#wash specifically is more window of the waking mind

[peachybutch]

i need y'all to know that in my heart everything i write is a little bit a songfic. there is a song in every story i write. and sometimes i write the song! but usually it was claudio sanchez

[forwhomthewordsflow]

Sleeping Conditions

steve harrington x fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: established relationship, some allusions to smut, reader has breasts, fluff, fluff, more fluff, some anxiety

author's note: i felt the need to validate my own specific sleeping conditions with this little blurb that ended up being longer than expected...we're not high maintenance! we just wanna sleep!

word count: 2.6k

The weatherman had jovially warned the city of Hawkins this morning about a bit of rain that was supposed to roll in later on in the evening.  A slight drizzle, just enough to water the grass but nothing to worry about.

Except, the weatherman seemed to have underestimated today’s weather, because you were currently sat down on the couch at your boyfriend’s house watching the torrential downpour that was occurring outside his living room window. 

Normally, this would be cause for celebration.  An impromptu sleepover at Steve’s house! Yay!

But you were not celebrating, no.  You were sort of freaking out, actually.

You’re able to fully recognize how strange it is for someone to have such specific sleeping conditions in the way that you do, but what are you supposed to do?  It’s the only way you can really get a good night’s rest!

In your perfect world, you’re in your room where the thermostat is set at 69.  There is not one light source in sight, you even make sure to throw a t-shirt over the tiny light on your alarm clock.  Alone in your completely pitch black room, you’re able to sleep comfortably in just a pair of comfy panties.  You love the way your two blankets, duvet, and jersey sheet set feel on your bare skin. 

 In order for you to be able to fall asleep the pillow under your head has to be just right, you have to have a slightly flatter pillow parallel to your body, your smallest blanket has to be tucked between your legs in a specific way, and the blankets have to be adjusted based on how hot or cold you feel on that particular night.  

When plans are made for you to sleep somewhere else, you always make sure to bring your two pillows and your smallest blanket, but you still can’t seem to sleep that well unless you’re really tired. 

It’s really a lot.

So naturally, with all of this in mind, you’re freaking out about having to stay the night at Steve’s house tonight. 

You love him, you really do, but your relationship with him is still relatively new.  You’ve only spent the night together a handful of times, and those nights of sleep for you were always aided by the effects of one too many drinks at the Hideout with friends or a passionate night of lovemaking. 

You’ve never had a normal night in with Steve before.

And he is so excited about it.

Steve’s been craving any ounce of domesticity with you that he can get.  Sure, he’s made you romantic dinners before and you’ve come over for movie nights a bunch of times, but it’s never been just a normal sleepover.

He can’t wait to watch you go through your night routine, to cuddle up with you in bed as you both fall asleep, and then to wake up to you tomorrow morning.

He was all too excited to alert you to the fact that you wouldn’t be able to drive home safely tonight, and that you’d most likely have to stay the night with him.

-

You’re thankful Steve hasn’t noticed how anxious you’re becoming as the night goes on, because he’s so sweet that you could cry.

He watched you through the mirror as you brushed your teeth together side by side.  

The huge grin on his face made it hard for him to get to his back teeth, but he’d gladly sacrifice one night of dental hygiene for you any time. 

He sat on the toilet and gazed adoringly at you as you washed your face and brushed your hair.  

Steve was happy that the travel sized toiletries he’d purchased for you a couple weeks ago were being put to use.

You took a longer time than you normally would in an attempt to delay the inevitable, but Steve was on an opposite mission.

When you were finished in the bathroom, Steve ran into his bedroom to fix up his bed and lay out a t-shirt for you to sleep in. 

You stood there nervously, holding the t-shirt in your slightly shaking hands.  You know you won’t be able to sleep in this, but would Steve be comfortable with you sleeping practically naked?  He might take it as a sign that you want to have sex or something, but you’re feeling much too anxious to get into that headspace right now.  

Steve notices you standing at the foot of his bed, staring down at his faded Hawkins Athletics t-shirt in your hands.

“Everything okay, baby?”

Your head shoots up to meet his eyes, quickly trying your best to wipe the upset look off of your face.  You nod your head and smile over at Steve.  

Steve shoots you a warm grin, he’s not convinced that you’re totally fine, but he’s assuming you’re just a little nervous about the storm or staying the night with him.  

You retreat back into his bathroom to change out of your clothes and into his t-shirt, which Steve finds a little odd.  He’s seen every square inch of your body, and you’ve certainly changed in front of him before, but he shrugs and goes back to fluffing his pillows for you.  

Meanwhile, you’re taking comfort in the smell of Steve on his shirt, holding it up to your nose and taking deep breaths over and over hoping to calm yourself down.

So what if you can’t sleep tonight?  You’ve definitely survived through sleepless nights before.

But Steve would definitely notice if you couldn’t sleep.  He’s so caring and attentive.  

That means that he’ll be awake worrying about why you’re not asleep, which keeps him from getting any sleep, and then you’ll both just be awake and miserable all night long.

Maybe you should just pretend to fall asleep until he actually falls asleep.  

You’re startled by a gentle knock on the door.

“Sweetheart?  I’ve got the bed ready for us.”

You take one more deep breath, exiting the bathroom to envelope Steve in a tight hug around his chest.

He stumbles back a bit at the force of your affections, but is quick to wrap his strong arms around you with a warm chuckle into your hair.

“Ready for bed?” he asks you.

You sigh into his chest.  “As I’ll ever be.”

-

After half an hour of cuddling with Steve, you’ve given up on all attempts to get comfortable.

It’s not that you weren’t comfortable in Steve’s arms, far from it.  The feeling of his naked chest rising and falling against your back and his thick arms surrounding you was possibly the only thing keeping you from crawling out of your skin at the moment. 

Steve’s felt your irregular breathing and squirming for the past ten minutes, but he didn’t want to distract you just in case you were on the cusp of falling asleep.  It was the slightly irritated sigh you let out that let him know that something was wrong.

You knew you shouldn’t have sighed like that, but you couldn’t help it.  The pillow under your head wasn’t right, the blanket on your legs was too warm, and you could feel the tag on Steve’s t-shirt resting at the back of your neck.  You felt Steve’s arms tighten just a bit around you, you had hoped he’d been asleep.

“Hey, you okay?” he whispers into your ear.

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m okay,” you answer, “just trying to get comfy.”

You feel Steve rise to one elbow behind you and you turn your head to look up at him as he clicks on the lamp on his nightstand.

“What can I do to help?”

The sweet, adoring look on his face is what causes the dam to break, and your eyes fill with tears.

Steve is instantly alarmed, rushing to hold your face gently in one of his big hands.

“Baby, baby,” he coos, “Hey, what’s wrong, huh?”

You roughly wipe your face with the heels of your palms, and let out a trembling breath.

“It’s nothing, Steve.  Let’s just go to bed, okay?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow together as he frowns down at you.  “Baby, I’m sorry but something’s obviously wrong.  Tell me what it is so I can fix it.”  He brings his hand back up to your cheek and lets his thumb stroke your skin back and forth soothingly.  You decide to let it all out.

“It’s just that–I can’t sleep here.”

Steve looks at you confused.  “I–you’ve slept here before, right?”

“I mean, yes, but also no.  It’s all so complicated Stevie.”

He sees that your walls are starting to come down with the use of your favorite pet name for him.  He loves when you call him Stevie, it’s only when you’re being soft and sweet with him that you use it.

“Just tell me what’s bothering you, baby, please.  Maybe I won’t think it’s so complicated.”  Steve strokes the hair next to your ear and speaks to you in his lower, warmer, sleepy voice.  It’s like a balm to all of your worries.

“I have these very specific sleeping conditions at home.  If it’s not just right, then I can’t sleep.”

Steve nods his head.  “What kind of conditions are we talking about?”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to lay it all out on the table in front of Steve, hoping and praying that he doesn’t think that you’re some kind of high maintenance freak when it’s all over.

“I can’t sleep with a shirt on, it feels weird on my skin.  And I can’t sleep without my pillows from my bed.  Or my blanket between my legs.  And I feel all hot and itchy and it’s usually so cold and dark in my room.”  You’d been ranting while making an effort to not meet Steve’s eyes, worried at what you might see there.  When you finally do look at him, he’s hard to read.

“I know it’s a lot and it’s probably too much and I’m probably too much and-”

You're interrupted by Steve placing his pointer over your lips to silence you.  The firm stare he’s fixing you with commands of your attention.

“First of all, you are not, ever too much.  I can handle anything you throw at me, baby.  I swear.”

The edges of your lips quirk up in the beginnings of a smile, Steve takes his finger from your lips and goes back to holding the side of your face.

“Why didn’t you tell me about all of this before we laid down?”

You huff softly and look away, embarrassed to have been so scared to tell him about your anxieties when he’s obviously the greatest, sweetest, most understanding boyfriend on the planet. 

“I guess I was just nervous that you’d think I was high maintenance.”

Steve scoffs.  “You’re saying this to the guy who used to wake up an hour earlier for school in the mornings so that he could do his hair every day.”  Steve playfully growls into your neck when he says this, and you can’t hold back your giggles.

He looks at you, still stroking your hair, and smiles before planting a kiss on your lips and pulling away with a ‘mwah.’

“What can we do to make it better, hm?”

You think for a bit, and then sheepishly ask, “Would it be okay if I slept without my shirt?”

Steve blushes and blinks at you a few times, shocked that you’d even feel like you had to ask.

“Of course, baby.  I’d never say no to that, c’mon now.”  You both sit up, giggling softly as he helps you take your his shirt off.  Steve seems to be trapped in a daze, his eyes glazing over as he takes in all of your newly naked skin.

“What’s next?” he slurs, still staring at your chest.  You laugh and playfully shove his shoulder, breaking him out of his trance.

You look around at the bed and his room, biting your lip while you think of how else to make yourself more comfortable. 

“Do you have any extra pillows maybe?” you ask, bringing your knees to your chest and resting your chin on top of them.

Steve does a quick survey of his room, then remembers that he might’ve seen some in his closet.  He darts out of bed and makes his way over to his closet to search for them.

You take this opportunity to bask in the love you have for him.  In the warm light of his lamp, you watch as the muscles of his upper body flex and ripple while he rummages through his closet.  You can’t believe that this beautiful man is not only yours, but that he’s going through all of this effort just to make sure you can sleep comfortably with him in his bed.  You’re so unbelievably lucky.

Steve turns around to triumphantly hold up two pillows for you to inspect.  

“Which one?” He asks. 

“Both, if that’s okay.”  He nods and hurries back over to the bed, pillows in hand.  You take one and place it on top of the one you had been laying on, trying to copy the fullness of your pillow at home.  You take the second pillow and place it between your legs, for your right leg to rest on top of.  You’d always loved sleeping on your side, but hated the feeling of your thighs sticking together.

Steve tries to be good, but he can’t help himself from watching your naked breasts move while you readjust the pillows to your liking.  He feels a warmth in his chest as he observes you making yourself comfortable in his bed, and he wishes for many, many more nights like this.  

You adjust the blankets around your leg so that your leg isn’t completely covered, and you finally lay down with a huff.  

“Better?” Steve asks as he leans over to turn his lamp off.  He’s happy to slide behind you once again, relishing in the feel of your bare skin on his.

“I think so.”

Everything is fine, really.  It’s just that the pillow in between your thighs keeps slipping away.  Ugh.

“You think so?” Steve tickles your side with his fingers, he loves the sound of your girlish giggles.

“It’s just the pillow between my legs.  It won’t stay put.”

Steve takes a breath, assessing the situation.  He doesn’t really have any other throw blankets lying around, and he makes a mental note to buy some more before the next time you come over.  Then, he gets an idea.

“Can I try something?”

You turn your head towards him and nod, curious about what his idea is.

Steve takes the pillow from your legs and pulls it out from under the comforter, tossing it at the end of the bed.  He then grabs your right thigh and lifts it a bit.  You begin to question his plan, but then you feel the warmth of his right thigh sliding between yours.  Steve hikes his knee up a little higher on the bed, so that his thigh fits snuggly in between your legs.  

“Oh,” you say, cheeks heating up at the feeling of his thick, muscular thigh against your core.

You adjust your hips a bit, and then at last relax into Steve’s embrace, comfy at last.

Steve laughs smugly, “Is that alright?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, smiling and already feeling sleepier by the second.

“Goodnight sweetheart,” Steve whispers into your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“G’night Stevie,” you reply.

The last thing you feel before drifting off into dreamland are Steve’s arms tightening around you, holding you as you sleep soundly all through the night.

taglist <3

@josephquinnsfreckles @the-fairy-anon @anukulee @yujyujj @littlebebebunny @meetmeatyourworst @lalalala-melmosworld @someantics

[luvfy0dor]

Soft Touches 'Nd Stuff ♡⁠˖

Warnings; Suggestive, cursing in a/n, I still only write specifically for BSD, my friends suggested characters from other fandoms, so credit to them; @ilovechuuy4 and @yaeeko and others not on tumblr

Description; Sleepy morning affection ;3

Imagine laying in your bed with the sunrise visible through your window, dying the sky a pretty wash of pink, oranges and yellows all blended together. Your boyfriends arms are wrapped around your waist with his head burrowed in the crook of your neck and his chest rising and falling against your back. You mindlessly kept your eyes fixated on the rising sun while you waited for him to wake up, taking deep and steady breaths and basking in the peace and silence. Five minutes passed before you could feel his hand rub from your waist to your thigh and his breath on your neck, making you nearly shiver. "Mm.. goodmorning." He whispered, his voice scratchy from sleep. He momentarily rolled onto his back to stretch, kicking you while he stretched his legs and took on a starfish position. Once he felt physically refreshed, he curled right back up to you and kissed your cheek. "Goodmorning." You reply, reaching back to entangle your hand in his hair. "I had the funniest dream about you, last night.." he whispers with an audible grin, and his hands slide down your tummy to your abdomen. You let out a sigh, feeling his ticklish fingers against your skin. "Yeah? Was it really funny?" You ask, a little skeptical. He laughs under his breath and shakes his head. "Maybe not funny, but definitely fun." He leans forward to kiss along the back of your neck, his fingers hooking around the waist band of your pajama bottoms. "Can I show you what we did?" His voice sent more shivers down your spine, squirming in place and nodding. "Mhm.." you let his hands into your pants, feeling them start to touch you where others never had, and never would so long as he gets a say. His excitement was evident as you grinded your ass against his hips needily. "Perfect. When I'm done with you, you'll be glad I decided to tell you about it, sweetheart."

→ Dazai, Chuuya, Nikolai, Tachihara, I wrote this w/ Fyodor in mind but idrk, Belphie, Mello, Heizou, Kaeya, Tartaglia, Wriothsley, Alhaithem, Oikawa, Gojo, Jean, Gallagher, Blade, Boothill, Sampo, Aventurine, Argenti nd your favs!!

A/n; hey chat sorry for the disappearance!! I had to take the AP World History Exam today!! It wasn't terrible to be quite fair!!! (it wasn't a cold war leq like I desired) (what the fuck was that dbq) (I'm going to kill myself) (not seriously obviously)(update from August chat i got a 5 im so dramatic)

[girlkisser13]

daylight

"and i can still see it all (in my mind)" "all of you, all of me (intertwined)" "i once believed love would be (black and white)" "but it's golden (golden)"

pairings: addison montgomery x fem!reader

warnings/tags: slight angst but mostly fluff.

summary: addison’s in love with you.

the seattle rain drummed against the hospital windows, a rhythmic backdrop to the chaotic symphony within. addison stood in front of the or board, scanning the names and cases, but her mind was miles away. specifically, it was in the warm, inviting space that you occupied in her heart.

the day had been relentless, filled with back-to-back surgeries and consultations, but none of it compared to the emotional turmoil she felt every time she saw you. the brief moments you stole together were the highlights of her day, yet each encounter was shadowed by the unspoken tension of addison's crumbling marriage to derek and mark's obvious feelings for her.

"addie," a voice pulled her back to reality. she turned to see mark, his usual cocky grin in place. "lunch?"

"not today, mark," she replied, forcing a polite smile. she turned on her heel, heading down the hall towards a quieter part of the hospital where she knew you would be.

she found you in the lounge, sipping coffee and staring out at the rain. her heart ached at the sight of you, making it almost hurt to breathe.

"hey," she said softly, stepping inside. you looked up, your eyes lighting up briefly before dimming with some internal conflict.

"addison," you greeted, your voice steady, though your eyes betrayed the turmoil within. "shouldn't you be with derek?"

she winced at the mention of her estranged husband. "derek and i... it's complicated."

"it always is," you replied, standing up. "but you still have him. and mark... he clearly has feelings for you."

"mark and i are just friends," she insisted, stepping closer. "and derek... derek and i are over. we just haven't figured out the logistics yet."

you shook your head, stepping back. "addison, i can't be the reason you don't go to either of them. i won't do that to you. or to myself."

"y/n," addison's voice broke, a desperate edge to it. "you have to understand. ever since i met you, i haven’t been able to think about anyone else. i haven’t even looked at anyone else since we’ve met. i don't want to think about or look at anyone else now that i’ve seen you. my life used to be in black and white, you brought the color."

tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at her, the sincerity in her words cutting through your defenses. "addison, i..."

"no," she interrupted, taking your hands in her own. "listen to me. i've made mistakes, so many mistakes. but loving you? that's not one of them. you’re the reason i wake up every morning with a smile. you’re the person i want to come home to. please, don't push me away because of derek or mark. they don't matter to me. you do."

you felt the walls you had built around your heart begin to crumble. "addison, this isn't fair to anyone. least of all to you."

"fairness doesn't matter," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "love does. and i love you, y/n. more than i've ever loved anyone."

you searched her eyes, finding only truth and vulnerability there. with a trembling breath, you nodded. "i love you too, addison. i always have."

she pulled you into a tight embrace, the weight of your shared feelings lifting as you held each other. in that moment, nothing else mattered. not derek, not mark. just the two of you and the rain outside, washing away the past, making way for a brighter, more colorful future.

you both stood there for what felt like an eternity, the world outside ceasing to exist. when you finally pulled apart, addison gently cupped your face, her thumb brushing away a stray tear.

"what do we do now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"we take it one step at a time," she replied, her tone resolute. "i'll talk to derek, make it official. and mark... i'll handle mark. but you and me, we start now. no more hiding. no more pretending."

you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "okay. but i need you to promise me something."

"anything," she said, her heart pounding.

"promise me that no matter what happens, we'll face it together. i won’t let you do this alone."

her eyes softened as she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "i promise. together, always."

as the two of you left the lounge, hand in hand, the rain continued to fall, but it no longer felt like a barrier. instead, it was a cleansing force, washing away the uncertainties and paving the way for your new beginning.

[florsial]

The safe house where Regulus was staying was hidden within the dept of a forest away from prying eyes as his mind deteriorated more and more from the effects of the Emerald potion. Never having fully recovered, physically and mentally.

This is where James finds himself now, washing away wounds that just won't stop bleeding. It had been a couple of weeks since Regulus turned up on Euphemia and Fleamont's door, locket in hand and covered in red blood, pooling on the ground around him. No matter how many bandages, potions, and even muggle remedies. The scars just continued to bleed and bleed and bleed. Leaving Regulus lightheaded and weak more often than not.

Anyways, the feeling of water soaking through his pants and to his skin brings him from his thoughts. James raises his wrist to push up his glasses and returns to gently wiping the wounds clean. Regulus is doing the same, to the best of his ability that is with only one hand, and feeling severely nauseous, his pale hands shake as he roughly wipes his neck of blood. Too tired to be as careful as he usually is.

"Just let me do all of it," he frowns when Regulus winces from the pain, "you're being too rough with it."

"Just wanna get it over with," Regulus mumbles in reply. His eyes fall close and for a second, James almost shouts at him to wake up. Fearing that if the other closed his eyes again, they would never open. Just like when he arrived on the Potters' doorstep. But rest was probably what Regulus truly needed instead of hours spent in a bath of boiling hot water, not cold, and bleeding out.

"Soon," is all James can say, "it'll be over soon."

"Okay."

There is something so...casual about the way Regulus says it. Without a second thought. Like he placed his entire life in the rough hands of one James Potter and trusted him enough to not throw it out the window. They've tiptoed the line of strangers and lovers. Danced on the tightrope above the deep pit of their desires. Never venturing further past one or the other. There are lingering glances and stolen kisses but also scathing words and hard glares of hostility. It surprises James how in one moment he can look at Regulus with so much love and the next with so much hate. But hate is just another version of love, something like that he's heard Mary once say.

With that in mind, he allows himself the indulgence in the form of a kiss to Regulus' bloody knuckles. Mumbling, "It'll be over soon", into the red, slicked skin. Painting his own lips red. He hears the water as Regulus slowly moves closer, their faces inches apart. A hand carefully rests on James' face.

"I love you," Regulus whispers, like a prayer. His voice is quiet, and the words sound so right like he was born to say it. Born to say it to James specifically. There isn't the usual tremble in Regulus' tone.

"I love you too," he replies in quiet volume. It reminds him of children hidden underneath blankets with a single Lumos for light. Whispering to each other a secret not meant for outside ears. Shared only the moment of privacy and weakness.

James will never hear it again. Not for a long, long time. Not for the remainder of the war, not for the aftermath as everyone picks up the pieces left behind, not as Sirius and Regulus scream, cry, and talk, and not as he leaves for China when it's all over for years.

Leaving behind a patient man waiting for Regulus to say those words again.

[velvetures]

*Peeks from a corner*

Merry Christmas!

Hi um...can I just say your comfort fluff fics have made me realize just how touche-starved I personally am. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

So, if I could be so bold as to ask for a fic with Soap or Gaz or Keegan with that same theme? Making sure they're taken care of, or make them feel safe enough to let their guard down for a bit?

Again, totally fine if you have other things to do, but it would really male my day if you did. Thank you and have a nice day!

- 💀

Fall Back

a/n: thank you for the request babes... I'm sorry Christmas is just now here in mid-fucking May :( I'm ashamed. Additionally, this is my first time writing for Keegan... and I'm still working out the specifics for my interpretation of his character and behavior. So this is a bit different from what I've written before. Hopefully you enjoy it. summary: Keegan's worn down to the bone. And you're there to help him. t/w's: none.

his eyes are almost identical to my husband's... why didn't I notice until now...

He only comes to you when things get too heavy to bear.

And not in the way a refrigerator empty of food, or a late rent payment would weigh on your mind. You’ve not seen the same things he has… and fuck, he’ll do anything to make sure you never do. The mere thought that any of the nightmares and constant PTSD triggers that make him jumpy could touch your conscious would send him into an entirely new mental warfare, impossible to win. No, he shows up when he needs it most. No matter what you might be doing, or how it could appear, he’s crawling on his belly with a broken look in his eyes. Pride bruised, strength dissolved, and voice rough with more pain than you thought he could ever survive.

You tried keeping the back door unlocked for him. Thinking he’d take it as a sign that your home is always welcome. It resulted in him forcing you to lock the doors and make him a key. That lasted a couple of months, and then he lost the key somewhere in Cuba. Something about a guy ripping his chain off his neck and subsequently the key to your door that he wore alongside his dog tags. He’d been quick to change all of your locks after that. And since then, he’s decided that crawling in through your bedroom window is the only way he’ll enter your house unless you’re formally inviting him in.

Maybe it’s the anti-social part of him that believes he can’t come and go as he pleases. Spending precious time sneaking into your little house instead of doing what he came for in the first place. Getting close to you. Sometimes he won’t wake you up. Just taking off his bloody-soaked gear and taking a quick wash in the shower before curling up to you in bed. Tucking you under him, and breathing in the soft smell of your soap and fresh sheets. Other times, you’ll stir away when you hear boots scuffing heavily against the floor. Hearing heavy breaths and his tac vest thumping to the floor. Witnessing what it’s like when a ghost finally runs out of hatred and cold-blooded determination.

“Are you hurt?” It’s almost always your first question. After so many missions, he’s almost always got something that needs looked at. And while you never thought that tying stitches or cleaning shallow stab wounds would be a common occurrence in your life, Keegan has made it so that your medical kit under your bathroom sink is always stocked and ready for emergency-room worthy injuries.

He’s not going to talk much, even if he’s in good shape. It’s not in his disposition. More like a shelter dog sent back too many times for growling or bearing his teeth. Wary of everything, yet so desperate for touch that he’s willing to show you exactly where a bullet grazed his thigh. About eight hours old and weeping blood, staining a pair of pants that you’ll spend time scrubbing out in the morning while doing laundry. But if you’re worried, he’s going to hide just how badly he’s hurting… if for nothing than your sake.

He’s already broken into your house again… and now bleeding all over the bathroom rug with pretty flowers you bought after the last time he made a mess in there. Constantly reminding himself it’s selfish to demand you care for him. To show up with a shitty fucking attitude and guilt you into licking his wounds when he can’t bear to do it himself, or admit to the medical staff on base that he needs it. You’re too kind for this kind of bullshit. Too sweet to run him off though. And it’s why he keeps crawling back. Greedy… hungry… insatiable… he’s always admonishing himself for just how little control he possesses when there’s an opportunity to leave you alone, or place himself right in the middle of your life again.

“Everyone come back alive?”

Keegan has a love hate relationship with that particular question. Debating on whether or not he likes that you worry for his teammates in such an honest way; or if he’s so jealous of your mind wandering to them, and what fucked-up things they do during missions that it’s almost unbearable to hear you ask it.

“Alive.” He breathes out steadily as you thread your stitching through his skin for an eighth time, tying another knot over his twitching and aching muscles.

You’re always asking questions about the missions. About what he had to do, if he got hurt, where they went… it’s innocent enough. You mean well. But he never can tell you much. Protective instinct and top secret red tape make much of the details not worth the risk of divulging. But he’s patient with you. Giving away small hints maybe by saying a few words in a native language, or talking about a particular landmark that might’ve been close enough that you can make a guess from there. At this point, you’ve learned at least a few words in: German, Russian, Thai, and multiple hispanic dialects. A smart woman, of course, but he’s always surprised when you connect his work to something you’ve seen on the news.

It’s like you’re always watching for him.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Maybe you do look out for him in more ways than one. Not bothering with the fact that you’d already completed your nightly routine, just to strip down and get a shower running. Rubbing out strained shoulders with soft hands, and gently thumbing out the thick knots in his lower back. It’s the only pressure he’s willing to accept in this state. Merely breathing just to live for more of your touch. Keegan can’t even bother with soap, and had it not been for you, he wouldn’t have at all. Feeling you scrub down every inch of him. Much more like a maid than… well… he still didn’t know what kind of label to put on this relationship.

There were too many variables and more questions than he could answer. Sure it was… transactional at times, but he’d be remiss to ignore all of the ways you occupied his thoughts when it wasn’t appropriate to. And you always do more than you’re supposed to. Just like now. Wrapping your arms around him for behind and kissing over his shoulder blades. Humming a soft tune and letting your fingertips trace over his stomach. Any man should be able to admit that he’s weak for it… but Keegan can’t readily do that.

Fighting his own heart pounding in his chest as you sway him back and forth. Wishing he could let this feeling go. Be a stronger man. Be a better ghost and lock himself away behind the gear and guns. Fuck. You’re so good at it though. Stripping him down to nothing, even when he thought there wasn’t anything else left. Soothing aches and kissing away pains he blocked out for so long that he felt like had disappeared. You are smarter than that. You know how his mind works whether he likes it or not. How willing he is to go from hell and back so many times that he’s unsure of what kind of being he truly is. Caught between worlds of warfare and the softer one where you always welcome him back, knowing that within a few days the gore will call him back for service.

“Sleep on the couch…” He mutters, standing with a towel slung around his hips and a bleary look in satin light-blue eyes. “Don’t wanna stain your sheets.”

He’d seen them upon arrival; crisp white and hundred-dollar softness he didn’t want to touch. Between the blood and feeling of getting spoiled to them, it wasn’t worth it to him. He’d done it before without much thought, but this time something was making him attempt responsibility.

“Then I’m coming with you, Russ.”

You’re smiling that damned smile he dreams about. That one where the gap between your front teeth shows and the dimpled skin on your cheeks shadows just enough to make him forget that you’re human. Angelic. Teasing… Gracefully not leaving him room for an argument. Simply turning around and headed towards the bedroom without another word as to if he’d be choosing to lay cramped on your couch. Hell, it’s four in the morning, and your mind is sharp enough to play with him just enough that he’s stalking back into the dark room and watching you crawl into the bed with an expectant, innocent look directed at him.

Keegan can’t help it.

He’s under the sheets and unceremoniously reaching for you without hesitation. Feeling his callouses catch on your skin and wincing when he hears his rough palms scratch at you. No matter how rough it feels, you’re still sliding closer. Careful of bruises and cuts, tucking yourself against him and using one arm to guide his head against your chest. Laying just above him. Incentivizing him to hug tightly to you and tuck his head under your chin. Allowing this unfeeling soldier to hide in the temporary shelter of your heartbeat.

You rub his head, and feel short, clipped, hair tickle your fingertips. Soft from a shampoo and condition after weeks away in sand that made the bathroom floor feel gritty. You’re almost always pressing kisses to his forehead and using your other hand to rub over his brow bone and bridge of his nose. Seeing in the nighttime shadow where his face paint has settled into wrinkles that you didn’t manage to wash off in the shower. Looking at long, black eyelashes that flutter a bit when you scratch up and down the back of his neck.

“You’re so pretty…” You always talk to him like this. Unable to keep from spouting praise that wells up after long periods of not knowing if he’s alive, let alone safe.

You’re not dumb. You know he’s dangerous. Maybe even a monster in some people’s eyes. But it’s a necessary evil, and it’s something you came to terms with easily. Because you didn’t just see him for the guns and direct orders. You got to witness moments like this where he’s nothing but a man in desperate need of humanity. Hungry for connection. Soft touches… and whether he liked it or not, the praises that you whisper against his pink-tipped ears.

“You’re the pretty one, dollie.” He grumbles back, squeezing your hip in a big hand.

It makes your face heat up just ask quickly when he pulls that one out. Almost always with a nickname up his sleeve that just makes it all that much more worth it. But being anything other than your own name to him… it’s a different kind of reward. One that has you smiling like a fool as you get sleepier. Nearly petting him to sleep, and hoping to god you can stay awake longer than he does just to prove you’re willing to. Maybe willing isn’t even strong enough…

Any way you think about it, there’s a sense of duty you hold much like his to a career as a ghost. Yours stemming from love so deep for this man that it’s painful watching him crawl to you as a last resort. Despising what or whoever made him feel like wanting a warm bed, and someone to look after him when he’s weak, is wrong. God it’s enough to make you angry. Looking down at a man who could make anyone tremble, and seeing him curled up against your chest like he’s clinging to a shred of comfort. If you thought picking up a gun alongside him would change things, you’re certain you’d have done it years ago. Right when all of this started and Keegan was much more proud. Unwilling to relent as easily as he does now.

But it took that long because there wasn’t another option.

He wouldn’t have allowed it if you were any different of a person, or hadn’t possessed the patience for him to let go like this. You’re positive no one knows that this is where he runs to when things get too hard. None of his team, and with no family to speak of, you’re left as his final resort, but the only one he trusts. Unlike Keegan who avoids his medal pinnings with sheer hatred, you wear your designation proudly. You’re always shining it… polishing it… looking for the first opportunity to show just how willing you are. Just for the chance to hold him. Anything to feel his breathing even out after weeks of holding it. Anything to clean him up. Put him back together.

All while silently praying that it’ll be the last time. Wishing he’d see that you aren’t a last resort, and that he can lay here as long as he wants without losing the worth he assigned to himself after becoming a ghost. Wondering when it’ll come to an end where he can come back and hang up the guns laying on your bedroom floor, forever. Patiently anticipating the day you can not have to wait until he’s asleep to say exactly how you feel.

“I love you, Keegan…”

comments & reblogs are always appreciated 🤎

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Thirty-Four: Ward

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Masterlist

Your entire life you always thought you preferred silence. 

Some of your favorite nights were spent solely by yourself underneath the stars. You craved the serenity that came with being by yourself. Sure, nights in the tavern surrounded by loud drunkards could be fun; but the specific, unique, quiet that met your ears when you stepped outside afterwards was special. 

The air somehow felt closer and even more sacred than normal quietness.

Even after you came to Miroh, you would always escape back to your quarters after dinner for some much needed alone time. The banter between Felix and Jisung could become a bit too rowdy at times, especially if Seungmin ushered a few well placed, snarky comments.

You would slither out of the grand hall back to your room, sit on the window seat, and crack open a book to escape your mind for a while. You’ll never understand how reading about someone else’s adventures would help calm your mind about your own.

But these days, for some reason, you cannot fathom being alone, not even for a single, solitary moment. If you’re left alone with your thoughts, every anxious scenario you could ponder up streams in like water tumbling over rock. 

The ‘what ifs’ are never ending when you’re by yourself. 

What if the plan doesn’t work? What if someone gets gravely injured? What if Jeongin’s legion doesn’t make it to Fort Mire in time? What if Hyunjin was wrong and the Mercy Division is stationed in the North? What if this? What if that? What if? What if?

It doesn’t stop. Not even when you close your eyes to sleep. All of your fears wrap around your neck like a snake and choke your consciousness.

Nothing takes your mind off of the upcoming battle.

But, you know you’re not alone. Your proof being the fire mage standing twenty feet away from you in the courtyard. The bonfire rages on as it always has. The Elf continues to hurl fireballs at the stone wall, leaving ash rings in their wake.

The smell of smoke wraps around you, it’ll sit in your hair until you next wash it. Which won't be until after the battle.

If you even make it out. 

Your tongue licks your lips nervously, your body shifts around.

In the last few days alone, your relationship with Hyunjin has taken a complete turn for the better. He’s a sort of elaborate painting that you’re finally starting to understand the brushstrokes. 

Perhaps it's because you’ve stood in front of him long enough to unravel the meanings. 

But even so, you still only know surface level things about him. 

Sometimes conversation will flow easily between the two of you, other times you will sit in that damned silence. Does it boil his blood the same way that it does yours?

He’s been helping you channel magic for the better part of every night at the sacrifice of his own training. Instead of bettering his own skills, he’s been helping improve your own. 

You decide to give him a break tonight on December the tenth, knowing that when you both part ways for the day, it will be December the eleventh, and there will be no more nights in front of this bonfire. 

He needs tonight to train more than you do. 

Because by this time tomorrow, everything will be in motion. Every soldier will be getting into position to be ready for the sunrise. You will say your goodbyes to some comrades, some for the last time.

Then the sun will rise over the hill. 

And you will stand inside this fort with your fellow soldiers and defend it with your last breath. All you can do is hope for a quick death as the green grass is painted red.

Perhaps the Mercy Division won't notice your pointed ears before introducing your neck to their blade. But then again, you stand with Miroh, your heritage doesn’t matter at this point to them. 

A friend of the enemy is an enemy. 

“If you keep wringing your hands like that, they will catch fire,” Hyunjin calls softly. Your hands immediately stop their movement.

Truthfully, didn’t even notice you were rubbing them together until he pointed it out. They move to your sides, resting on top of the log you’re sat upon. 

“Apologies, I did not realize.” You look back at the raging fire.

“Worry not.” He hesitates for a moment. “Troublesome thoughts?”

“Aye.” Your answer is quick but weak. Your nails curl into the wood.

By The Six, the anxiety is moving your body on its own. Once more, you shift on the log, shoving both hands under your thighs to sit on them and keep them still.

The light from the fire is searing into your eyes, but you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from it. 

“All about the battle.” A heavy sigh escapes your lips. “If I let my mind sit still for even a moment, it creates horrible scenarios inside my mind.”

Hyunjin says nothing for a moment, but you hear his boots shift in the dirt. “Like what?”

Rolling your eyes, you clench your jaw and swallow thickly. “Like what would happen if the Mercy Division got a hold of me.” You finally look up at him. “Of you. ”

His red eyes catch the light of the fire within them, they gleam like a cat. The shadows of his face make his features seem even more angular than they already are. 

Hyunjin swallows, his eyebrow twitches and he licks his lips. Tiny sparks fly from his fingertips. 

“They will not get a hold of me.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I will make certain of it.”

You scoff. “The Mercy Division is crafty, Hyunjin.”

“I am craftier.” He sneers and hurls a tense fireball at the wall. It explodes on impact and you don’t even flinch. 

Again, you roll your eyes and look back at the bonfire. 

“I think you do not grasp the seriousness of the army we are up against,” you snip at him. It comes out harsher than you intend. 

“Please remind yourself that I am an Elf as well, Y/N.”

His words are sharper than a dagger and hit your heart dead on. He continues. 

“I have heard only whispers of what the Mercy Division can do, but I have been facing the hatred that comes with this lineage longer than you can fathom.” When you look back up at Hyunjin, he’s staring through you into your soul. “The Mercy Division is not the first to be like this, and sadly, they will not be the last.”

You nod, unable to find any words to say back to him. 

He’s right. 

It’s the disgusting pattern that the world follows. No matter how much you try, you cannot stamp out the hate and bigotry ingrained deeply within people.

Today, the Mercy Division, tomorrow, who knows? How long until the same hatred bubbles up and forms another legion?

An owl hoots in the distance, it cuts through the sound of crickets and tree frogs.

You crack your knuckles.

When did your hands come out from under your legs?

“I understand you have dealt with them before?” Hyunjin asks in a softer tone. Once more, you only nod. 

A soft, cold wind funnels through the stone walls of the fort, its chill goes right into your bones. Just as quickly as it comes, the breeze goes and the fire warms you right back up.

“Make them pay,” Hyunjin states simply.

He doesn’t dwell on it, not even for a moment longer. His boots crunch in the dirt and he goes back to focusing on his spell. His mind immediately shifts gears and is right back where it started in training mode.

But you, however, are left with the empty rage that comes with your memories. 

The Mercy Division soldiers that fill your memories don’t even have faces, you never saw them. They’re simply entities with voices you will never forget. 

They’re phantoms. Poltergeists. Demons. 

How is it they’re the same level of human that someone like Seungmin or Minho are?

What words need to be uttered and for how long until it twists the soul of an innocent being into something nightmares are made of? But, to them, are you the demon?

“Y/N.”

Hyunjin snaps you out of your mind once more. You look over at him from across the courtyard. He motions for you to walk over to him.

You stand up from the log and walk closer. 

“There is one more thing I would like to teach you,” he says softly.

You cock an eyebrow. “Should you not use tonight to train?”

He shrugs and looks off to the side. “I would much rather teach you, it eases my mind.”

“Does it?” you ask with a teasing tone.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and rolls his shoulders back. “Will you just–” he stops himself and looks back at you. “I want to teach you wards.”

With a smirk on your face, you nod and stop any more teasing from coming out of your mouth. 

Wards. Magical shields. Protection.

The same magical protection he used all those weeks ago when you angered Camus.

He moves around and stands about ten feet away from you, shoulders square. “Now, it uses the same concentration technique as any other spell. Instead of picturing a wound healing, focus on creating a wall in front of you.”

Hyunjin’s hands twitch at his sides– the movement is slight but you see it. What is he planning?

The air around you moves, blowing in his direction. 

“Put your hands up, Y/N, imaging a shield protecting you,” he commands firmly. Your eyes narrow.

You follow his direction anyway, lifting your hands up to shield in front of your body, palms facing out. 

“Basic level wards only shield you from magic, they cannot shield you from weapons such as swords or arrows– the stronger the ward, the more it can block.”

Nodding, you try to let your mind drift. Your eyes slide shut.

Protection, protection, protection. Picture a wall in front of you. A strong, brick wall. A wall that nothing can penetrate. 

A soft drum beat begins resonating from the stone walls, surrounding the two of you, it starts slow. If you weren’t paying attention to it, you might mistake it for your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. 

The more you focus on it, the louder and stronger it gets.

It’s stronger than you heard while healing, firmer. Other music notes begin streaming in from your surroundings. 

This song is entirely different from the last. There’s nothing calm and serene about it, it hammers through your soul and creates a stronger tune. It almost sounds like the drums of war. 

Your palms heat up and you can feel the energy extend from your fingertips up towards the sky and down to the dirt.

There’s a loud whoosh through the air, it completely disrupts the song flowing through the air. It sounds like a violin bow loudly and quickly is pulled along the strings. You physically wince from the sudden disruption. 

The wind shifts.

Your eyes fly open just in time to see a ball of flames being hurled at your face. 

The orchestra in your mind abruptly stops short and you drop down to the dirt, the flames soar above you and make a harsh impact with the stone.

It’s a wonder no soldiers come sprinting out of the fort wondering if they’re under attack.

Sharply, you look up and glare at the mage who so obviously attacked you. “By The Six, what is wrong with you?” you yell from the ground.

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow. “Why did you dodge?” 

Is he serious?

Your mouth drops open in disbelief. “Why did I–? Why did you attack me?”

“How else were you supposed to test your ward?” He asks like its common sense!

“Why did you not warn me?”

“Apologies, do all of your enemies call out their attacks before performing them?”

A loud, angry growl comes from your throat and you glare at him. 

A tiny smirk twitches at the corner of his lips. “Come now, Y/N. Stand up and try again. Get the dirt off your trousers.”

You huff and stand up from the ground, brushing the dirt from your pants. “Maybe do not take my head off this time around?”

“Your head will remain on your shoulders if you execute the ward well.” He shrugs.

Oh, he boils your blood sometimes.

Most times.

Basically, all the time.

After one more well-placed glare, you close your eyes and let the music begin again. Every object that surrounds you lifts their instrument and warms up at their own tempo until they begin to play the same tune.

Again, you feel energy come out of your palm and form a barrier in front of you.

That same, violent, sharp violin screech pierces through your ears but you don’t allow yourself to flinch, you focus even more and let the drumbeats become more powerful. 

You feel the air around you get hotter and hotter with a strong woosh until it feels like you have your hand up against a thick wall that someone punched the other side of. 

When you open your eyes, you see Hyunjin standing across the field from you, that same cocky smirk on his face. The ward produced by your hand discolors everything you see through it with a golden glow. It flickers a few times and finally falls as your concentration drops. 

Embers surround where you stand. A few of them float around in the air and drift down to the ground. 

“See?” Hyunjin teases with a chuckle. “Your head remains in the same place it was previously.”

You roll your eyes and look off to the side. Whatever.

“There is still one issue, mercenary,” he continues, not giving you a chance to retort. “How do you ever plan on defending yourself with your eyes closed?”

“I need to concentrate.”

“Again, how do you shield from something you cannot see? Do you close your eyes in battle and throw your sword around wildly?”

He has a point, you’re just too damn stubborn to admit it.

“It is hard to concentrate otherwise,” you grit your teeth. “I have only just begun learning.”

His eyes narrow. His eyebrows twitch. 

“Will you say that during battle? ‘Pardon me, soldier, give me a moment, I am still learning.’”

His snark is so pointed, it drives you insane. 

“Nay, but–”

The air moves, it sounds like the world takes a deep breath. Even the crickets stop chirping.

Hyunjin’s arm moves around and flames appear in a burst. In one fluid movement, he spins and hurls it right at you.

“The Mercy Division will not care that you are learning, they will take that to their advantage and gut you where you stand!”

On instinct, your body dodges to the side once more. You jump to your right and roll in the dirt. 

The flames fly over your head and explode on impact with the stone.

“Do not dodge, mercenary!” Hyunjin barks from across the field and moves his hand once more. He’s relentless.

You’re already on your feet when the next fireball is hurled at you. Again, you leap out of the way and let it soar past your body.

“You are insane!” you yell at him.

“Quit dodging and create a ward!”

Another fireball, another trip to the ground. 

“Give me a second to breathe!”

“Would you request a break in battle?”

Another fireball careens into the wall behind you.

Sweat drips down the side of your face from the heat and the exhaustion. Your boots dig into the dirt underneath your feet and a long exhale leaves your drying lips. 

“ Hyunjin !” you growl.

He doesn’t even look winded. 

“Ward!” 

The fire mage moves like water. Every motion flows into another as flames burst from his palm and soar towards you. 

Gritting your teeth, you raise your arms quickly and let magic consume the energy surrounding your body. In a great, outward force, you project it out of your hands and picture an energy shield before your very eyes.

Every instrument hits a powerful note at the same time.

Before the flames could make contact with your body, it makes an impact with the hastily produced ward before your body.

You feel the heat blast around you and fly outwards in every direction. The smell of burning embers begins to invade your senses.

The shimmering glow of your ward fades once you let out a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Hyunjin doesn’t stop, his body rolls and moves as he draws energy from the very world around you. 

In the back of your mind, you can hear that same violin bow sawing at the strings in time with his magic. Your own drums are beginning to go off tempo. 

“ Ward , mercenary!” he barks and reels back to hurl another fireball at you.

Sweat drips down your face from both the heat and the exertion.

Shit, shit, shit.

None of the instruments of your soul are in tune, they’re all wonky and distressed. Both of your hands fly up to create a ward. Shaky magic projects outward. It’s the thinnest ward you’ve put up so far.

Fire careens through the air straight at you.

The world takes a deep breath.

An explosion sounds on impact and you’re thrown backwards from the force.

All of the air in your lungs is knocked out of you when your back makes contact with the dirt. A loud grunt tears from your lips and you can’t catch your breath.

The very tips of your fingers tingle with tiny pinpricks, it shoots up your arms and through your shoulders to your chest.

Is every hair still on your head or were they singed off?

Within seconds, an amused mage appears above you with a cocky, little smirk on his face. His blonde hair is tied back and that red streak sticks out so prominently. 

You want to be angry at him, you do. This damned fire mage just threw you across the yard after you begged him to stop.

Anger should be bubbling so deep down within you that you could produce your own fireball.

So, why do you feel laughter boiling in your chest?

It travels through your throat and past your lips. Tiny giggles coming out of your mouth while Hyunjin’s smirk grows.

Both of your eyes shut and you allow the laughter to take over. 

Truly, the situation is hilarious. 

Deep, hearty chuckles emit from his own chest. 

“By The Six, Hyunjin,” you say between wheezes. “You could not have gone a tad bit easy on me?”

“Nay,” he replies back, the teasing tilt is in his tone again. “You do not learn by taking the easy route.”

“I will not even be able to fight in the battle with your training,” you poke fun at him.

“Worry not, mercenary, you will be in tip top shape to fight for your life.”

You hum with a smile. 

“I do not think I need to worry about any mages hurling fireballs at me during this battle.” You open your eyes and peer up at him. “No Elves, no magic.”

He thinks for a moment, his head moving side to side as he weighs your words.

“Perhaps,” he agrees. He holds out a hand and you take it.

As Hyunjin hauls you to your feet, you’re finally able to catch your breath, but the smile remains on your face. 

“I will make sure to ask our enemies for a small break in between attacks,” you jest, squeezing his hand once before letting go.

Hyunjin offers you one more chuckle before licking his lips, and then pulling them between his teeth. If you didn’t know any better, you might even say he was nervous.

His jaw clenches, his boots shift in the dirt. 

Suddenly, he can’t meet your eyes.

“Are you quite certain you want to be part of the legion inside Fort Mire when the Mercy Division attacks?” His question is meek.

You hesitate.

The word ‘yes’ sits on the tip of your tongue but for some reason, it won’t come out. 

Yes, you are sure. 

You’re completely sure.

Aren’t you?

Hyunjin’s eyes look up and stare right through you, waiting for an answer.

“Aye,” you finally push out. “Aye, I am certain. Are you?”

He looks down at the dirt for a moment. One deep breath is taken in through his nose. 

“Nay,” he replies weakly. It comes out like an exhale.

What happened to his never-ending confidence? Seeing him suddenly deflate like this rattles you more than you’d like to admit. His entire demeanor shifted in no matter than three seconds. 

You hesitate again. “If you do not wish to be in the fort when the Mercy Division attacks, you need not be.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I have made my decision and I intend to stick by it.”

“But if you are scared—”

“I am not scared,” he cuts you off firmly. “I am only… hesitant. But I do not know why.” A humorless huff comes from Hyunjin’s nose and he looks up at the stars. “I am always ready to give my life for Miroh, more importantly, for Elves. But I cannot help but feel this sense of incompletion, like I am meant for more. And if I meet my end during this battle, how will I ever accomplish that?”

“What happened to them not being able to lay a hand on you?”

“Do we not all lie to ourselves for comfort?” His eyes come down to meet yours. “I can only hope they do not decide to torture me.”

In a distant part of your mind, you hear your mother’s screams and your father’s pleas. They rattle your soul.

Thickly, you swallow and look away to avoid Hyunjin’s eyes.

“Perhaps they will have no time for evil in the midst of battle.”

He nods stiffly.

There’s a long moment of silence between the two of you. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know you both were thinking about the same thing.

The “what if’s” are back.

What if they get to Hyunjin? What if they target him? What if they go out of their way to torture him? 

“I will stand by you inside Fort Mire.” Hyunjin tells you firmly, yet softly at the same time. 

You grin weakly at him. “I cannot lie, it eases my anxiety to know you will be in there with me, Hyunjin.”

He huffs and looks away towards the bonfire roaring about twenty feet away. “I return the sentiment, Y/N. I will watch your back if you watch mine.”

“Aye, I will, mage.” You hold out your hand towards him. Hyunjin looks down at your outstretched hand. The grin on his face gets a bit wider.

He clasps his hand around your forearm in a warrior’s grip. Yours comes around his at the same time.

Your eyes meet. His are so sharp they seem to stare right through you. How is his skin so flawless? 

“We Elves need to stick together,” he whispers.

A tiny flame ignites in the pit of your stomach. His words rousing such raw confidence within you with their simplicity.

“I know you are not used to it, Y/N, but I will defend your life as if it is my own.”

Your heart stutters a bit and your eyes widen. 

“I am slowly getting accustomed to it,” you mumble back. “But it has taken some time.”

He smiles down at you. Not one of his sly smirks, but a real, genuine, smile. “We are one unit. We are Miroh’s court.  Your life, my life, Changbin’s life, Minho’s life– they are one in the same in my eyes.”

“Until the end,” you reply back to him. “I have your back.”

Strange. Only a few weeks ago you would’ve loved nothing more than to stab your sword through his back each time he looked at you with that smug smirk on his face. His expression always reads ‘I am one step ahead of you at all times’.

It used to piss you off. But now, it eases a small portion of your mind. 

Hyunjin holds his stare for another few moments. His eyes flit all around your face.

Slowly, his hand releases your arm as he takes a step back. Immediately, you miss his warmth.

“Get some rest, mercenary,” he laughs humorlessly. “You are going to need it.”

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Will you be my Valentine? Sugar Day 4 Lester Sinclair

Day 4 cuties!! As usual I hope you all are enjoying this very chill and casual mini series for Valentine's day! After this is over I hope to get back into regularly posting regular fics throughout the rest of the year.

Notes: Minors DNI (You will be BLOCKED), SFW, No specific descriptions or pronouns are used for the reader. If pronouns are used the reader will use they/them unless otherwise specified.

"God Lester, How many times have I told you about blood stains?"

You mumbled to yourself while you scrubbed the stains out of one of Lester's shirts. He was out today as usual cleaning the roadkill off the backroads of Ambrose and you were at home diligently washing one of the only good shirts he had.

"Your daddy needs to learn to be more clean"

You said to Jonesy, who was laying next to you on the floor, wistfully gazing up at you as you scrubbed the shirts. Almost as if she could understand what you said she let out a sigh and rolled over on her other side.

After a few minutes and a lot more scrubbing you heard the rumble of the old pick-up truck approach the cabin and Jonesy quickly made her way off the ground and over to the front door to greet her favorite human.

"Well hey there little darlin'!" Lester greeted her when he entered the house. His eyes locked onto yours next and he grinned.

"Hey sugar" He greeted walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Hey Les"

"What's wrong?"

"You" You teasingly deadpanned. You could hear Lester audibly gulp from behind you.

'W-What did I do?"

"How many times have I told you to be careful with getting stains on your good shirts and to wear work shirts out of the house?"

"Well sugar that one was the only one I could find is all! It was dark out still and I didn't wanna cut the lights on and wake you up!"

"mmm I guess that's fair"

"I got ya somethin to make up for it anyway"

He said before removing his arms from around you and heading back out to the truck to retrieve your present. In the back of your mind you figured Valentine's day was approaching so it probably had to do with that, it's very hard to keep track of time in a ghost town with no internet or cell service.

Lester came bounding back into the house a few moments later with a bunch of flowers in his hand.

'Oh Lester their gorgeous!" You praised him as he approached you and offered them to you.

You took the flowers from him and inhaled their sweet sent. You shot him a smile and leaned over to peck his lips when you realized something, the flowers still had the clods of dirt from where they were ripped out of the ground attached to the stems.

You picked off a dirt clod and looked up at Lester while holding it in your hand.

"Lester honey, what's this?"

"Uhh looks like dirt darlin'"

"Did you go outside just now and pick these?"

"No sugar I got em from the outside of the wax museum."

He said starting to turn away from you and head back outside to get on with the rest of his day. You called out to him as he left.

"Did you pick these from the flowers I planted last year?"

Lester shrugged as he walked and you could see his shoulders move up and down with a chuckle as a smile beamed across your face and the hilarity of the situation.

"Lester Sinclair! You picked my flowers!"

"I'll make up for it sugar don't you worry!" He said out the truck window.

"Well how are you going to make it up? With more flowers?"

"Nah darlin, no more flowers"

"Why not?"

"I picked em all already"

"LESTER!"

[cccccmiklosovic]

the secrets of thunderstorms

pairing: sirius black x potter!fem!reader word count: 2.6k warnings: fluff, angst, cursing, not proofread summary: when sirius knocks on your bedroom door in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm

a/n: first fic hehe i hope you all like it! it kinda went a different direction than planned and idk if i fully like it, but here it is!

----

it was the middle of the night, probably close to one o'clock in the morning, rain was pouring on your windows and rolling thunder could be heard every few minutes. maybe that's why you didn't hear the knocks at first. they were quiet... well, quiet compared to the thunder that didn't seem to be able to just stop. it was keeping you awake, and we were just about to go crazy from frustration. so, perhaps, the knocking was a blessing in disguise.

the knocks were coming from your bedroom door. specifically, the one that led to your garden patio. it was your favorite relaxing spot on sunny days, but it wasn't sunny then. it wasn't sunny and it wasn't daytime. it was storming and it was one-in-the-fucking-morning.

whoever was at your door was about to feel your wrath.

you rolled out of bed with a groan, slipping on some slippers and pulling on your robe. shuffling to the door, you pulled your robe further around your body to fight the chilled night air and pulled the door open.

the sight in front of you was a surprise. usually he went to your twin brother, james potter, when he needed something, so why was he standing at your door? he looked rather pitiful. his long, dark hair was soaked and dripping water onto his already more-than-damp clothes, which were sticking to his skin. he seemed to be out of breath, and his hand was raised in a fist, as if he was about to knock one more time.

you pull him inside without a word and rush to find a towel in your bathroom, finding a recently washed one, you throw it to him, not looking to see if he's caught it. instead, you rush to james room, effectively sneaking in as you had done a thousand times before. you steal some shorts and a shirt before shutting the door soundlessly, tiptoeing back to your bedroom.

when you arrived, you threw the clothes at sirius.

"change in the bathroom." you nodded your head in the direction of the bathroom, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

sirius nodded, "thanks, love."

knowing he was in a distressed mood, you held back your glare at the nickname. he wasn't supposed to call you that anymore, not after everything. you closed your eyes and leaned your head back with a sigh.

you didn't acknowledge him until he took a seat in the desk chair across from you.

"why are you here, sirius?" you kept your voice even as you stared at him.

"to get away." it was a believable enough answer to someone who knew his situation.

you kept your stare on him, picking apart his expressions and body language. he looked down to avoid your eyes. looked like a ashamed puppy, who was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

you were so confused, honestly so fucking hurt. you refused to show him that, though. you just hoped your tone didn't betray you. "not good enough. why did you come to me, sirius? you always go to james."

he dragged a hand through his hair. fuck, you loved his hair, you missed running your fingers through it. you missed him. he looked at you with a sheepish smile. "i didn't wanna... wake him?"

never mind. you didn't miss him. you wanted him to leave.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep your tears at bay. when you open them, you look around the room. looking everywhere but him.

god, he hated that.

when you answered, your voice sounded slightly desperate and hurt and vulnerable. "why are you here?" you ask just once more.

he sighed, he came here to make you like him again, he might as well give you the truth. "listen, y/n, i fucked everything up-" he tried to explain, but he couldn't concentrate when your eyes were everywhere but on him. "fuck, y/n, could you just look at me?" his tone was desperate. "please?" he refused to continue till your eyes met his, and the tears in your eyes broke his heart.

"i messed up that day, i know i did. i was with her and all the sudden she was kissing me, and i was kissing her back. fuck, i was so drunk. that's no excuse, i know, but i-" he took a deep breath to gather his thoughts and stop his rambling. "james was telling me you liked me back, so i thought, 'shit, maybe i'll go for it.' so i did. i started talking with you more, spent more time alone with you, and i just- i fell for you even harder." he wanted you to believe him so badly. he needed you to.

"i was walking to ask you out, on a real date, and you were sitting with fucking lucius malfoy. he was fucking flirting with you, and you weren't stopping him." he looked away from you for a minute before continuing, "i didn't think to ask you about it. i just- i saw red. i took the rest of moony's liquor and got shit-faced. i don't even remember the girl's name, maybe that makes it worse, i don't know. next thing i know, i see you there, and you're runnin' away crying and i didn't even run after you. i just kept on kissing the girl."

silent tears were streaming down your face at this point, and you kept your eyes on him as he finished his story.

"when i got back to the common room the next morning, i was violently hung over, and the first thing that happened was james punching me right in the left eye. had a bruise there for two weeks after," he laughed softly, "he told me that you were stuck with lucius for a school project so you had to deal with him. i knew i fucked it all up then." he met your eyes again, a desperate look in them as he came and took your hands in his. he so badly wanted to wipe your tears away. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. fuck, i never wanted to hurt you. i promised james i wouldn't. i need you to believe me when i tell you: i want you. i don't want anyone else but you."

you took another deep breath and wiped your tears away on the sleeve of your robe. you took in his story slowly, you understood where he was coming from, and you wanted him, too. you knew you did.

sirius looked at you with hopeful eyes. you pulled him up from his knees. "come get some sleep, okay? it's been a long night."

it wasn't quite forgiveness yet, but you weren't turning him away. he knew you'd come around, but that you wanted to sleep it over. you faced away from him in bed and tried to steady your breathing. hesitantly, sirius pressed his chest to your back and put his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

he just wanted to hold you.

you didn't move away. instead, you relaxed at his touch and fell asleep. he placed a small kiss on your temple before falling asleep right after you.

----

you woke up to someone's fingers running through your hair. your head is on said someone's chest, and your legs are intertwined. the memories of the

it was the middle of the night, probably close to one o'clock in the morning, rain was pouring on your windows and rolling thunder could be heard every few minutes. maybe that's why you didn't hear the knocks at first. they were quiet... well, quiet compared to the thunder that didn't seem to be able to just stop. it was keeping you awake, and we were just about to go crazy from frustration. so, perhaps, the knocking was a blessing in disguise.

the knocks were coming from your bedroom door. specifically, the one that led to your garden patio. it was your favorite relaxing spot on sunny days, but it wasn't sunny then. it wasn't sunny and it wasn't daytime. it was storming and it was one-in-the-fucking-morning.

whoever was at your door was about to feel your wrath.

you rolled out of bed with a groan, slipping on some slippers and pulling on your robe. shuffling to the door, you pulled your robe further around your body to fight the chilled night air and pulled the door open.

the sight in front of you was a surprise. usually he went to your twin brother, james potter, when he needed something, so why was he standing at your door? he looked rather pitiful. his long, dark hair was soaked and dripping water onto his already more-than-damp clothes, which were sticking to his skin. he seemed to be out of breath, and his hand was raised in a fist, as if he was about to knock one more time.

you pull him inside without a word and rush to find a towel in your bathroom, finding a recently washed one, you throw it to him, not looking to see if he's caught it. instead, you rush to james room, effectively sneaking in as you had done a thousand times before. you steal some shorts and a shirt before shutting the door soundlessly, tiptoeing back to your bedroom.

when you arrived, you threw the clothes at sirius.

"change in the bathroom." you nodded your head in the direction of the bathroom, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

sirius nodded, "thanks, love."

knowing he was in a distressed mood, you held back your glare at the nickname. he wasn't supposed to call you that anymore, not after everything. you closed your eyes and leaned your head back with a sigh.

you didn't acknowledge him until he took a seat in the desk chair across from you.

"why are you here, sirius?" you kept your voice even as you stared at him.

"to get away." it was a believable enough answer to someone who knew his situation.

you kept your stare on him, picking apart his expressions and body language. he looked down to avoid your eyes. looked like a ashamed puppy, who was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

you were so confused, honestly so fucking hurt. you refused to show him that, though. you just hoped your tone didn't betray you. "not good enough. why did you come to me, sirius? you always go to james."

he dragged a hand through his hair. fuck, you loved his hair, you missed running your fingers through it. you missed him. he looked at you with a sheepish smile. "i didn't wanna... wake him?"

never mind. you didn't miss him. you wanted him to leave.

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep your tears at bay. when you open them, you look around the room. looking everywhere but him.

god, he hated that.

when you answered, your voice sounded slightly desperate and hurt and vulnerable. "why are you here?" you ask just once more.

he sighed, he came here to make you like him again, he might as well give you the truth. "listen, y/n, i fucked everything up-" he tried to explain, but he couldn't concentrate when your eyes were everywhere but on him. "fuck, y/n, could you just look at me?" his tone was desperate. "please?" he refused to continue till your eyes met his, and the tears in your eyes broke his heart.

"i messed up that day, i know i did. i was with her and all the sudden she was kissing me, and i was kissing her back. fuck, i was so drunk. that's no excuse, i know, but i-" he took a deep breath to gather his thoughts and stop his rambling. "james was telling me you liked me back, so i thought, 'shit, maybe i'll go for it.' so i did. i started talking with you more, spent more time alone with you, and i just- i fell for you even harder." he wanted you to believe him so badly. he needed you to.

"i was walking to ask you out, on a real date, and you were sitting with fucking lucius malfoy. he was fucking flirting with you, and you weren't stopping him." he looked away from you for a minute before continuing, "i didn't think to ask you about it. i just- i saw red. i took the rest of moony's liquor and got shit-faced. i don't even remember the girl's name, maybe that makes it worse, i don't know. next thing i know, i see you there, and you're runnin' away crying and i didn't even run after you. i just kept on kissing the girl."

silent tears were streaming down your face at this point, and you kept your eyes on him as he finished his story.

"when i got back to the common room the next morning, i was violently hung over, and the first thing that happened was james punching me right in the left eye. had a bruise there for two weeks after," he laughed softly, "he told me that you were stuck with lucius for a school project so you had to deal with him. i knew i fucked it all up then." he met your eyes again, a desperate look in them as he came and took your hands in his. he so badly wanted to wipe your tears away. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. fuck, i never wanted to hurt you. i promised james i wouldn't. i need you to believe me when i tell you: i want you. i don't want anyone else but you."

you took another deep breath and wiped your tears away on the sleeve of your robe. you took in his story slowly, you understood where he was coming from, and you wanted him, too. you knew you did.

sirius looked at you with hopeful eyes. you pulled him up from his knees. "come get some sleep, okay? it's been a long night."

it wasn't quite forgiveness yet, but you weren't turning him away. he knew you'd come around, but that you wanted to sleep it over. you faced away from him in bed and tried to steady your breathing. hesitantly, sirius pressed his chest to your back and put his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

he just wanted to hold you.

you didn't move away. instead, you relaxed at his touch and fell asleep. he placed a small kiss on your temple before falling asleep right after you. the memories of the previous night come back as you slowly open your eyes to you meet sirius' grey ones.

"mornin', love," he spoke in a whisper and a soft smile graced his lips.

you looked back at him and wanted to kiss that adorable little smile on his lips. but instead you apologize. "'m sorry, siri."

sirius frowned at you. "for what?"

"for not listening to you sooner," you whispered back. the moment felt intimate in a way you had been craving for a long time. "i should've at least heard you out."

"you did last night, lovely," his tone matched yours as he stroked his fingers through your hair some more. "even if you didn't, no one would've blamed you. not even me."

"is it true what you said last night?" you asked softly, tracing aimless shapes on his clothed chest. "that you want me still?"

"of course it's true," he chuckled softly. "why do you think i went through all that to get you to hear me out?"

your hand went to find his cheek, he leaned into your touch. "i still want you, too, sirius."

"really?" he had a hopeful smirk.

you grinned at him. "why do you think i let you sleep in my bed with me?" scooting closer to him, you leaned your face closer to his, lips almost touching, breaths mingling. "now, let me kiss you?"

"whenever you fucking want, love, these lips are yours."

----

[kazumist]

MEANINGFUL SILENCE .ᐟ

✩ — in which childe finds himself always sitting next to you every time he takes the bus ride home.

✩ — includes: childe x gn!reader. fluff. no cws. wc: 971. happy birthday to the one and only childe ajax tartaglia (aka my boyfriend very real not clickbait)! a tad bit messy this is rlly just pure vomit ahahaha ;;

It was always the same routine every day for Childe.

Wake up, eat, get ready for work, go to work, go home, eat, sleep, and repeat. For the past  three consecutive years he's been working for the current company he’s at, Childe has been doing that routine. A bit too repetitive, he’ll admit that. But he finds it perfectly fine to repeat this routine, as it doesn’t really bother him at all. What’s there to complain about anyway? It was his routine.

The first time Childe saw you, you were at least two rows away from him on the bus. 

Every ride home, he always takes the one at the very back if it isn’t occupied, just so he can rest his eyes a bit after a long day of work. But when Childe first saw you, a bit of his drowsiness washed away. You looked tired like him; nothing about your appearance gave it away, but it was more like the vibe you gave off (then again, it was late by this time, and other people on the bus were tired as well. Maybe it was the vibe of everything that made Childe find it out).

With only a few more people remaining on the bus, Childe has at least shut his eyes for a quick nap a good two times now. And because of that, by the time there were only three people on the bus (you, him, and some other guy he could honestly care less about), Childe was wide awake.

Childe found out three things that day. One would be that he shouldn’t really mess around with that one snarky coworker of his (it's not his fault that he looks like a grapehead, but hey, he’s a decent guy who gets the job done. Too bad his personality is a bit... yeah). Two would be that he should probably have some ready to heat food in stock at his place because there are times when he’s too tired to cook himself some dinner. 

And the third would be that your stop was right before his.

The second time Childe saw you, the only seat left on the bus was the one beside you. It was currently rush hour, and Childe was lucky enough to get his work done for the day and not stay late just to work overtime. But the stuffy feeling of the bus being this full is a bit sickening for him.

Loosening his neck tie on the way home had always been a habit for Childe, even during his school days. It makes him feel less suffocated (an overdramatic statement; his uniform back then and his suit now were comfortable). As he slowly starts tugging on his neck tie downward, he sighs in relief—that is, until he feels a sudden weight on his shoulders.

Childe looks at what landed on his shoulder and ends up with the sight of you sleeping quite peacefully. 

Back then, he only caught a glimpse of what your face looked like when you got on the bus; the rest of the ride that time was just the back of your head (and occasionally, your side profile as well when you decided to look at the window). However, now that he’s actually looking at you, Childe notices many, many features.

He notices your slightly visible eyebags (these weren’t obvious to him from afar, but now that he’s this close to you, he’s a bit concerned. Have you been sleeping well?), how your top isn’t buttoned all the way up anymore (could it be that you had the same habit as him?), and how despite the continuous humps that the bus drives through, you’re still sound asleep on his shoulder (he secretly commends you for it, really). 

Ever since that specific bus ride, he has been sitting next to you. Not that you seemed to mind either.

One time, Childe was the only one who was sitting on the same seat row that you both would sit in. And by the time you arrived to sit, you saw him lightly pat the seat next to the window.

“Why didn’t you take this seat?”

“I knew you liked the spot next to the window, so I saved it for you.”

His response confused you; you rarely know this man, and the only time you ever get to see him is during this one bus ride home every single day. Yet here he is, saving a spot—your usual spot—because he knew you liked it.

Strange, but the gesture is appreciated.

On the following bus rides after that, Childe seems to always save you that spot next to him. He doesn't know why he’s doing this either, but he finds it fun. And seeing the small smile you give him every time you find him saving that spot next to him once again, he knows you like it. But that doesn’t necessarily answer the question of why he’s doing this.

He could’ve continued sitting at the back and napping his way through the bus ride. He could’ve continued on with his routine as usual. So why is he now wide awake despite being exhausted from work and casually stealing glances from you every now and then? 

Maybe it’s because he got used to it. Maybe it’s because it has become a strange habit of his to save the seat next to you just for you. And maybe it’s because he got used to watching you look out the window.

In the end, it was always the same routine for Childe.

But if you were to make him pick what his favorite part of his routine is, it wouldn’t be sleep (that’s his second favorite, though). It would be his bus ride home because, by then, he would be sitting next to you again.

[milksuu]

Hello!! thank you so much for carrying the heartbeats and for reviving the the league tumblr fandom. you are doing us are great service orz

Anyway may I request something nsfw with yone? just some general hcs if you do that. but if not then, what does he think of lingerie or what does he do when he needs to let off some stress? I personally think he doesn’t have much of a sex drive but what about the days where he does feel like it?

❥ prompt: Yone has more than one way to deal with his stress. ❥ content/warnings: nsfw 18+, masturbation ❥ characters/pairings: Heartsteel!yone

Yone would never mention anything about his private life. Whatever happens behind closed doors isn't anyone's business. Whether he pleases himself or not, it's never a topic he entertains. He does his job, he provides receipts. What's more to discuss?

Stress is inevitable. Comes with the demands of the music industry, celebrity lifestyle, and overall business management side of his career. Yone keeps a strict regime in the form of daily habits, which helps reduce stress by making things consistent.

Wake up at 4AM and take a morning jog for improved energy and health. Next, mindful yoga and meditation to improve focus. Then, a cold shower to increase metabolic function. After that, he reads a news article while drinking cold brew in complete, and qualitative silence.

However, some days prove to be more challenging than others. And his usual methods prove to be futile. As if all of his meticulous daily planning is all but thrown into an endless void. And he's only wasting precious time and energy. A pet peeve of his. When he's in this state, it breeds a terrible habit. One that he hasn't been able to shake off since his early college days, and that's smoking.

But there's a formula for when this happens. It happens at a specific place, at a specific time, within a specific headspace. Taking place in his private office, well into the night hours, and the emails seem endlessly blaring against his laptop screen.

He needs to take a moment to step around his room. Shifting through what is personally self persevering, to what exactly isn't. He's a man of logic. He rationalizes with himself. He doesn't do it often. Not often enough to completely quit, at least.

He keeps his cigarette pack and a single lighter inside a locked drawer at his desk. He lights one, taking a deep breath as he steps to his office window. He cracks it open, where a discreet ashe tray sits on the outside sill. He taps against the tray, staring at a ceiling that has changed so often in his life. Consistency, regime, habits...those were the only comforting things in such a fast paced world.

The nicotine hits perfectly. Easing the tension in his mind. As if the wires are slowly, but surely uncoiling. It eases him to the point of pouring himself a ball-glass of expensive whiskey, gifted by another Riot employee at a private soiree. A few more puffs and he ashes the cigarette. Taking a sip of the whiskey, he decides to nurse it at the desk. Time to get more work done.

He finishes sending the last email, wraps up a phone call with Alune, and creates his last reminders for tomorrow. It's time to prepare for bed. Which consists of a night time shower. Wash away the the smoke possibly lingering against his skin. Wash away pestering thoughts from the day. Wash away anything that doesn't serve him.

The hot water glides down his shoulder and back muscles. Drop by drop, it eases the tension of fibers. Yone closes his eyes, exhaling into the feeling. Behind his lids, he notices his insides feel warm, and his senses tingling. Ah...that brand of whiskey may have had a higher alcohol proof. He should have read the label. He runs his long fingers through his hair down the length of his neck. Doesn't matter. He's going to sleep after this. He may even get better rest because of it.

Twitch. How annoying. That pool of warmth travelled from his stomach well into his groin. He stares down at his erection, dripping with shower water. He was a man of logic and reason. Restful sleep wasn't promised if he first didn't take care of this inconvenience. Efficient in all facets of his life, servicing himself was no different.

He took himself in his hand. A low exhale, squeezing at his base. He closed his eyes again. His head buzzing from the whiskey. Black thigh-high pantyhose. He stroked upwards. Black pencil skirt. He dragged his hand back down. No underwear, straddling a leather office chair. He dragged his hand up and down, coating himself. Despite the warm water, a shiver ran down his spine. Nipples fully visible through a white blouse. His brows knitted together. He huffed, placing a free-hand against the shower wall for support. His cock slick and throbbing. Cherry red lipstick. Tongue circling the head of a cherry lollie. An audible moan escaped him. It bounced against the shower tiles, echoing around him. Licking and sucking. Licking and sucking. Until—Pop!

A hot, white flash of pleasure washed through his veins. His cock pulsed from the pressure, until his fluids came shooting. He caught a loud moan in his throat, gripping tightly around his shaft. Working himself through his climax, he messaged out the last of come from his tip. His mind, full of nothing but an erotic fantasy, now hummed with static emptiness.

Damn, he was exhausted.

an: REJOICE. secretly obsessed with this man. ty ty for the yone req. anon!

[rindough]

yeah sure!! can i be 💫 anon? if that one's taken 🎲 anon is also fine!

also Salvation Army by Harrison Whitford reminds me of so many characters... specifically tho it makes me think of Acheron having a s/o that she left behind but really it fits with anyone who would reminisce on a lost childhood/past and the people in it (wow that's a lot of the HSR cast huh)

assigneddd!!! ure now the bling bling anon :DD

ngl i also think that this song suits a lot or any character *calls entire hsr cast to go on set* well for me atm, i can envision this song with acheron, let's say you resided in xian zhou luo fu, a chef for a stall that many loved to frequent to.

the rain sometimes poured above your stall's shelter, and accompanied with the chitter chatter of your regulars? it only add more weight to your heavy heart that had to bear the weight of your lover leaving.

no one would want their lover to leave to venture out into the unknown, even if their lover had to, nobody would wish for them to venture into the haze only to never come back. everybody wants them to come home, safe and sound.

but why hasn't she come through the doorstep yet? why isn't there any "babe, i'm home!" in the quiet of your home.

the slit in your heart, it deepens at each creak you caused when your feet lands the old wooden floor, it aches dully in your chest at every window you open, only for cold wind to rush in. it aches at every sunrise and sunset.

it's not like acheron left you for good, but for some reason, this time when she had left to go on a mission. the kiss she places on your forehead was chaste, her mind on edge and her voice perhaps a little too sharp for your everyday conversation.

"i'm leaving now," she looks at you, hands firmly holding your shoulders in place, the morning air filling into your traditional home, the soft rumble of thunder sounding from far away. without warning, you tip toed and place a kiss on her lips, pulling her into a hug afterwards. acheron wraps her arms around you, a hand stroking the crown of your head as if she was trying to soothe you.

she'll be gone for a while, she doesn't want to leave you, but she had to. she need to get that income for the two of you.

but to make this much more easier to overcome, this moment when the two of you part, again... she decides to act a little colder, a little distant but honestly she came to realised later in penacony that it wouldn't make sense... given that you've been dating since a decade ago. she sometimes would face palm herself when she realises how confused you might be after that farewell, she blames herself for getting a little too caught up in those soap operas you two would watch at night.

acheron quietly makes a sharp turn in the alley of golden hour, sounds of puking and laughter not that far behind her. a few more steps and the hotel door was illuminating brightly in front of her. she longs for you, she misses your touch. thankfully it's the final commission for her current journey, time went by so fast, she couldn't count how many days or weeks have gone past. but she was sure it wasn't years away from you, speaking of you... you must've missed her dearly in your house. she enters a room after being redirected by the trailblazer, settling down into the tub. she closes her eyes, hopefully waiting for a different reality to wake her up, a reality that she is familiar with.

darkness washes over her, she could date back to that specific moment when she felt her heart doing summersaults and butterflies creeping up her stomach that she'd mistaken it to be a case of caffeine overload. she remembered the crash that accompanied shortly after you called out to her under the warm light of the lamppost in xian zhou luo fu. that night was a mere reunion for friends who had grown up together, but for some reason, she's here, just to accompany you to attend this meetup, even though she knows nuts about your childhood friends.

you weren't aware of her background back then and she couldn't blame you, she had just arrived to the area, got to know you for the sake of a mission, but somehow, found herself overstaying in the planet. boothill had called her to return for some other 'irrelevant' businesses but she couldn't be bothered. being here, in this bustling town, with you by her side, learning what had made up your childhood, how you do things here in this planet, what the people here enjoy the most... it all reminded her of warmth... like a home... something that she couldn't remember or understand about.

acheron feels as if she could be herself around you, breaking down that cold and mysterious demeanor that she displays on every visit to many different planets. so when you invited her out for this meetup as a plus one, she couldn't deny it. she wants to savor, to capture every single chance to get and stay close to someone she calls 'home'.

so that night, she realises something, but nothing good.

overstaying is one thing, but what if she *had* to leave one day, what if she was forced to leave? that wouldn't appear good to you nor her. who knows she would face a penalty? or what if... the way she's this attached to you, she could get in trouble, you could get in trouble.

so she did what she had to do, pulled you aside and told you that she's leaving tomorrow. and when you called out to her that night, disbelief written all over your face, eyes on the verge of tears at the fact that she'll be leaving not soon but tomorrow? she can't blame you for making her want to lean in, to press her lips against yours under the warm yet quiet night. to make you understand what she thinks of you.

when she opens her eyes once more, body floating in the dream tub, she raises a hand up, admiring the way it glistens under the light behind her.

she was determined to head back to you, in the comfort of your family home, into the warmth of your arms.

--;

©  2024 rindough, do not repost or plagiarize.

[strawberrysunsets]

The Empty World (Ch. 10)

Donald Pierce x fReader

Status: Ongoing

Summary: Pierce and the Reavers are sent to capture a mutant with mysterious abilities. This chapter: The mutant sets out on their first assignment for Transigen, amid mounting tension with the Reavers.

Warnings: Swearing, injuries, mention of cannon death, mention of cannon torture, mention of cannon suicide, manipulation.

Angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Author's Note: Hiiiii yes tis I another six months later lol hope you enjoy💓

It was late when you woke the next day. The alarm clock by your bed flashed red digits– 3:00pm – and you only had a moment to float in the thoughtless peace of waking before a knot of anxiety settled in your stomach.  

While last night’s encounter with Pierce was still fresh in your mind – a little thrill of revulsion dancing through you at the thought – it wasn’t the cause for your nerves. Nor was it the constant worry over whether Laura and the other mutants were safe. No; the adrenaline mounting in your system as you stumbled to the bathroom to brush your teeth was solely a result of the fact that after a week of waiting, and briefing, and training your injured shoulder back into shape, the day of your assignment had finally arrived. 

You washed your face, drying it with a hand towel before dressing in the uniform you’d laid out the day before. 

You hadn’t lasted long in high school before taking to the road, but you remembered the feeling of walking into a room to take a test you knew you weren’t prepared for. This was something like that. Except you were surrounded by literal enemies, here – not just the disapproving gazes of teachers – and the stakes of this test were life and death. If you failed this assignment, would Transigen even bother keeping to your deal? Or would they decide you were of more use to them chained to a table in a lab than out in the field?

…and if you succeeded? You’d tried not to think about it. But how many lives might suffer the consequences of Zenith Lab’s scientist falling into Transigen’s hands?

You found yourself gripping the edge of the table by your window, your knuckles turning white as you stared emptily out at the view before you. The empty lot, where last night, you'd confronted Pierce. You turned away, massaging your temples. It was an exercise in futility, trying to predict the possible outcomes of your actions. For now, only one thing was certain: as long as you worked for Transigen, Laura and the others were safe. Or as safe as you could make them. And they'd been through enough. You squeezed your eyes shut against the barrage of horrible images your mind threatened to dredge up from Gabriela's video. You had to focus. 

Your mission was simple. 

The target was Zenith Lab’s complex, a skyscraper in the downtown core of Mexico City with a security system designed specifically to keep intruders like Transigen’s agents out. So, for the Reavers to gain entry to the building, that security system had to be disabled. There was only one issue: the security hub lay on the high rise’s twenty-seventh floor, and no aircraft could deploy an air team to reach it without being detected by the lab’s scanners. Something smaller, though–say, a winged mutant–wouldn’t trip those sensors. There was a reason Clark, the security coordinator, had had you memorizing floor plans for a week. 

It would be up to you to take out the security mainframe, allowing the Reavers access to the building.  

Seeing as I’m carrying this whole damn plan on my shoulders, you thought, sifting through the equipment you’d acquired from the recon manager– you’d think this job would at least come with dental. But no; just the slim promise of freedom for Laura and the other mutants, and an even slimmer paycheck. 

You pulled on the bullet proof vest and slotted the taser into its holster at your hip–silently glad they’d only given you nonlethal means of disarming the guards–then examined the final item in your kit. It was an armpiece, meant to be worn like a cuff around your bicep. Upon turning it over, the only identifying information you could find were a barcode and manufacturer’s label, and you scrutinized it for a moment before putting it on. 

A tracker? To make sure you stayed on course? It seemed superfluous, since you weren’t going anywhere with Transigen’s threat looming over Laura and the others. And since Clark had said you’d be out of radio contact until you’d disabled the mainframe to avoid detection, it couldn’t be a transmitter of any sort. What, then? 

You mulled over the question as you made your way through the lab’s stark hallways, even as you mentally reviewed the stages of tonight’s plan. Fly to Zenith Labs. Break in through the roof door, which would be locked but unguarded, then take out whatever skeleton staff were on the nightshift at the security hub. Finally, meet Pierce and his Reavers as they executed the rest of the plan, and get the hell out of dodge. 

Simple, if not exactly easy. 

The rest of the late day passed in the same gray blur as all your days at Transigen, different only because of your mounting anxiety. 

Nightfall found you in the lobby as a Reaver named ‘Kills’ dispersed earpieces to Reavers who waited impatiently by the door or cracked jokes in groups along the walls. There were less than a dozen in total; all the same rough, macho-sadist types who seemed drawn to the Reaver corps like moths to a flame. You stood out amongst them like a sore thumb, even as you tried to make yourself invisible. It would've been hard enough to keep a low profile as the only non leather-wearing, gun-toting one among them, let alone the only woman, mutant, and goddamn avian. As it was, you tried to look as cold and disinterested as possible in order to repulse their attention. Pierce hadn’t yet appeared, and it was with a mixture of dread and anticipation that you thought of running into him tonight.

Finally the Reavers began moving towards the lab’s doors, and you followed them out, the night air quickly snapping everything into hyperfocus. 

It was a warm, humid night, and the sounds of the city felt alien to you after days in the quiet sterility of the lab. It felt like ages since you’d last walked a city’s streets, and been a part of that noise. Some part of you wondered if you ever would again. 

Three black trucks were parked in a line down the lab’s drive, and the Reavers were moving around them and climbing inside. Someone directed you towards one, and you climbed inside, pulling your wings in tight to avoid brushing the doors. 

There were five Reavers already inside the truck, and all glanced up as you entered, save the man typing away on a laptop. Their faces were cold and dispassionate, but beneath that mask, you recognized a plethora of emotions. Disgust. Hatred. Malicious interest. Once again, your instincts told you to run –that this was a tiger’s cage, and you were a fool for stepping into it. 

But these assholes aren’t hunting me anymore, you thought to yourself, forcefully. They already won. I’m here by choice.  

The truck’s door slid shut behind you, and you set your jaw. Go figures the actual mission would be the least of your problems tonight. These men seemed primed for a fight, and you could feel their sights quickly settling on you. 

“You can sit down here, doll,” a man with a thick bullet-proof vest and an abundance of side holsters said, grinning as he nodded to his lap. “C’mon over.”

You glared at him, and lowered yourself into the nearest empty seat. “I’d rather not catch whatever brain-eating disease you have,” you snapped back, “thanks.” 

“Damned if we gotta work with a fucking mutey,” one of the other men muttered, clicking his gun into its holster emphatically.  

“Hey, she’s on our side, now!” Another laughed. He had stubbled cheeks and a purple bandana tied around his neck. “Gonna help us take out her own kind, just like that albino traitor,” he taunted lazily. “Ain’t that right, girl?”

A hot flush of anger overtook you, along with a sudden sense of claustrophobia at the van’s tight quarters. They don’t get to fucking mention Caliban. For a moment there was a loud buzzing in your ears, and a tide of memories and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Then you shoved the thoughts of Caliban back behind their wall , and turned on the Reavers. 

“We’re not hunting mutants tonight, piss-brain,” you shot back at the man with the bandana. “Did you miss the briefing? I know reading comprehension is above your paygrade, but it’s a fucking scientist you’re after.” 

It felt good to see the man’s gaze darken. “Guess that depends if we find any,” he replied, lip curling in a humorless smile. “Who knows what they’re hiding up there?” He leaned towards you conspiratorially, revealing the line of tattoos that stretched down his neck below the bandana. “Me, I'm hope there’s a few mutts,” his smile grew colder, and his eyes raked over your face in search of a reaction. “It’d be nice to have a little target practice.” 

Heat prickled down your spine, and you didn’t break his gaze. You weren’t going to be baited by this asshole. 

One of the other men–the bald one–was smiling, too; the same lazy malice written on his face as he watched you. “It has been a while since we got some hunting in,” he agreed. “Heard those kids gave quite the chase. But I’m sure ol’ Wolvey took the cake.” 

Your skin flushed hotter before you could get a handle on yourself. 

“How many shots did he take before he went down?” The bald man continued, turning to the other quizzically as bandana-man pursed his lips in thought. “Fuck, gotta be two-dozen?” He smiled, turning his gaze back to you as he let out a low whistle. 

The tension in the truck was thick as tar, and finally even the man on the laptop looked up, glancing between you and the Reavers. 

The buzzing in your mind felt like it was growing louder, like a freight train overtaking you; and all at once, the hot, prickling sensation on your skin resolved itself into something familiar. Something like crackling energy, and an awful golden light lurking just beyond your fingertips. 

The blood drained from your face. 

“You know ‘bout that, feathers?” The first man was asking, leaning forward as if in earnest. “Naw, she wasn’t there,” the other Reaver replied. “Missed the whole thing! Gotta tell her about it.”

What would happen if your powers returned, here and now? If your Ether flared inside this truck?

You had no idea, but you doubted there’d be any survivors. 

And would that be so bad? Some dark part of you whispered, lulling you towards the crackling energy. To end this awful game, and go out with a fucking bang? To take some of these assholes with you? 

Some distant, reasonable part of you was shouting for your attention, but far nearer was the forgefire of everything you’d shoved behind a wall in your mind. It was rage, and fear, and months of unprocessed grief–and that dam wasn’t going to hold forever. 

Somewhere outside the truck, there were voices, and engines revving–but they seemed far away compared to the dark, taunting eyes of the men before you. One little slip, one burst of energy–and they’d be gone, and you’d be gone from this place. 

The stillness of the truck was shattered as the front passenger door swung open, and a familiar figure climbed inside, blond hair tousled from the wind. The man with the bandana leaned back in his seat, breaking eye contact, and the bald man smiled sardonically as he shifted away, too. 

“Boys,” Pierce greeted, his gaze roving over the Reavers before settling on you. “Playin’ nicely?” 

The heat was high in your cheeks, and the buzzing in your mind still grappled for your attention as you tried to regain control. Now’s not the time to lose it, you told yourself, trying to shove the energy back behind its wall. Not with so much on the line. You couldn’t be so selfish. 

You could feel Pierce’s gaze on you, and from the corner of your eye you saw when the man on the computer glanced up, briefly locking eyes with Pierce as they seemed to exchange some sort of information. Pierce sat back in his seat, sighed once through his nose, then swung back out of the truck. You barely registered it when he appeared at your side door, sliding it open and taking hold of your arm as he pulled you back out into the night. 

Too surprised to resist, you landed on the sidewalk, and he shoved the door shut behind you, suddenly cutting you off from the scene within. 

“What are you doing?” You asked dumbly, slowly returning to yourself as he shepherded you down the walkway. Pierce only snorted, directing you towards one of the other trucks. “C’mon, baby,” he drawled, opening its door and herding you inside. “We're gonna ride recon.” 

***

The inside of the recon truck was quiet as it rumbled through the city streets, lights and the occasional bright storefront flashing past outside. The radio played a late-night mexican station and the transceiver crackled with brief messages and replies from the convoy, while the man in the passenger seat watched what appeared to be a live feed from outside Zenith Labs. 

They were headed to a drop point, from which you’d get airborn and make your way to the building while the Reavers followed from the ground. 

Pierce was listening to the transceiver's chatter, judging by the tilt of his head, and idly adjusting one of the components of his mechanical arm as the driver wove the truck through the midnight streets. The Reaver Commander wore his usual fatigues, black t-shirt, and leather jacket; but now with the addition of a kevlar vest, and holsters on either side of his hips. He was ready for a fight; but then again, he always looked ready for a fight. 

Finally, Pierce sighed.  

“I spent plenty of time around soldiers,” he said conversationally, shifting back against the truck's netted wall. “After a while, you learn the look of someone who’s about to break.” He met your gaze briefly, knowingly, as he twisted the metal dial that was his forearm in a series of smooth clicks.

You looked away, trying not to think about what had happened with the Reavers in the other truck. How you’d almost lost control. So easily, so quickly–and still, how the energy behind your mind’s wall seemed agitated, like a pot of water on too high heat. 

“Seen it happen,” Pierce continued. “Watched ‘em puke up their guts, or run for home…usually at the first fight, or first kill. First time facing bad odds,” he smiled drily. “And I wouldn’t care a whit about you going haywire on us,” he sighed, “except I seen what you can do when you break.” 

That day on the overpass. A car wreck, and an explosion of swirling golden Ether. 

You winced, and you could feel your usual composure eluding you. You knew that bits of your feelings were getting through; the shame. The anger. Fear. There was no stopping them. You swallowed, taking a deep breath. The least you could do was try to settle your stomach. There was a chance you might lose control and vaporize someone tonight, but you were not going to puke. 

Pierce was unfazed, staring at you as he leaned back. “Thing is, baby-" His mouth curved in an unfeeling smile. “-there’s a whole lot of people riding on tonight’s little operation. So I'll thank you not to blow the whole thing sky-high before we even get started.” 

“I’m not going to jeopardize your precious little kidnapping mission,” you snapped back. “I’m not going to break.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you returned your gaze to the window as you ignored the hollowness of your own words. 

In truth, you were relieved beyond measure that he’d pulled you away from the Reavers in that moment. You didn’t know what might have happened if you’d stayed, and didn’t want to consider it. Stupid, perceptive bastard. As it was, you still felt like your control was balancing on a knife’s edge–and the mission which that afternoon had felt impossible now felt like a death sentence. If you wanted to get through this, you couldn’t delve into your feelings. You had to do –not think. Not feel. 

“I’m not going to break,” you breathed, repeating it more to yourself than anyone else. Pierce sighed through his nose, not bothering to argue the point, then leaned forward and tugged at one of the straps of your vest, unfastening it.

“Hey–” you jerked away in surprise. His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Let me help you, sugar. You done it up all wrong.” 

Your breathing grew shallow as he leaned forward, his hands working deftly to pull the strap from its loop.

This close, his stature was even more intimidating than usual; your entire world taken up by his tall frame and thick arms. As if sensing your thoughts, Pierce smirked. His face was shadowed in the darkened car, but you could feel it. Asshole. 

"Easy, baby. Can't have your gear on wrong, now, can we?" 

His arms encircled you as he crossed the straps behind your back, and for a moment the warmth of his biceps pressed into your shoulders, and you could smell the musky, cheap scent of his aftershave. You turned your eyes skyward, ignoring the proximity of his neck and jaw, and tried to keep your thoughts from straying inevitably towards last night. Futilely. Your cheeks reddened. 

Then he was before you once more, fastening the straps tightly; his face shadowed, though the flash of the streetlamps illuminated the skull and crossbones inked across his neck. You made a mental note to mention to him how tacky the tattoo was, as soon as you'd regained your focus. Right now, you were too distracted; torn somewhere between the vile, magnetic pull of him, and the unnervingness of his physicality. Even without his robotic arm, he was frighteningly strong-and exactly the wrong kind of person to wield that power.

Still, his proximity calmed a small part of you by some infinitesimal amount. For even after witnessing your near loss of control, Donald Pierce didn’t seem scared of you. And in some way, that helped you feel less scared of yourself. Even if his character tended to counteract that effect. 

He finished with the vest, and you took a breath, nerves zinging as he leaned away. 

“There you go, sweetheart. All good,” he said, half mocking.

You thought his assessment over, but then his gaze fell to your arm. You’d almost forgotten the armband, but Pierce reached forward to grip your bicep, turning it into his view. His hands were firm; clinical in their assessment, but still the smirk remained. 

“No one told you how to put the damn thing on?” He asked, fiddling with something on the armband so that it clicked more firmly into place. 

“I didn’t exactly get workplace training,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady and unbothered by your racing heart.

The truck was beginning to slow, finally, and you examined the sharp lines of his face in the halflight. “What is that thing, anyway?”

Pierce sat back, finally widening the space between you as he took his radio from the wall, slotting it into his belt. 

“Technical,” he replied. “Keeps your gear from emitting frequencies scanners might pick up while you’re on the way in.” 

You processed this information, idly straightening your shirt as the van rolled to a stop. Sometimes it was easy to forget that beyond the gun-obsessed, vaping, muscle-shirt wearing exterior, Pierce was smart. You'd worked as a mechanic, and were a dab hand at fixing basic wiring and the like-but Pierce was on another level. He'd designed his own mechanical arm out of advanced robotics, along with the enhancements on other Reavers-and seemed to have a disturbingly good understanding of things like energy signatures and transmissions. Power, in the worst possible hands. 

You heard other engines cutting off outside, and Pierce leaned forwards, pulling open the truck's side door as the night wind rushed in. You climbed unsteadily out, wings flaring for balance as you found your footing on the rocky ground. 

The place where the trucks had stopped appeared to be a dusty, dead-end road, slightly elevated from the rest of the city by a small hill. It was bordered on one side by a chainlink fence, and on the other by a grassy expanse which led down towards the roofs of some houses. 

“Now, you do what you gotta do to hold up your end of the bargain tonight, sugar,” Pierce said, swinging out of the truck after you. “No room for anything else. We’re gonna be right behind you.” He grinned. “In spirit, if not in the flesh.” 

The truck stopped across from you was the one from before, and as you watched, the Reavers from within climbed out to lean against the doors or hang from the windows. Purple bandana leaned against its side, while the bald man watched from the open door. His gaze was gloating, but you ignored it. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were all watching you-sizing you up; as if waiting for something.

Pierce leaned against the recon truck, his tall frame impossible to ignore at your back; and you realized what they were all waiting for. 

You. Of course they were going to watch you take off; for you were a freak, and they had front row seats to the show.

A pang of anxiety shot through you at the thought. You'd always known how much the Reavers hated you; hated all mutants-but it was a different beast to feel it. This was truly what you were to them. An aberration; some strange, depraved mistake that nature made, and on which they had the chance to profit. You didn't feel confidant under their scrutiny, but you sure as hell weren't going to show them how much it rattled you.

Might as well make it worth their while, you thought, jaw clenching. You took a few anticipatory breaths, and bounced on the balls of your feet as you worked up your courage.

Just do. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Take the damn sociopath's advice, and do what you have to do to get through the night. 

“Catch you on the other side,” Pierce grinned, wolflike in the darkness. 

Without waiting to reply, you took a running start towards the grassy slope. The air was cool on your hot cheeks as you sprinted, leaving all thought behind. The chainlink fence and red roofs of the houses at the bottom of the slope grew nearer, and then your feet left the ground, and the sudden sensation of weightlessness hit you like a wall as your wings fanned out on either side. 

They’d chosen a good take-off point. The natural updraft of the hill caught you almost immediately, carrying you effortlessly up and away from the shrinking roofs. 

Your newly-healed muscles ached at the exertion, but the ache was dull, dampened by the sudden thrill of flight. It felt like leaving it all behind; like escaping the tethers of your mind, and throwing fear to the wind. 

How long had it been, since you really flew ? But you couldn’t think about that now; only the task ahead. 

Far below, truck doors slammed as Reavers climbed back inside and the black vans pulled away from the drop point. And high above, you wheeled towards the city; focus honed to a single point of intent as you worked to pick out the dark shape of one specific skyscraper among the rest.

Taglist:

@humongousgalaxycoffee @drowningnikki @mischiefmanaged71 @lostcause514 @capvengrs @forever-nerd @pancakesandlolliepops @kingredking @gremlinfuck @marvel-at-my-obsession @padawansubscription @rebeccaofrivia @toobsock @darkengene

[shoshiwrites]

The lovely @mercurygray is running Blind Dates again this year — now with a blog @blind-dates-fest! — and I wanted to make it four for four!

My sincerest apologies to Esther Bubley, whose photo stories for the Office of War Information I borrowed for this piece (and header), more specifically the six-week bus trip she took in 1943 to document the country's travels during wartime.

Her photos are amazing and can be found in multiple books on the Internet Archive and on the Library of Congress website. Her OWI peers included Jack Delano, Marion Post Wolcott, Gordon Parks, and John Vachon, and I should probably put together a second post instead of taking up all the space in this one!

Without further ado, meet Paulette!

so many miles and so long since i've met you

It’s 5:00 AM, and she’s hungry. 

She’d gone for a boxed lunch at the last station, scarfing it down at a corner bench with her camera on her lap, her jacket flung over it for protection. The taste of salmon salad lingers in her mouth, her fingertips still smelling of orange peel even though she’d waited in line to reach the ladies’ room, politely elbowed her way between fellow passengers reapplying lipstick and dabbing their makeup to scrub her hands clean at the small sink.

I could go for a Coca-Cola right about now. 

If nothing else, it would keep her awake to keep shooting, capture the people waiting who look as tired as she feels, as tired as she knows she looks by now. She’d gotten some good pictures at the machine shop back in Indianapolis, the garage where the mechanics worked and the drivers wrote out trip reports. 

Maybe she’s predisposed, her comfort in these places. Her papa’s a mechanic too; she knows the chambray shirts with their pockets, stained with oil and stuffed with pens, wrenches hanging on the wall, the smell of new tires and grease.

She tries not to yawn, and fails, into the back of her wrist. Sleep finds a way here — she sees it in heavy shoulders, click, the flyaway curls, click, the man walking through with a stack of used pillows off an incoming bus, click. The children dozing on their father’s arm, little brown shoes barely touching the floor, the stuffed bunny in the little one’s arms. Click, click, click. The woman behind her has taken up a whole bench, her pumps kicked off besides. Click. Her camera is small, comparatively, and even still, they all sleep so soundly that the noise doesn’t wake a single person. 

Good shots of the garage in Indianapolis, and better ones of the women who washed the bus windows, the baggage clerks hustling with their caps and cigarettes. They let her roam, with the permissions she’s got, all stamped and tucked in her bag. Behind the driver’s seat, the front, the middle, the back. Her bus out of D. C. was segregated; it depends which bus, which city. Everyone looks at her funny until they forget she’s there.

Paulette has plans for a short stay in the next city, photographing a driver and his family. A real bed and supper at a table, marking the halfway point of this East-Coast-Midwest criss-cross. She thinks of sending a few postcards home — there’s hardly time, but Maman always likes to hear from her, and Paulette knows she’ll catch hell if Charlie and Dot don’t have anything to tape up. 

Is it better to send the same postcard, or different ones, she wonders. Sometimes the twins like to match, and sometimes there’s nothing worse. Just as long as she calls Charlie Charles — makes him feel like a grownup, like Pa’s official correspondence, and her sister Dot or Sis. Marie-Dorothée makes her sound like their grandmother, Dot says. Paulette, ten years older, out of sight and on the road with her knowing smile, does as she’s told.

“Miss?”

Her eyes fly open to the asker, the soldier in front of her as tired as the rest. It pulls at his frame, still upright with the force of hard training. His voice is a little hoarse, that sleepiness, like it’s not a question. “Mind if I sit here?”

Here is the space between her and the end of the carved bench, not much. But here, it’s all at a premium. She nods.

He slumps in next to her, his bag on his lap, and they touch at too many points to count, warm hip warm thigh warm calf. He’s close enough that she can see freckles under the artificial light. If she got up, she could make a photo. Give him some space. 

She feels like she’s missed her chance, the part where she introduces herself and asks for permission. There’s no one here to distract him, no friends or pretty girls to let her fade into the background. Something tells her to get up and walk around. Her bus will be here in an hour anyway, it’d do her good to get the blood in her legs moving. And there’s no such thing as enough pictures, of course. She taps her finger against the flattened lever on the side of her camera. 

“Neat gadget,” says the soldier. 

Paulette’s had the Rolleiflex just under a year, and she’s just now getting less jumpy about it. Photographers have to get used to expensive pieces of equipment. Mr. Linehan back at the office had no patience for it, squeamishness. Trust yourself, a colleague told her. George Gordon, always wore an old leather jacket and signed his letters G. G. He’s somewhere in Maryland now, or Massachusetts.

She’d saved and saved. Gotten a good deal, too. Did some free photos in exchange for the balance. Probably put the corner store out of business from all the Mounds bars she didn’t buy. She’d kill for one of those now, too. 

“Thank you,” she says, even though that’s not the thing to say. 

“My sister’s got one of those little Brownie cameras.”

“Has she? I’ve still got mine at home.”

“Where’s that?”

Maybe she has to give him credit for that. Don’t I ask the questions, she wants to say. “Cincinnati.” There’s a small bruise at his jaw, and maybe she wouldn’t even call it that, it’s still reddish-pink. Training accident, she guesses. “Where are you headed, soldier?”

“Ain’t that confidential?” He smiles, and she can see the slight overlap of one of his front teeth. Boyish. That’s the word. She doesn’t quite feel girlish, here in her tired slacks and her curls that haven’t seen a bottle of hairspray in weeks. “South. Georgia.” Paulette nods. “You?”

“Far as the next bus takes me.”

“Taking pictures?”

“Taking pictures.” Where d’you wish you were headed? she wants to ask. Maybe that’s too much. Maybe that’s something she doesn’t allow herself here, doesn’t want to, usually. Doesn’t have the time. You don’t fill a portfolio getting distracted. You don’t get taken seriously, either.

She doesn’t know him, anyhow. 

“You take a lot?”

“Too many.” Her finger hurts from it. She lets the air out of her nose, something like a smile. “On my last frame, actually. On this roll.” She know she’d better load the next one before the bus rolls up. “You wanna see how I change ‘em?”

He’s twisted in his seat already to talk to her. Nods, watches her hands fiddle with the body, pull the film taut. She’s suddenly self-conscious, but he stays silent. His head is bowed, the scent of his hair and his sweat and the remnants of aftershave in her nose. He points a finger, slowly following her movements, her steps. The scent of orange. His lunch, or hers?

“Gotta take one now, dontcha?” he says quietly, that little bit of brassy shine to his voice.

She smiles. “Would you oblige the lady?” The words run together, in her accent, in her tiredness.

Paulette can’t think about where he’s headed. His easy calm, the flecks in his eyes. The little twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She does get up, gets him turning in profile, thumb curving at his bottom lip as he looks off. The light glints off his boots. A little posed, for her usual. And it never feels like this, like a photo might be just for her. She takes two, just in case. She doesn’t pull out her notebook. 

“S’pose my mother wants a copy-” he starts.

Silly. “Oh, of course!” The notebook, the tiny pencil. He writes down the address. Kokomo. Not so far from Cincinnati. “And- and your name?”

“Floyd. Floyd Talbert.” Does she stick out her hand? He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, before she can say anything. “S’pose I ask if- if I can write you?” 

It’s not the first time. She’s lost count, actually. She’s never given it, the road forgiving her with warning bells and train whistles, timetables. There are freckles on the bridge of his nose. 

She tears a scrap of paper off the metal rings. Paulette Schafer. Her home address. Her mother hosts servicemen for Sunday dinner, shoos them out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon. “You can call me Pauli.”

“I hope so.” He smiles. “When’s your bus?”

Her watch — the thing she hasn’t looked at for the last hour — tells her twenty minutes. “Soon. I’m headed west.”

“Cryin’ shame.”

“You know, I can’t spend all my film on you.”

He leans back against the wall. “You’d like to though, huh?”

Floyd Talbert, how many times has a girl wanted to keep a photo of you in her pocket? “You’re a compelling subject.”

He smirks, and something in her stomach flutters. 

“You say that to all the handsome soldiers.”

“‘Course.”

She’d better head out now if she wants to get some good quotes out of the driver, a few shots of the baggage clerks, if she doesn’t want to get stuck in the jump seat if it’s a full house. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Floyd,” she says, and sticks out her hand.

A voice intones over the PA, 6:00 AM to Kansas City- “All mine, Pauli Schafer.” A beat passes, and he’s looking at her with an expression she can’t name. “Can I walk you out?”

She knows he’ll let her do what she needs to, stay quiet by her side. 6:00 AM to Kansas City- She wishes they had time for a cup of coffee. She’ll take a moment though, get one more picture of him walking out in the morning light. “You may.” 

[blossombriefs]

Legendary | Chapter Sixteen

Sleep came swiftly. It was the deep, dreamless sleep that only followed the most exhausting days. When I woke the next morning, the sun cast its gentle rays through the window, filling the room with warm, golden light. I stretched, sitting upright, feeling more rested than I had in a long time, a testament to the peace we had brought to Namek.

I turned to see Broly still asleep. I noticed that he usually slept heavily. His face was snuggled into the pillow, and I found myself pouting as I looked at him. I carefully slipped out of bed, doing my best not to wake him, and made my way to the kitchen. I prepared breakfast for the two of us, quickly heating the pan and mixing some ingredients. The smell of cooking quickly filled the small house. As I set the table, my mind replayed our conversation from last night, specifically Broly's suggestion that we live together. Considering everything we were going through, it seemed almost too good to be true. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.

The sound of footsteps drew me away from my thoughts. I turned to see Broly towering in the doorway. His hair was messy and a sleepy smile was spread across his lips. He mumbled with a voice rough from sleep, "Morning."

"Good morning," I responded, returning his smile. "Breakfast is almost ready. How did you sleep?"

"Like a rock," he said, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He walked over, slipping his arms around my waist from behind. I felt his chin gently rest on my shoulder as he hummed, crouching a little to my height as his eyes were drawn to the food. "Smells good."

"Thank you," I said, feeling a bit of warmth run through me. "I thought we could use a good breakfast after everything that's happened."

"You didn't have to, I would've cooked."

"I wanted to," I said, setting a plate out to serve the meal. "Consider it a thank you for everything you've done."

He took his plate, piled high with eggs, vegetables, and meat, looking down at it and then back up at me with a smile. "Thank you, Flora. It means a lot to me."

We sat down together and shared breakfast over some small chatter, mostly revolving around what we planned to do with the rest of our day. We planned on visiting The Grand Elder today. We knew that not only would we love to see him after the battle, but he would also most likely be anticipating our visit. Once we finished, we cleaned up everything, the routine tasks grounding us in the normalcy we both needed. Together we washed up the dishes and tidied up the kitchen before showering and getting dressed.

When we headed out, the suns were shining brightly over Namek, casting a warm glow over the village. The air was fresh, and the scent of burning was gone from the atmosphere, instead, it carried the smell of blooming flowers. We caught glimpses of the villagers who were already hard at work rebuilding the homes and buildings that were destroyed in the commotion. Their spirits were all high as they rebuilt what they had lost. As we walked through the village, Broly and I were greeted with smiles and nods of appreciation. It was heartwarming to see the villagers so full of life and determination despite the hardships they had faced. The sense of community and resilience was palpable, and it filled me with hope for the future. We made our way towards the Grand Elder's residence. As we approached, two guards at the entrance recognized us and stepped aside, allowing us to pass through without hesitation.

Inside, the Grand Elder was seated on a large, ornate chair, his wise eyes observing us as we entered. His face lit up with a kind smile. "Flora, Broly, it is good to see you both."

"It's good to see you too, Grand Elder," I replied, bowing respectfully. Broly followed suit, his large frame making the gesture seem almost delicate.

The Grand Elder motioned for us to sit, and we settled down on the cushions arranged in front of him. "You have done a great service for our people," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "We are forever in your debt."

"We only did what was right," Broly said humbly.

The Grand Elder nodded. "Your humility is admirable, Broly. But let us not forget that your actions have saved countless lives. There wasn't a single fatality. For that, we are deeply thankful."

There was a moment of silence as the Grand Elder regarded us thoughtfully. "I sense that your journey is far from over," he said finally. "There are many challenges that lie ahead, but I have faith that you will overcome them."

"We hope to continue making a positive impact," I said. "But we're not sure where to go from here."

"The path will reveal itself in time. For now, take this moment to rest and recover. You have earned it." The Grand Elder smiled gently. He then turned to me, keeping a smile on his lips. "My dear Flora, I have something to give you."

I raised my eyebrow, "You don't have to give me anything."

Almost on cue, one of the guards approached me and leaned down to my height. His outstretched hand held a piece of parchment paper. Intrigued, I took the parchment, unrolling it carefully. As I read the elegant script, my eyes widened in surprise. "They're co-ordinates?"

"Yes," the Grand Elder said, his eyes twinkling with wisdom. "These coordinates will take you to a very special place on Earth. A place where you will find something, or rather someone, very important."

I looked up, my heart pounding in my chest. "Someone important?"

The Grand Elder nodded. "Your family, Flora. These coordinates will guide you to them. I told you when we first met that I knew they were out there. You seemed keen to find them. It is my way of thanking you."

My breath caught in my throat. Family. It had been so long since I'd thought about my past or even wondered about it. I was so focused on the present. The memories were hazy, but the longing was always there, a constant ache in my heart. The memories from Ginyu surely came back, maybe more would over time.

Broly placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, his eyes filled with understanding. "This is your chance, Flora. To reconnect with your past and to find closure. I know you don't remember. Maybe we can find out more."

I nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—excitement, nervousness, hope. "Thank you, Grand Elder. This means more to me than you can imagine."

The Grand Elder smiled warmly. "It is the least we can do after everything you have done for us. May your journey be safe and your reunion joyous."

With the coordinates clutched tightly in my hand, Broly and I made our way back to our home. When we arrived, I carefully tucked the parchment into my bag, ensuring it was secure.

"Are you ready for this?" Broly asked, his voice gentle as always.

I nodded fast, "I think so. Maybe I can remember something. Maybe I can get some closure."

Broly smiled, his eyes shining with pride. "Then let's get ready. We have a journey ahead of us. We can set off tomorrow if you'd like to?"

I took a deep breath, nodding. "Yes, tomorrow sounds perfect. Let's take the rest of today to prepare and say our goodbyes."

Broly nodded, his hand still resting on my shoulder. "We'll face this together, Flora."

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of activity. We gathered supplies, packed our bags, and made sure everything was in order for our journey. The villagers, upon hearing of our departure, came to wish us well, their heartfelt goodbyes and gifts filling us with a sense of belonging and community. It was bittersweet, knowing we were leaving this place that had become a second home, but the excitement of reuniting with my family kept my spirits high.

As evening fell, Broly and I took a moment to sit outside our home, watching the suns set over the serene landscape of Namek. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the village. I leaned against Broly, feeling the comfort of his presence.

"I can't believe it's really happening," I said softly. "I didn't even know I had a family."

Broly wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer. "You deserve thi. You've been through so much, and now it's time for you to maybe find some peace."

I nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "Thank you, Broly. For everything. I couldn't have done any of this without you."

He smiled down at me, his expression full of affection. "And I couldn't have done any of this without you. We're a team, remember?"

I smiled, feeling something wet form in my eye. I tapped my finger gently as it raced down my cheek. "Yeah, a pretty good one, I'd say."

We sat in companionable silence for a while, taking in everything around us one last time. Eventually, we headed inside, both of us feeling the weight of the upcoming journey. We shared a quiet dinner, and before long, we were ready for bed. As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a new chapter in my life, one that I hoped would bring answers and closure.

Next Chapter Chapter List

[fuckmeyer]

Ok I’m on my phone so I have no idea what 500 words looks like but I’d love to hear some more on this section from CN:

“No.” The cold left my body. The groan of falling furniture fluttered my eyelids. I twisted in the sheets. “Come no closer. You won’t take her from me.”

“Hush. Let’s not wake Isabella.” Over the low growl, in a coo as calm and lilting as a low tide washing in, the other man said, “I’m not here to take her away. It’s all right. I won’t take her away. I am here only because—”

“I won’t hunt. She needs me. I won’t leave her. You won’t take her. You won’t trick me. Who told you I was here? Alice?”

A silence had the familiar voice snarling something under his breath.

“It took me some time,” said the calm male voice. “Her directions weren’t exactly specific. Luckily, you picked quite the lavish vacation home to commit a misdemeanor.”

“But now you’re here and you’ve come to take her away,” said the other uneven voice. “You won’t. She’s mine. She’s not going. Not without me. You won’t take her. She’s mine.” After a pregnant pause, he inhaled raggedly. “I am not delusional.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Don’t lie.”

“You know what we say about first thoughts.”

“We,” he spat. “How dare you invoke his spirit.”

I shook with sweat. Where did the cold go?

“May I ask when the last time you fed was?”

“No.” A pause. Hesitation. “I—I don’t know. A while.”

“How long is a while?”

“I don’t know,” he stressed. “Rio. Texas. I don’t know.”

The words came slow and careful: “I suspect…in light of this fact…you may be under the misapprehension that I am not real.”

“I-I— well, it—it’s— No, I don’t need to hunt, for god’s sake, stop thinking it!”

“You are a danger to her in this state.”

“You’re the danger!”

“Shh…”

I called out for the cold. It came to me.

“Can't have her. You can't have her. Mine. Mine.”

“Edward. Control your breath. You will frenzy.”

“I know. It’s bad. I know. I’m fine. I am. I’m not the danger, it’s—it’s— It’s bad. Isn’t it. She’s got—it.” Fear trembled the young man’s whisper. “Don’t lie. You smell it on her.”

“I do.”

“Then you know. I can’t leave. I can’t hunt. She’ll die. You’ll take her. You can’t have her. She’s mine. I won’t let her go. I won’t make the same mistake. I can’t.”

“You are referring to…” Beat. “Edward. You must know the circumstances are entirely different. Your mother contracted the influenza a century ago during the height of the pandemic. We did not have the resources and technology to treat her as we do with Isabella. It will be all right.”

“I can’t risk it. Not while she’s fevered. I can’t leave her side. I won’t. I can’t make the same mistake. This…is a test…and if...I leave…again…” Words dissolved into uneven breaths.

“Shh. Okay. It’s okay. It’s all right. I understand. Breathe slowly. We don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay right here. Open the window. Keep breathing. Do you mind very much if I wait with you? I won’t take her away. I promise. I’ve only missed you so.” A creaky floorboard near me groaned; the young man snarled. “All right. Shh. I won’t get close. She is yours.”

“Mine.”

“Yours. Yes. And so, I will sit here, on the other end of the room. —Is this okay? Over here?”

A deep growl soft as a whisper came in response.

COME NIGHTFALL CHAPTER 30: 03:00 - DVD COMMENTARY

“No.” The cold left my body. The groan of falling furniture fluttered my eyelids. I twisted in the sheets. “Come no closer. You won’t take her from me.”

“Hush. Let’s not wake Isabella.” Over the low growl, in a coo as calm and lilting as a low tide washing in, the other man said, “I’m not here to take her away. It’s all right. I won’t take her away. I am here only because—” ["YOU NEED TO HUNT"]

“I won’t hunt. She needs me. I won’t leave her. You won’t take her. You won’t trick me. Who told you I was here? Alice?”

[yes. Carlisle arrives at 3AM. the earliest they would have left is 3PM CET, or ~8AM PST. so, as soon as they touched down in Italy, Alice was making calls asking them to follow. she had solid enough visions on the flight that someone was going to get out of there, though she didn't know who. THE GIRL WAS MAKING MOVES]

A silence had the familiar voice snarling something under his breath.

“It took me some time,” said the calm male voice. “Her directions weren’t exactly specific. Luckily, you picked quite the lavish vacation home to commit a misdemeanor.” [outskirts of Florence]

“But now you’re here and you’ve come to take her away,” said the other uneven voice. “You won’t. She’s mine. She’s not going. Not without me. You won’t take her. She’s mine.” After a pregnant pause, he inhaled raggedly. ["The delusions are worsening. Or, rather—"] “I am not delusional.”

“I don’t think that.”

“Don’t lie.”

“You know what we say about first thoughts.” [Edward used to fly off the handle a lot in his newborn days, especially in reaction to others' thoughts. Carlisle always used to tell him that first thoughts are the product of social conditioning, while second thoughts determine a person's true character. (That is, first thoughts are impulse and don't matter, but second thoughts are calculated and *do*.) Carlisle means to say that while he doesn't think Edward is delusional, he does think Edward is starving enough not to process their meeting coherently.]

“We,” he spat. “How dare you invoke his spirit.” [ok calm down buddy]

I shook with sweat. Where did the cold go? [literally i modeled this scene after the stupid tent scene in Eclipse. if smeyer is allowed to have a conscious unconscious Isabella who can hear conversations, dammit, so am i!!!!!!!!]

“May I ask when the last time you fed was?”

“No.” A pause. Hesitation. “I—I don’t know. A while.” ["HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN SEVENTEEN???"]

“How long is a while?”

“I don’t know,” he stressed. “Rio. Texas. I don’t know.” [Rio. ate rats in the slums before starving himself in his apartment]

The words came slow and careful: “I suspect…in light of this fact…you may be under the misapprehension that I am not real.”

[in Chapter 27: Volterra, Aro says : "Perhaps Carlisle has not disclosed to you his firsthand experience with nervous consumption, but the delusions become quite vivid…" Nervous consumption is the archaic 17th-century term for anorexia nervosa. even before leaving the Volturi, Carlisle 'experimented' with starving himself with the intent of 'recording vampire physiology.' per canon lore, a vampire can't starve themselves to death; in this universe, their minds produce vivid hallucinations as their bodies waste away.]

“I-I— well, it—it’s— ["He needs to hunt."] No, I don’t need to hunt, for god’s sake, stop thinking it!”

“You are a danger to her in this state.”

“You’re the danger!” [Edward thinks Carlisle is an angel sent to take Bells to heaven aslklaksl idiot]

“Shh…”

I called out for the cold. It came to me.

“Can't have her. You can't have her. Mine. Mine.” [it's at this moment Carlisle realizes Edward is using the verbal and physical language of a mated vampire. (Though E&B have been using this language since Chapter 24: The Angel in In the Afterlight.)]

[still, Carlisle isn't sure where the line of "mate" ends and where the line of "prey" begins.] “Edward. Control your breath. You will frenzy.”

“I know. It’s bad. I know. I’m fine. I am. I’m not the danger, it’s—it’s— It’s bad. Isn’t it. She’s got—it.” ["I do not know to what you are referring."] Fear trembled the young man’s whisper. “Don’t lie. You smell it on her.”

["Illness?"] “I do.” ["I do not deny she is sick, Edward."]

“Then you know. I can’t leave. I can’t hunt. She’ll die. You’ll take her. You can’t have her. She’s mine. I won’t let her go. I won’t make the same mistake. I can’t.”

“You are referring to…” ["...the death of your mother?"] Beat. “Edward. You must know the circumstances are entirely different. Your mother contracted the influenza a century ago during the height of the pandemic. We did not have the resources and technology to treat her as we do with Isabella. It will be all right.”

“I can’t risk it. Not while she’s fevered. I can’t leave her side. I won’t. I can’t make the same mistake. This…is a test…and if...I leave…again…” Words dissolved into uneven breaths.

[For a long time, Edward felt guilty for being away from his mother's deathbed when she passed (though she purposefully sent him away so he wouldn't watch her die). this is one of many transgressions Edward is being "punished" for by god.

he talks about it in Chapter 27: Volterra: “I’ll admit, trapping me in a small enclosure with my flu-stricken singer is a rather genius way to punish me for my sins: leaving Bells in Forks just like I left Elizabeth in the hospital..."

he goes into more detail re: the death in Chapter 10: Theories of By Starlight: “Four days after she was admitted, she told me to run home and fetch her favorite Indian comb. She said she was feeling better and wanted to leave that afternoon— Lord forbid she leave without her hair braided and pinned. When I came back, her bed was empty. The sheets were already changed. I never said goodbye.”]

“Shh. Okay. It’s okay. It’s all right. I understand. Breathe slowly. We don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay right here. Open the window. Keep breathing. Do you mind very much if I wait with you? I won’t take her away. I promise. I’ve only missed you so.” [Carlisle steps closer to Edward and Bella.] A creaky floorboard near me groaned; the young man snarled. “All right. Shh. I won’t get close. She is yours.” [he utilizes Edward's possessive nature to show submission to Edward in order to stay longer (and ultimately convince him to go).]

“Mine.”

“Yours. Yes. And so, I will sit here, on the other end of the room. —Is this okay? Over here?”

A deep growl soft as a whisper came in response.

send me 500 words of my fanfic & i will give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet