was the best way to avoid his brothers and their advances. If he wasn’t in the music room he was either here or curled up sleeping in an abandoned hallway. Even though you’d been spending more and more time together lately you knew nothing more about him than last week when you’d come to stay at Hawthorn Hill. 

Taemin was always listening to his music, avoiding conversation, and the world which was something you could relate to. You often spaced out and imagined you were anywhere else than living this nightmare. You opened a book of poetry from the school library and tried not to let the silence between you both eat anyway at you but it made you feel rather small and invisible. Well, invisible is better than having him try something on me. But then there was that small traitorous part of you that wished something would happen.

You’d gotten through only two poems before you really couldn’t stay quiet any longer and decided to ask what you’d been pondering over since the first fated day of your meeting, “Taemin? I have a question.”

“What?” He asked groggily. 

Well, at least he’s responding. “If you’re a vampire, does this mean you turn into a bat and fly? Also, do you hate eating garlic? Do you burn in the sunlight? Is that why you all go to night school? 

“That’s a lot more than one question,” He said with a sigh. 

“Sorry, it’s not every day you meet someone who’s a vampire.” You said indignantly.

“Ah but you aren’t sorry, he said opening his eyes and giving you what you would have called the tiniest of amused expressions. “You are curious, I’ll give you that. Well, so you know and stop pestering me, it’s not like I’m going to die if I eat some garlic pasta. I can’t turn into a bat, but I can fly in my shadow form. I’m afraid if you were asking because you wanted to kill me you’ll be quite disappointed to learn that I’m not going to burn to ash if I decide to go for a walk in broad daylight. It’s not that easy for me to die, believe me, I’ve tried it all.” 

“I wasn’t asking because I wanted to kill you!” 

 “Hm. Well, whatever. The legends about vampires in your world are all stupid delusions you humans came up with,” Taemin said closing his eyes again.

 “I’ll remember that,” You whispered back. Even if it would have been useful to learn some information on how to at least deter his brothers it wasn’t like he would just volunteer information that could really be used against him. You rubbed your crucifix between your fingers and silently wished it really did work on vampires.

“Do vampires prey on sleeping women to gain energy from having sex with them?” You asked hesitantly with a blush on your cheeks.

He laughed and didn’t even bother to open his eyes as he responded to your question. “I believe you are confusing us with incubuses though I daresay a vampire’s lust is any less potent. We prefer women a little more awake and willing than that so you may sleep more easily mortal. Unless you like that kind of thing then i’m sure my brothers will be more than happy to oblige.”

You huddled into yourself and continued to read, not bothering to answer. At the sound of the school bell, you quickly began putting away your book and grabbing your coat.

“Taemin, class is starting, are you coming?” You asked when Taemin didn’t move at all you moved closer to see that he’d fallen asleep again. His blonde hair fell over his face as he slept. He looked tranquil like this, almost human. This close you were even more aware of the graceful curve of his upper lip and his angular cheekbones that seemed to remind you that even the devil had been a beautiful angel once. You moved your hand close to his arm then realizing that you’d almost been about to touch him you quickly steeped back. “Taemin please wake up. Class is starting,” you said. 

“Be quiet.”

“Sorry, but the bell rang.” 

“So what? The soloist is just about to play. Don’t bother me.” He said, tucking his arms around his body tightly. 

Was that why he didn’t go to classes? So he could hear the music students playing in the room below? You didn’t know why the thought of him holding his education back bothered you so much but it did. “What if they hold you back a year for not attending so many classes? What will you do then?” You asked him.

“It’s none of your business whether I repeat a year or drop out of school or not. You said you weren’t trying to bother me right? Well, try a little harder. You can leave now.”

“But I was just-” Truthfully you just didn’t want to step into class alone and deal with all of his brothers as well as the other students and their gazes. Arriving every morning with the Hawthorns beside you didn’t seem to give you many friends. They were all either too scared of the brothers’ wrath or steaming with jealousy. Besides, maybe Taemin would thank you in the long run if he didn’t have to repeat a year.

“Let’s just go to class!” You told Taemin with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I’ll drag you over there myself if you don’t budge!” You pulled him playfully and he just looked at you a bit stunned that you’d touched him and that you hadn't run off so easily. 

“What are you doing?” He asked in a serious tone. Honestly I don’t know the answer to that myself.

“Taemin, please just stand up!” You said, pulling a bit harder. 

“You’re really persistent. You want me to go to class that bad?” He said, shaking his head.

“Yes. Because I want the person I’m choosing to share my blood with to do well in life.” I’m an idiot. Why would I say that?

“You’re really bothersome, to feel accountable for that is unnecessary.”

 “It’s not good for you to skip classes.”

“Okay, then.” He said, moving to sit up.

“You’ll go to class?” You said in surprise.

“Only if you kiss me.” He said, meeting your eyes.

“What?” You shouted, pulling away. 

“You didn’t hear me? It’s too much of a bother to say it again.”

“I… I did hear you but.”

“So you can’t do it?”

 “Absolutely not!”

“Then I’m not going. Please leave me here in peace. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Please don’t be so selfish,” you said. He’d closed his eyes again and was laying comfortably now, certain you wouldn’t bother him anymore. He was just trying to scare you off, he didn’t actually seem serious about it and knowing that seemed to only draw you further in. He was much less imposing than his brothers and you found yourself crossing over lines that really shouldn’t be tested when dealing with a man like him. Without giving it more thought you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. 

His eyes opened in surprise as he looked up at you. Then without a word, he got off the floor and pulled on his blazer. He paused at the rooftop door and said with a small smile, “You’re an awful kisser.” You blushed at that and then he was gone, leaving you completely stunned. It had almost been too easy. Not only had you gone and kissed him he’d actually kept his word. You shook your head and followed after him, glad that at least your little stunt meant you wouldn’t be alone today.

As the week went on you found that along with the time you spent in the Hawthorn Hill library, you had come to enjoy the luxurious baths you’d grown used to taking before bed. Your bathroom itself was as big as your room and the tub was large. The floor was marble and there were so many bottles of expensive soaps and bath salts that taking the time to draw the water and pick among them had become a very entertaining and relaxing part of your new daily routine. 

You’d filled the bath with hot water a few minutes earlier and after finding the perfect book to read in the library you went to your bathroom door only to hear classical music coming from inside. You open the door and sure enough, Taemin was inside sleeping in your tub.

“Taemin! What are you doing in my bathtub?” You shouted, taking in his clothed state. He was in the water fully dressed and dozing off you’d tried to avoid his eyes ever since the kiss on the rooftop but now you just stared him down. He made a slight moan in response and sunk deeper into the water.

“Wait!” You said, worried he’d hit his head on the side. You ran over and pulled him up so that his head was above water again. “Taemin, please wake up.” He gave a small hum to show he was listening and he opened his eyes, you frowned at him. If he was awake why was he acting all sluggish as if he was drunk.

“Oh, it’s you. Taemin said in a groggy tone “you look like the gatekeeper to hell.”

“Who are you calling a demon? You’re one to talk!” You said angrily.

“You’re making a face like a demon.” Taemin said, “Hungry eyes and lustful expression.”

“I’m not a demon! Please stop saying things like this. Anyway, don’t sleep in the bath. You’ll drown.”

“Lewd woman. Watch where you’re looking.” 

“What do you mean? You’re still wearing clothes.” You said with a blush. “It’s not like I came in here to look at you!”

“Then what’d you come here for?” He said with a smirk.

“To take a bath! But you have a bathtub in your room, so why’d you come here?”

“Don’t be so loud. My bath didn’t have hot water in it.”

You rolled your eyes “there won’t be any hot water if you don’t fill it up and use your own hands!”

“There was hot water in this bath when I came in here. So I got in.”

“Ugh,” you grunted in irritation. “Fill up your own bath. I’m going to take one now, so please get out!”

“You want me to get out? Fine. Then, why don’t you pull me out?”

Again with this. “What! Is it too much of a bother to get out of the bath yourself?

“Alright, then. I’ll just sleep in here. You can join me if you like.” He said submerging himself deeper into the water till his whole body was under.

 “Y-you’re sinking! You’ll drown!” You shouted. Which if you would have thought more on it was idiotic considering the fact that he was already dead and would probably just lose consciousness only to regain his breath again but your instinct compelled you more than reason in that moment and you pulled him up with all of your strength. You blushed deeper when you felt the hard lines of his body against your hands.

“What’re you freaking out for? And stop making noise in the bathroom; it echoes.” Taemin said. “It shouldn’t matter to you if I drown in here. Wouldn’t it actually be convenient? Don’t meddle.”

It’s like he doesn’t have the energy or will to live at all. “I chose you remember. It’d be a bother if you died. Besides, I want to take a bath too. But not in a bathtub somebody died in.”

“Right, well then pull me out so I don’t drown.” He said, moving his hand toward you. 

“Again with this? Honestly you and your brothers act like children.”

“Don’t make me say it again, it’s annoying. If you don’t want to do it, then get out of here. You’re being a nuisance.” 

You took his hand and proceeded to pull him out of the tub completely. Anything to get him to leave you in peace so you could have your bath you thought. He was soaking wet, his clothes clung to his body in a way that set your face aflame and you didn’t know where to look. 

“I’m so tired,” Taemin said, leaning his body against yours and laying his head on your shoulder. His body was pressed so closely to your own you were sure he could hear your thundering heartbeat. Droplets of water fell from his chin onto your chest and the warm steam in the air left you flustered. 

“Hey. P-please don’t lean on me.” You said, voice small again.

When he laughed you could feel the rumble of his chest from your proximity.  “Why are you blushing?” Taemin said as he moved your damp hair behind your ear. “So you were trying to see me naked.” His voice was low and his face was so close you could feel his breath mixed with the heat of the room. He smelled of expensive soaps and lavender. “You’re a pervert,” he whispered against your ear. A tremor went though your entire body as when he blew into your ear. He rested his forehead against yours and you stood so still, too stunned to move in that moment. 

“I… I’m not.” You finally said when you remembered how to speak. “Please don’t say weird things like that! I wasn’t trying to-”

“Then why is your face so red?” He laughed again and you realized that you were just a source of amusement for him and it made you angrier. “That kind of vulgar expression isn’t in alignment with your words.” He said, tilting your chin up. So what’ll you do now? Come onto me?”

“N… no, of course not.” You said looking away.

“Well,” He said, moving away from you to grab a towel he then proceeded to run it though his hair. “Do enjoy soaking in the leftover bath water as you fantasize about me.” With that last statement and a smile he left the bathroom and closed the door. 

“Why would you say that you conceded- Honestly!” You looked into the mirror to see your expression. Your face and ears were red just as you’d expected. You threw your clothes to the ground and sunk into the water. Your heart continued to pound as you took in the lingering scent of the room. The hot water against your skin sent a surge of pleasure through your body and as the music of Debussy filled the room and muffled your soft moans you prayed the walls didn’t really echo as loudly as he’d said.

After losing on purpose to another game of chess with Baekhyun you settled into your favorite armchair in the living room ready to read another book from the library until you noticed Taemin on a sofa nearby. You’d been avoiding him since your bathroom encounter yesterday but there was only so far you could go without bumping into him constantly. You debated what would happen if you went up to bed instead of staying but honestly you didn’t want to make things more awkward for yourself by leaving suddenly and you’d have to be around him tomorrow night for classes as it was. After all it was him who had barged into your room making accusations why should you be the one to leave.

You could see him shift his sleeping position from the corner of your eye. He was listening to music as usual and from the look of it he didn’t really seem asleep just absorbed in whatever was playing and as usual you broke first.

“Taemin? What are you listening to?” Even if it hadn’t worked when he’d been playing the piano before it would be nice if you could understand him a little more and talking with him about music did seem like the easiest way to go.

“That’s none of your business.” He said, opening an eye. 

 “But you looked so lost in it so I was curious. What kind of music is that?” You said determinedly. 

“You never quit, do you?” He said getting up and coming over to you. “If you want to know so badly, then here. Listen for yourself,” Taemin said handing you one of his earbuds. 

“Thank you,” You said. The second you placed one in your ear you regretted ever asking. You blushed a bright red at the moans coming from the music player. You quickly took it out and glared at him. “What is this?”

“It’s music. Wasn’t that obvious?” He said with a shrug. 

“That wasn’t music!” You said. It had been the sounds of a woman being pleasured and it made your head spin and wonder at whether it was just some X rated drama cd or the real thing that he himself had recorded. You shivered at the thought. You began to wonder if it was always things of this nature that he played when music wasn’t blaring from his earbuds. 

“It’s not really attractive to force your opinions onto other people.” He said in a serious tone. “The singing voice of a woman dancing in joy is almost as good as one of Stravinsky’s rondos. I don’t think it’s very polite to judge my taste.

Why did he have to make that sound so reasonable? 

“Whatever. I don’t care what you think of me.” He said going back to his sofa. 

“Taemin?” You said feeling a bit guilty at your outburst. Afterall, it had been you who had asked to listen to what he was playing; it wasn’t as if he’d forced it on you.  

“What? You still need something?” He said.

“Do you have any other, um… music tracks like these or is this one your favorite?”

“You still want to listen to it?” He said with a smile. “So you do like it.”

“N-no, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just curious where you got it since I haven't seen them sell these type of things in CD stores I’ve gone to before. Did you buy it online?” What am I doing playing dumb its not like he’d tell he if me made it himself or not and why am I even wondering about that it shouldn’t bother me. It’s not my business. 

“There’s several others I like, but… what I really enjoy is that innocent look on your face right now.” He said with a smirk before continuing, “You’re a curious one, why do you care so much about how I came to acquire it?”

“It’s perfectly normal to want to know! You’re the weird one!” 

“There you go again calling different tastes from your own weird.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s stupid to try and judge me using human standards.”

“I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight, Taemin.” Perhaps it was best just not to know. As you made your way up the staircase you heard him chuckle slightly. “What is it?” You asked, turning around.

“You were listening to this stuff right before bed. If you’re not more careful from now on dirty dreams will consume your sleep. I bet that’s what you’re hoping for tonight.”

“O-of course not!” Honestly why does someone so lazy  have to be so paradoxically good at teasing. He just seemed to love getting a rise out of your every time.

“You’re blushing again.” He said with a smile that had you gripping the banister railing tightly. “I suppose I was right then,” he said getting up and walking out of the living room. Damn that angelic face and those devious words. He always knew just what to say to take you out of your comfort zone. For someone so dead he didn’t have the right to make all of your senses come to life this way. 

[literary-spirit]

Chapter 5

The next day after first meal Bjorn, Torvi, and Bonnie cleaned out Rollo's old keep. The place was filthy. Rats the size of small puppies had made the place home and she wasn't entirely sure they weren't leaving without a knock down drag out. Aside from the rats, cobwebs and huge furry spiders dominated every crack and crevice in the structure. The situation was so dismal, she'd begun to have second thoughts. By the smug expression on Bjorn's face, she could tell he already knew she was about two seconds away from begging him to stay. Yet, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not even if she had to accept canine inspired rodents

and tarantula like spiders as her new housemates.

Once they removed most of the dry rotted furniture and she'd thoroughly scrubbed the wooden plank floors with the same lard soap they actually used to bathe with, Bjorn said they were done for the time being. Since several hours of sunlight still remained in the day, Bjorn opted to go fishing at the harbor, while Torvi went off to train with the keep's other shield maidens. Bonnie decided to remain behind to work on a spell that would transform the ingredients she gathered the day before into things needed for her hygienic care.

From the first incantation, she could tell something was off. To say something was different with her magic would've been an understatement. Kind of like calling the sun sort of hot. Yeah, she'd always been powerful, thanks to her lineage, but there was altogether a new level of potency to her sorcery. Even the aftereffect of her spell presented in a way it had never done before. This new development caused simple enchantments that had become second nature to her, to get all twisted. And after about an hour of dealing with the same results over and over again, the frustration was fucking real! She slapped some of the ingredients off the stone table.

Damn it! She hadn't had a bath in almost four days. Pretty soon, she would be looking and smelling like who did it and why the hell you let it happen. "Shit, I wish I had my L'Occitane Almond Shower Scrub Duo from home in my hands right now!"

A tingling sizzle tickled the palms before the body scrub duo materialized in her hands. Shock nearly drove her to drop the containers, but she recovered in time and placed them on the table. Holy hell? What is happening? She stared at the half-used bottles from her and Niklaus' master bathroom. How the hell did she conjure these? She wasn't a conjurer. But then again, did she really conjure them or wish for them? Wait! Then did that mean she'd somehow fucked over the immortal witch spell and now she was a got damn Jinn?! She didn't wanna be a Jinn!

Shit! Stay calm. She shouldn't panic and since Jinns couldn't make wishes themselves there's no way she could be one. Hell, she could prove she wasn't a Jinn and correct one of their latest fuck ups in the process.

She closed her eyes and whispered, "I wish I was home." Slowly, her lids lifted to reveal the same hovel she stood in before she closed her eyes. An ache cracked her chest wide, "I don't understand. Why am I here?"

"To save my sons," an imperious, but deferential voice said from behind her.

She spun around to find the Queen of Kattegat, standing in her little hole in the wall. "Queen Aslaug." Her head dipped in a bow.

"Please, do not bow to me. It is I who should bow to you," she swept down in a graceful bow. "The sorcery within demands that I must. The mystical energy that surrounds you overwhelms and amazes."

Not knowing what the hell else to say, Bonnie focused on the Queen's prior admission. "Why'd you say I'm here to save your sons?"

"Because it is the truth. I dreamt of you, before you arrived," Queen Aslaug moved around the stone table, eyeing the shower scrub duo as she went. Once in front of her she stopped and clasped hands with her. "Your presence balances the scales against the many calamities waiting to wreak havoc on us all. I've foreseen it."

"Queen Aslaug-," she began.

"Let us not provoke the gods by further talks of this nature," she squeezed Bonnie's hands before releasing them. "You should go sit by the water in the cove before second meal."

Bonnie grabbed her shower duo from the stone table and placed them in the now empty basket. "Well, I did wanna wash." She gathered her last day dress, which was stiff, rough, brown, and barely grazed her ankles. It, however, was clean.

"Then wash you must," Queen Aslaug cosigned. Her gaze darted around the keep, "Bjorn, informed me you'll be residing here." She turned back to face Bonnie. "I'd offer for you a bench in the great hall, but I believe you to prefer privacy over comfort."

Bonnie gripped the handle of the basket with both hands. "That's true."

Queen Aslaug nodded. "While you're gone, I'll have thralls come finish putting your keep to rights."

"Thank you," Bonnie said.

"It is the very least I can do," Queen Aslaug said before turning to leave.

****

After her shower under the waterfall Bonnie felt more like herself. Though she was still confused by all that had transpired since she fell backwards in time at least she'd gained some stability. Now she'd be able to start gathering the pieces and putting things together. Once she finished oiling her body she redressed and headed back into the woods. Not long into her trek she realized she was being stalked. The sun had begun to make its descent. She didn't have long before darkness fell and whatever stalked her attempted to turn her cakes into a meal.

She thought about making a run for it but every show she'd ever seen on animal planet cautioned to never willingly offer chase to a predator. Yet, she was a melanin gifted woman in a melanin challenged land, slasher flick rule numero uno demanded that she haul ass. Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

Bonnie released a harassed sigh. She neither wanted to get sweaty or bloody, "Look, you and I both know you're there so come on out. If you're gonna try and kill me you can at least face me before you carry out the deed."

A collection of seconds turned into a minute before she finally saw movement in the multiplying shadows. Moments later a shit ton of wolves varying in sizes and color inched forth on their bellies into the fading light of day.

 Each kept their heads resting on their front paws and their eyes downcast. A wolf the size of a small pony covered in golden white fur with a pair of crystal blue eyes 

continued to creep forward until his snout practically touched the toe of her shoe. Werewolves? In the Viking era? Of course, there are because no matter what the weird and freaky better known as the supernatural always seemed to know exactly where to find her! She was a fucking beacon for the strange and unexplained.

Bonnie squatted to trail her finger through the tufts of fur between his ears. "How are you all in your wolf forms when there hasn't been a full moon since I arrived. Either you're hybrid or cursed and since it'll be over another hundred years before the first hybrid is made, then you must be cursed." She trailed her hands over the length of the wolf's body. Though she sensed wild but potent magic, she didn't sense any dark energy it would take to invoke a curse. "Yet, I don't sense any dark magic." She stared into the wolf's eyes, "You fur babies must be something else altogether."

The wolf shimmered from canine to man, and then stood. One minute a gorgeous animal sat facing Bonnie, and the next all she saw was a slab of meat wearing a turtleneck of golden hair. She glanced up into a face that was cloaked in shadows by the light of the sun. For a moment, her next heartbeat refused to pound.

"Klaus?" She whispered.

A hand reached down to help her up. "I'm known as Ansel, Goddess."

"Ansel..." Wait, could he be..., "Why did you call me goddess?"

He laughed and the corners of his eyes crinkled the way Klaus' did when something genuinely amused him. "Because that is what you are, the Goddess of Twilight."

Her eyes popped. What in the Stephanie Meyer madness was he talking about? "E-excuse me who?"

"The prophecy foretold your arrival," Ansel said, still clasping her hand in his. "It was divined, your appearance would relink the descendants of Fenrir with their witchery lineage thereby affording us control over our shift."

This sounded like some sun and moon curse mumbo jumbo. Disregarding his nudity, she stepped closer. "Who spoke of this prophecy to you?" Maybe this person was a millennial throwback as well.

"We've always known of this foretelling," Ansel said, punching holes through the hope she'd managed to gather, "but the one who came before you did confirm the prophecy would come to past."

"The one who came before me?" She questioned, practically dripping desperation.

"Yes, the dark woman," Ansel answered, his eyes searching hers. "She lives deeper in the forest. Not many non-shifters venture that far into the woods. For those who have a mind to try, there are spells and curses in place to ensure no one unwanted reaches her."

"Ansel, I have to speak with her," she dropped her basket and covered both of their hands with her other, "Can you take me to her?"

His head bobbed. "Come," he knelt and picked up her basket, "it'll be quicker if you hoist yourself on my back."

****

By the time they made it to the tiny shack deep in the forest, night had fallen. Yet, the zillion twinkling stars in the black velvet sky were able to pierce the canopy of leaves and provide an adequate amount of light for Bonnie to see. Ansel placed her on the ground a foot or so away from the door of the shack. The familiar energy wafting from the keep embraced her. She knew this magic. This was the magic of her ancestors. It was Bennett magic. Her magic.

The cloth barrier to the dwelling shifted and out stepped Ayanna Bennett. 

She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, but she could've been older. Bonnie had come to know her well during her brief afterlife on the other side. "You have the look of my mother. I don't even have to sense it to know you're my own."

For the first time since she'd been dropped in the middle of time Bonnie broke. She tumbled into Ayanna's arms and fell to pieces.

"Help me," she whispered.

"You're the answer to all of our cries," Ayanna whispered next to her ear. "The Goddess of All would not have sent you to us lacking. Whatever is needed you already carry with you. Come, we have much to discuss."

Once inside, Bonnie sat on a wooden bench next to a stone alter.

Ayanna handed her a smoldering cup of tan liquid. "Drink, it's an herbal concoction meant to ease fits. It also aids in uncluttering your third sight." Without further urging, she sipped the tea. "Now, tell me all."

"It all started with this ancient evil and an immortal man willing to sacrifice his eternity to save his child," she began, "and the sacrifice his lover made so he wouldn't have to." For the next several hours Bonnie recounted the entire twisted tale of her and Klaus. By the time she was finished, she could barely keep her eyes open.

"So, why do you believe this Niklaus is the Viking to which the prophecy refers?" Ayanna questioned.

Bonnie laughed like Ayanna had out joked Kevin Hart. "Who else is of Viking descent and stronger than Klaus?"

"Who else indeed! Seems to me, all you have to do is march back to Kattegat and tap one of the many Vikings there on the shoulder. I wager any number of them is stronger than this Niklaus," she said, waving a hand as if she was waving off the very thought of Klaus. "And why would you want to form a mate bond with him? The same disrespectful dolt who places other witches over you in his regard. As if anyone other than a witch of our familial line could shoulder the burden of being the eternal witch."

Bonnie's eyes closed and remained so. "Did I mention Ansel's his father?"

"Ansel?"

Klaus' fathers name is the last thing Bonnie heard Ayanna speak before sleep claimed her.

****

"We have to get her back. The sons of Ragnar Lothbrok is ripping away the forest looking for her," Ansel's voice penetrated the thick fog of sleep that held her captive.

She heard a clucking sound, then Ayanna. "Calm yourself. They'll never make it past the first line of magic."

"That is what I'm trying to tell you, woman," Ansel bellowed. Frustration clear and plain in his tone, "they already have."

"What? How is that..." Ayanna's voice trailed off. "It's her. Her magic shields them. Why is this so?" A moment past, and then she felt Ayanna's lips at her ear. "You've learned many things on your spiritual voyage last eve. Things which must be considered. You have to return, Bonnie. For not only have you and your wolf achieved the goal you sought, but you've also attained so much more."

When next she opened her eyes, she was laying on a pile of fallen leaves and wildflowers. Her basket sat next to her head, while every last son of Ragnar stood staring down at her with varying expressions. Actually, everyone except Ivar who more or less leaned over her shooting her a unit inspired with nothing but ill intent.

"Um, good morning," she said, lacking anything of note to say.

****

"I thought you'd been raped and killed by Skogarmaors!" Bjorn yelled in her face as she drooped on a bench in the great hall.

Queen Aslaug's eyes rolled at Bjorn's antics,

 while his brothers peered on in silence. Their faces giving nothing away.

She had a banging headache and Bjorn was nowhere close to easing her pain. "I'm sorry, Bjorn. It wasn't my intention to worry you are your family."

"Ack! Loki take your intentions," He threw up his hands and turned away from her, "I have no worries for your intentions. For all I know they're harried paving a path to Helheim."

"Where were you, hmm?" Ivar questioned. His stare unwavering as always. "Your appearance speaks of you being sheltered from the elements. So, who sheltered you?"

"On my way back from the Cove I met someone in the woods. He told me some things that lead me to believe he knew someone who could understand the reason I've come to be here," she said, attempting to be as honest as she could without placing Ansel or Ayanna in danger.

"You said, he told you," Bjorn turned around to face her.

She gave him a slow nod, "yes."

"Name this man," Bjorn demanded.

Reluctantly, she shook her head. "I'd rather not."

"I've heard sagas of a dark woman dwelling in the deep of the forest," Ivar said, while his steady gaze tracked each expression that crossed her face. "Many have spoken tales of her being a witch."

Queen Aslaug laughed. "Ivar, halt with your tales of spirits and witches. You're being distressing."

"Did you allow yourself to be plowed by this man?" Sigurd asked, straight facing the hell out of her.

"Sigurd!" Queen Aslaug released a heavy sigh before taking a sip from her cup.

"What? I'm sure that was Bjorn's next line of questioning," he defended.

"No," Bonnie snapped, chopping Sigurd up with a unit meant to leave him DOA, "There was absolutely no plowing going on between me and this man." To her surprise, Bjorn exhaled a sigh that appeared to be motivated by relief. She stood and walked over to Bjorn. Placing a hand on his arm, she gazed up at him, "the only reason I followed him is for answers. That's all, Bjorn. I swear it upon our oath."

She watched the anger and tension drain from his face as he reached up to cup her cheek. "Did you learn anything?"

"No," she emphasized with a sad dejected shake of the head, "I was given some kind of herbal concoction while there and I fell asleep before finding out anything. When I awakened, you guys were standing over me."

"I'm sure in time you'll have your answers," he allowed his thumb to trace the path of her cheek before returning his hand to his side.

She gazed out the great hall door toward the forest and prayed to the mother of all he was right.

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ In WAR✘ and LOVE ♥ (Tomura Shigaraki) Everything You Hate

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slice of Life

Word Count: 3,292

Pairing: Reader x Shigaraki

World: Boku no Hero Academia

Prompt: “I love everything you hate about yourself.”

☂ R a i n d r o p from [@kyokosasagawa​] ➧➧ “Opps, sorry, didn’t notice that it had to be an open prompt! In that case can I request Shigaraki/Reader with “I love everything you hate about yourself”?”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You glanced at Shigaraki as he sat at the bar in his black hoodie, fake hand covering his face. Since you had first met him, he seemed to have retreated farther into his shell, despite your attempts to break through his insecurities. Honestly, you wondered if your efforts only made things worse, but you genuinely cared about him and only wanted to help him love himself.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen in love with the league’s leader, even though you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t. This only fueled you more, though, but he wasn’t having it. He always waved off your attempts and, as of last week, he now took to avoiding you if possible, speaking to you only when he had to and with a clipped tone.

You wondered if you had stepped over the line, but it felt inappropriate to ask him that, especially since he was never alone. He made sure he was never alone with you and when you asked if you could speak to him in private, he flat out told you no, which only got the other members of the league interested in why you needed to speak to the leader and why you couldn’t say it in front of them.

Today was your chance, though.

All of the members were out of the hideout, some on missions and others just screwing around, and you wanted to use this chance while you had it, but Kurogiri was still there, standing behind the bar and polishing the glasses as he did everyday. All you had to do was find some excuse to get rid of him.

‘Sounds easy enough,’ you smiled as you approached the bar, taking a seat a couple stools down from your leader. “Ne, Kuro-chan. When are you planning to go shopping again? Dabi ate all of my cocoa puffs.”

Kurogiri sighed as he set the glass on the counter, sending you a scolding look. “I told you two to stop fighting over the cereal.”

“He had the option to choose a cereal and he chose not to get one, that’s his fault.” You huffed, folding your arms across your chest. “But as soon as you returned home with them, he was more than happy to eat ours! He also ate Toga’s cinnamon toast crunch but she didn’t really care. When they were gone, she just ate Spinner’s lucky charms.”

For a moment, Kurogiri just stared at you as if waiting for you to tell him it was a joke, but your expression did not change. “If you wish, I will go and get some more later this afternoon.”

You chewed on your lip in frustration, glancing at the powder blue-haired male. His head was lowered, fingers resting against the glass of alcohol that he hadn’t even touched. His shoulders were slumped and you could see the deep frown set on his lips. He looked miserable.

Shaking your head, you turned back to the older male. “Would it be possible to go now? If Dabi finds out you got more, I won’t stand a chance. Pretty please~?”

He chuckled, putting his hand on his hip. “If you insist, but you must clean up the kitchen in my absence.”

Your eye twitched as you pictured the kitchen, pretty much destroyed after Toga tried to make pancakes based on a YouTube tutorial and Compress was supposed to be watching her, but he wasn’t and, well… the kitchen reflects that. “Uh… sure thing. It’ll be spotless!” ‘In like five years, maybe…’

Kurogiri opened a warp gate before pausing, his golden eyes shifting to the leader before back to you, lowering his voice. “Leave Shigaraki alone, Y/N.” And then he stepped through the gate, disappearing.

‘Sorry, Kuro-chan, but I just can’t do that.’ Taking a breath, you stood up and headed behind the bar to stand in front of Shigaraki. “Your drink is watery. Do you want me to get you a new one, boss?”

His shoulders visibly tensed at the sound of your voice so close to him, his fingers twitching around the glass. “No.”

You frowned, folding your arms on the bar top as you tried to see his face behind the hand. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Kurogiri gave you an order,” he muttered, turning his head away from you as he bit the inside of his cheek. Why did you keep trying to talk to him even though he clearly didn’t want to talk to you? It made no sense to him and he hated it. He hated how you looked at him, without an ounce of disgust within those beautiful eyes. You talked to him willingly, always kind and respectful to him. Always giving him a beautiful smile.

But that’s what you were to him – beautiful. You were like the sun, lighting up his bleak world whether he wanted you to or not. Always looking after him, making sure he was eating properly and not scratching himself too much. You also looked after the other league members, of course, but you always seemed to pay extra attention to him and his needs. It was like you knew when he was feeling stressed or upset, when he needed to be picked up or left alone.

Was he really such an open book to you? He didn’t like the way you made him feel, how vulnerable he was around you. It would be so much easier if you were just disgusted by his appearance, if you hated him for the monster that he was. And he truly believed that he was a monster in many different ways.

Shigaraki felt ugly, inside and out, his skin broken and cracked, like the dried ground in the desert. When he got overwhelmed, he scratched at his skin until it was raw and bloody. He believed that he was too skinny, his ribs standing out against his pale skin. He knew that he was emotionally inept, unable to offer what a normal human being could. He didn’t know how to act toward you and often found himself snapping at you, only to feel like a total ass afterward.

There wasn’t a single thing he could say that he liked about himself, but the list of things he hated was endless. But you didn’t share these sentiments. When you looked at Shigaraki, you saw his flaws, of course, but you found them to be beautiful. His flaws are what made him who he is, after all. Yes, he was full of flaws, but so were you, even if he didn’t believe so.

“I promise I’m going to get it done to his specifications, but I wanted to check on you first.” You smiled at him, but it was a bit sad. “Say… can I ask you something, boss?”

“What?”

“Am I… bothering you?” You wondered softly, using your nail to scratch at the black spot on the wooden bar top. “I don’t mean to, I just… I worry about you, you know? I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself to the best of your ability but I also don’t want to overstep or upset you.”

His lips parted, a shaky breath escaping him at your words. You worry about him? Why did that make his heart start to race within his chest? Why did he always experience this strange feeling whenever you were around? He hated it. “I don’t need your worry, just go do what you were told to do.”

You winced at his harsh tone, bowing your head. “Yes, sir. I apologize.” And then you scurried into away from him toward the kitchen, heaving a heavy sigh as you went. You had definitely overstepped and upset him, but how in the world would you fix it? Apologizing seemed to be the only thing you were capable of doing.

With your mood already dampened, you were unable to hold back the groan that bubbled up within your throat when you stepped through the door into the kitchen. Batter was slung everywhere, sticking to the walls and the ceiling like discolored slugs. It was burnt over the stove, blueberries mushed on the counter and fuzzy with the beginnings of mold. Glass was broken in the corner under the small round table, reflecting the dull yellow light above.

The sink was overflowing with dirty, crusty dishes and one of the chairs was missing its leg, which you found stuffed in the fridge behind the cartoon of lumpy milk. You didn’t even know where to begin and you were fairly certain that there was a rat lurking somewhere, its little squeaks breaking you from your thoughts at intermittent intervals.

After a small internal debate, you decided to start on the dishes, pulling them from the sink and onto the counter so you’d have room to wash them properly. With the small amount of soap available, you doubted you would be able to get through all of them before the soap ran out, so you sent a quick message to Kurogiri letting him know that you would need more.

As you got to work, you hummed a soft tune that you had learned by watching an anime called My Otome, a beautiful song known by the chosen three. Unbeknownst to you, Shigaraki had followed you to the kitchen, hiding in the shadows beyond the doorway, his red eyes trained on you, following your every movement.

There was so much he wanted to say to you, but he was unable to form the words and even if he were able to, he knew he would be unable to speak them aloud. He could could watch you from the shadows as he had since the day he met you, wishing that you could be his but knowing that someone so dark could never have someone so bright.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You stifled a yawn as you stepped into the bar, your body sore and tired after a week-long mission. You were thankful to be back home and you couldn’t wait to crawl under your blanket and get some much needed sleep.

“It’s about damn time you got back,” Dabi drawled, turning his icy blue eyes to you when you entered. He was lounging on the dirty old sofa, his boots crossed on the coffee table.

You quirked a brow, offering him a smile. “Aw, did you miss me, Dabs?”

“Hell no,” he smirked. “But handy man clearly did.”

“Eh?”

“He locked himself in his room as soon as you left and hasn’t come out since.”

“He’s been in there a week?” You frowned, turning toward Kurogiri, whose golden eyes met yours. “Has he eaten anything?”

“I’m afraid not,” the villain responded with a shake of his head. “He has refused to eat.”

“Will you make him something? I’ll see if I can’t get him to eat it.” Rather than waiting for a response, you headed toward his bedroom with your heart hammering in your chest. There was no light coming from underneath his door and, when you pressed your ear to the door, there was no sound coming from within. Your knuckles rapped on the wood to get his attention. “Boss? I’ve returned from my mission… if you’ll let me in, I can give you my report on what happened.”

Silence.

Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, attempting to turn it, but it was locked. You rapped your knuckles on the door again, raising your voice. “Boss, please open the door.” You caught movement from the end of the hall and you noticed Kurogiri approaching with a plate of food. “You have to eat something. I have some food for you.”

Without a word, Kurogiri handed you the plate before slipping away silently.

“Boss~ Please?” You rested your forehead against the wood for a moment, hearing shuffling behind the door. Finally, you sighed and pulled away, turning away from the door, but you only made it a few steps before you heard the clicking of the lock, the door creaking as it opened enough for you to see him.

Shigaraki was paler than normal, dark bags beneath his tired eyes. His stomach was growling loudly, making him wince as his eyes fell on the plate of food, the smell wafting to his nose.

You offered him a warm smile, unable to keep the worry from your eyes as you handed him the plate. “Here, Kurogiri just made it. Can I get you anything?”

He said nothing as he took the plate from your hands, turning on his heel to go farther into the dark room, leaving the door open. You hesitated, wondering if it would be okay to follow him inside, but since he hadn’t closed the door, you assumed that he was okay with it. Stepping inside, you squinted against the darkness, closing the door behind you.

He flopped onto the small red couch, the springs squeaking under his weight as he did so. The small TV across from him was casting a soft white light onto him, making it seem like he was glowing in the darkness. He didn’t even look your way as you cautiously approached him, settling down onto the couch.

“Would it… be okay if I give you my report?” You wondered softly, glancing at the TV screen, where the pause screen of a fighting game sat, waiting for him to return to it. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the food, and you proceeded to tell him about your recon mission and the information that you had obtained.

Though he heard you speaking, the words didn’t really register with him. He was just happy that you were back home, safe and sound. He was happy that he could be near you again, hear your voice and feel the heat of your body. He felt so much lighter with you back at his side, as if you were meant to be there.

“…it almost got hairy, but I was able to stop him in the end. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the files that we were looking for, but we did find a new lead. I sent it to Kurogiri and he has Spinner out tracking it down now.”

He realized that you were looking at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction or orders, but he hadn’t heard a word that you had uttered to him, too focused on his own jumbled thoughts and feelings.

You frowned at his silence, reaching your hand out, only to hesitate. You knew he didn’t like being touched, but you needed him to know that you were there for him. With a sense of determination that might see you killed, you rested your hand over his, making his body tense up and freeze in place. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been locked in this room for a week and not eating,” you scowled. “That’s super unhealthy and -”

“Why?” He repeated, lips tugged downward as his red eyes met yours, clouded with confusion and annoyance and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Why do you care?”

“Because I -” you clamped your lips shut, feeling your cheeks heat up as you realized that you had almost confessed. Not only would he not accept your feelings, you figured he would be pretty upset at the confession, mostly because he wouldn’t know how to properly handle it. “You mean a lot to me, boss. I’d hate for anything to happen to you!”

Despite himself, he felt heat rush to his cheeks and he quickly moved his head so you couldn’t see, not that you could in the low light anyway.

You could feel his hand shaking beneath yours and you tightened your grip, sliding your hand into his but he jerked away, nearly jumping off of the couch. The plate clattered to the ground but didn’t break, thankfully.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” He growled, eyes wide and wild.

You winced at his harsh tone. “I’m sorry, boss.”

“Shut up!” He cried, his body shaking. “Who the hell do you think you are? Coming into my life and making me feel like this. Caring about me, looking after me. Do you pity me? Feel sorry for me? Tell me why!”

“It’s not like that at all!” You jumped up, meeting his gaze. “I don’t pity you, boss, I respect you! After everything you’ve been through, you keep moving forward. You have a goal and you chase that goal without stopping. Sure, you have setbacks and you sure, you get deterred sometimes, but you always get back on track. I care because I… I’m in love with you, Tomura.”

His brow furrowed, eyes shaking with disbelief and pain as he turned his gaze to the ground. “Love me? Don’t play with me! As if anyone could ever love me. As if someone like you could ever love me…” His hands shook as they reached for his neck, nails digging into his skin.

“Stop that,” you scolded, grabbing his hands and forcing them away.

“Don’t touch me, idiot! You know I can’t…” He pictured using his power on you by accident, watching the life leave your eyes as you crumbled before him and that made his heart squeeze tightly, painfully within his chest. If he hurt you, he would never be able to forgive himself.

“I trust you,” you stated calmly, resting your hands over his. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me, but I’m in love with you and I will tell you every single day until you do believe me. It’s okay if you don’t return my feelings, I never expected you to, but I will still be here by your side, taking care of you and watching over you.”

Shigaraki clamped down hard on his bottom lip as tears stung at his eyes, lowering his head so you wouldn’t be able to see. What was this warmth blooming in his chest? He hated it, but… he also didn’t want it to stop.

You smiled warmly, taking his face between your hands, using your thumbs to brush away his tears. “Look at me.”

He shook his head, trying to control the tears streaming down his cheeks, but he couldn’t seem to make them stop.

“Tomura.”

His eyes widened, snapping to yours. While he couldn’t identify the emotions lingering within your eyes, he could feel the warmth you were radiating and even if he didn’t fully believe them, he knew that you were being honest, genuine. You meant every single word you said to him.

Shigaraki did not deserve you. He wasn’t good enough for you, wasn’t good enough for the light and warmth you provided. That’s what he told himself, tried to convince himself, but…

“Tomura Shigaraki, I love everything you hate about yourself.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him, but he threw himself into your arms, nuzzling his face into your neck, his tears soaking into your shirt. You threaded your fingers through his matted hair, using your other hand to rub circles into his back. Your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered to him, telling him that everything would be okay. His hands clutched at your shirt as he tried to get a hold of his emotions, to understand them.

It would take a while before he could do so, but you would be there, patiently waiting for him to sort out his feelings and you would never stop loving him. And he would never stop craving your warmth and touch. Even if he never figured it out, as long as you were by his side, that’s all he cared about.

Tomura Shigaraki would literally destroy the world for you, and you’d do the same.

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[dragon-kazansky]

A rose in shadows - Chapter three

Chapter 3 - The other Holmes

"Will your beard be with us all night?" John asked his dear friend.

Sherlock and John got into the car, such a thing being very new to world at this given time. It ran smoothly, so there weren't any complications on the journey.

"I'll remove it once we're south of Trafalgar Square." Holmes replied.

"If you believe Moriarty has you under observation, isn't this a bit conspicuous?"

"It's so overt, it's covert."

The engine on the car backfires as it trudges down the road. Sherlock had full confidence in his disguise. As they pass by Trafalgar Square, John states that Sherlock MUST be safe now. Sherlock removes the beard and looks at his friend.

"Why are you looking at me with such concern?" Watson asks, having glanced at his friend in return.

"I'm so very worried. Your vitality's been drained from you. Marriage is the end, I tell you."

"I think of it as the beginning." John says fondly.

"Armageddon."

"Rebirth."

"Restriction."

"Structure."

"Answering to a woman."

"Being in a relationship." John glances at Sherlock. "You must understand that? Y/N and yourself are in one." He does his best to focus on the road, but the questions do flood his mind as he sits there with his best friend. "Do you not wish to marry her?"

Sherlock says nothing as he stares ahead.

"Holmes?"

"It's complicated."

"Did something happen?"

"No. Should it have?" Sherlock turns to John, his tone of voice as perky as ever. There didn't seem to be anything different about Holmes, but when you have known him as long as John has, you know what to look for in Sherlock.

"Something has."

"I told you. It's complicated."

"Sherlock-"

"So, we'll have a good old-fashioned romp tonight. You'l settle down, have a family, and I'll... die alone."

"Is it that bad?" John asks. "What did you do?"

"Me? What makes you say such a thing?" Sherlock wasn't at all offended. He just liked being dramatic sometimes.

"Isn't it always you." It wasn't a question.

Sherlock didn't say any more on the matter. He didn't feel like John needed to know. This was his problem. His alone. He could deal with it. He would fix it.... maybe.

"Perhaps it's better for one to die alone than to live life in eternal purgatory." Sherlock says, once the car has come to a stop. John looks at him, shakes his head and then climbs out. "Anyway..." Sherlock also hops out.

"Not bad, that." John says, nodding at the car. "So, where are we going?"

"In the future, there'll be one of those machines in every town in Europe." A third voice speaks up from the shadows, right beside where Sherlock stood. He steps out, placing a top hat on his head as he faces his brother.

"Loitering in the woodshed again, are we, Myccie?" 

"Good evening, Sherly. Well. I see your boot-maker is ill, dear brother." Mycroft begins to walk away, the other two follow.

"As I detect that you've recently changed the brand of soap with which you shave." Sherlock points out.

"May I point out that the chimney in he front room at Baker Street is still in need of damn good sweeping up?" Mycroft mentions.

"Were you aware that the Hackney carriage by which you arrived had a damaged wheel?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes, the left. And it's plain to the meanest intelligence that you have recently acquired a new bow for you violin."

"Same bow, new strings." Sherlock corrects.

"I'm surprised she hasn't left you yet." Mycroft looks his brother in the eyes with an almost amused expression. Yet, Sherlock doesn't seem to react to that.

John looks mildly confused for a moment.

"Why would she?"

"Because you're doing a terrible job, brother."

"That's getting rather repetitive around here." Sherlock still didn't have a very outward reaction. John decided to step in before this could escalate. It was far obvious by now that they were talking about you and that Sherlock really didn't want to.

"And may I deduce, Mycroft- good evening, by the way." John goes to shake his hand, but Mycroft is quick to put a stop to that. John lowers his hand.

"He doesn't." Sherlock told him.

"May I deduce that you, who rarely strays from the path that runs from your home to the Diogenes Club, and never on a Monday when they serve your favourite potted shrimps, must be here for some far more important reason than my stag party?"

"You know, he's nothing like as slow-witted as you'd been leading me to believe, Sherly. No, you're quite right, Dr. Watson,  but with all the conflict in Europe at the moment, the whole situation could... suddenly erupt. I am here to avoid a dire catastrophe. If the concerns of two nations- which shall remain nameless, but I can tell you they speak French and German- are not dealt with tonight, I shall be forced to go to Switzerland to attend the ghastly peace summit in Reichenbach. The worst thing about Switzerland us the altitude." Mycroft walked on.

John faced Sherlock.

"I'm so glad you invited your brother." Watson sighs.

Meanwhile, back at the flat, you were sitting with Mrs. Hudson at her kitchen table. You were busy reading silently. Mrs. Hudson was sitting opposite you, she glanced your way every moment or so, but you didn't say anything.

"You should be out enjoying yourself, dear."

"Me? It's John and Mary's wedding, not mine." You give her a tight lipped smile, but you knew it wouldn't fool her.

"You could do so much better." She sighs.

"I know." You mutter under your breath. "My problem is that I don't want better, I want him..."

You gaze down at your left hand. A few months ago there was a ring sitting there. Sherlock has asked you to marry him shortly after everything that happened last year, and things were great for a while.... but the more he dived into his case with Moriarty, the more neglected you began to feel. Soon enough Sherlock was pushing you away. He ate less, drank things no human should ever be drinking as if it were alcohol, muttering things to himself, ignoring your requests to assist him and then forgetting your presence entirely. You only stayed now.... because you were holding onto hope.

"Y/N..."

Mrs. Hudson couldn't really do anything to help, but you were glad she was there.

"Shall I make us another cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely."

She gets up to see to it. You stare at the pages of the book in front of you, no longer able to absorb it's contents. Your mind was too busy and loud to focus on anything else.

You still had hope.

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