#which means that i can’t wipe the fog off without taking a hand off the wheel

[gazpacho-deluxe]

just had to drive in the rain and dark (a combination i have not driven in before) to drop someone off somewhere i hate driving i hate driving i hate driving

[saintlike78]

Hiii can you do a poly marauders x fem reader where girls are being mean to her like calling her ugly and saying she dosnt deserve them so she’s breaks up but they find out what’s been happening and they get back together . (I couldn’t see if your requests are closed) ❤️

Greedy [Poly Marauders]

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! You’re just fueling my addiction with writing poly Marauders fics… and I love it!!

Pairings: Poly! Marauders x Fem!reader

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: Fluff, polyamorous relationship, breakup, mentions of not eating, crying, reader being sad, mean girls. Lmk if I missed anything.

“Honestly you’re just being greedy!”

“They don’t even really like you; you were just the easiest.”

“You’re not even pretty enough for one of them, what makes you think you could have all three?”

“It’s only a matter of time before they get bored of you and trade you in for someone better and more deserving of their love.”

The words swarmed around your brain, a thick fog settling before your eyes as tears streamed down your face making everything blurry and wet. Your feet were clumsily transporting your body back to your dorm, trying your best to keep your head down avoiding the stares your fellow students were giving you.

You were trying to forget and ignore what those girls had said, but it kept playing on repeat in your mind. You knew that your three boys loved you, but the girl’s words filled your head with doubt. You knew that your boyfriends were too good for you, you didn’t deserve them, they would be better off without you or with somebody else. The thoughts were killing you; more tears escaped your eyes at the thought of them with somebody else tearing you apart, but it was necessary for their happiness. You could never make them happy; you could never be enough for them.

You ascended the stairs towards the girls’ dormitories but decided against it opting towards going to your boy’s dorm, wanting to feel the comfort of their room one last time.

You opened the wooden door but met by silence from the other side. The boys still had an hour of class left, leaving you to sit in sadness alone for a while longer before you would be breaking your own heart.

Walking across the room you stood in front of the mirror taking in your reflection, red puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks. Looking at yourself you understood what the girls saw, you had no idea how Remus, Sirius, and James had stayed with you as long as they had, but it was time you finally put them out of their misery even though it was killing you. Thinking about what would happen in less than an hour the tears pooled in your eyes once more, but you quickly grabbed a tissue from the box on Remus’ desk beside the mirror and wiped your eyes and the falling tears. You made your way into the connected bathroom, wanting to at least look somewhat presentable before the boys returned. You washed your face with cold water, the cool water washing away any redness, but not concealing the sadness that still lingered in your eyes.

The book in front of you could not hold your attention, your focus solely on the door of the dorm, just waiting. James’ soft blanket comforting you slightly but never distracting enough.

The door burst open and the loud chatter between the boys filled the quiet room. Their laughs warmed your heart, momentarily causing you to forget what was going to happen.

“Bunny, you’re here!” Remus just about shouted, running to you and getting on top of you kissing you all over your face.

You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips, but sadness bubbled up within you at the fact that you would never experience this again.

You softly pushed Remus off of you making him sit on his calves looking at you in a very confused manner.

“I need to talk with all of you,” you said trying to keep your voice steady, hoping they couldn’t tell how much you had been crying.

Sirius and James made their way to the bed as well, sitting beside Remus.

“That sounds so serious… you aren’t breaking up with us are you, pup?” Sirius joked, but your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to reply, but no sound came out.

“Wait?! Are you?” James asked worriedly, noticing your face and lack of words.

You were fiddling with your hands, not looking in their eyes.

“Uhm… well… the thing is…. Uhm… y-yes.”

Tears filled your eyes when you finally muttered the words, not believing this was real, but you knew it needed to be done.

“What?! No! I was just kidding, you can’t break up with us, why would you say that?!” Sirius exclaimed, not believing his own ears. Tears gathered in all of their eyes, unbeknownst to you, since you still refused to meet their eyes.

“Bunny… you don’t mean that,” Remus tried, his voice breaking slightly at the effort of trying to contain his tears.

“I-I do, I’m s-sorry, I can’t be with you anymore,” you stammered, tears now leaking down your face once more. Your hands were shaking, and your limbs felt heavy, your heart shattering into a million pieces. You quickly got off of the bed facing the door wanting nothing more than to leave, not wanting to look at their faces because you knew if you did you would break even more.

They all stood from the bed as well walking towards you. James reached for your arm, but Sirius stopped him.

“Please, y/n, don’t do this… we love you; don’t you love us?” James tried, not trying to conceal his tears any longer, letting them fall freely down his cheeks.

“It’s f-for the b-best.”

“Y/n, don’t you love us anymore?” Sirius repeated James’ question since you chose to not answer, not wanting to lie.

A long silence ensued, you didn’t want to lie, but you knew that it was what you had to do for them to hate you.

“… n-no,” you whispered.

All of their hearts collectively shattered. Both Remus and James were freely crying, but Sirius was fuming, angry tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Fine! Then leave!” Sirius shouted causing you to jump slightly. Sirius felt his heartbreak and he felt guilty for scaring you, but he was just so angry and sad, he didn’t know how to handle it.

You quickly walked towards the door opening it, but before you left you turned around letting yourself cave and get one last look. Your breath caught in your throat when you took in their tear-covered faces, your already shattered heart turned to dust.

Whispering an almost inaudible ‘I’m sorry, you slid out the door, leaving the boys heartbroken and most of all confused as to when you suddenly stopped loving them.

You raced towards your own dorm, opening and slamming the door shut as soon as you had made it inside. As soon as the door was completely shut your legs failed you and you crumbled on the floor, loud sobs leaving your quivering lips. You had never felt pain like this before, it felt like someone had cut your heart out and ripped it apart in front of you, leaving you a bleeding broken mess.

Lily, who was laying in her bed, was startled by your sudden entrance but was quickly by your side as soon as you collapsed.

“Y/n/n, what’s wrong? What did they do?” she asked, clearly expecting the boys to be behind this, but also not quite believing they could hurt you to this point.

“I-I b-brok-e up w-w-with them!” you sobbed out, hiccups making it much harder to formulate a decent-sounding sentence.

“You did what?! Why? Just yesterday you were madly in love… what happened?” Lily’s confusion shone clearly through her tone, not understanding why you would do such a thing.

“P-please, I j-just want to sl-sleep,” there was nothing you wanted more than to lay in your bed and just disappear.

Lily just nodded and helped you towards your bed, helping you remove your shoes and grabbing your sleepshirt, which happened to be one of the boys’ shirts.

“Do you want to sleep in this?” Lily asked carefully.

You instantly nodded and grabbed the shirt from her grasp, wanting nothing more than to be comforted by your boys, but since that wasn’t an option, you opted for this.

Slipping into the warmth of your blanket the tears never ceased, but your eyes still fell shut, wanting to sleep the pain away.

“Do you want me to grab dinner for you later?” Lily asked softly, but already knowing the answer.

“No thanks… can you close the curtains around my bed?”

Lily sighed but did as you asked, knowing you just needed time.

In their dorm, Remus and James were pacing around the room whilst Sirius sat on Remus’ bed, trying to calm himself before dinner.

“I don’t understand, we were all fine yesterday,” James muttered loudly enough for the two others to hear him as well.

“What is it you don’t understand, Prongs? She loved us and now she doesn’t, ‘s as simple as that,” Sirius stated, his tone laced with bitterness, choosing to be angry instead of letting the sadness consume him.

Remus stopped his pacing and looked at Sirius’ seated form, “you don’t really believe that do you, Pads? … Prongs is right, we were all fine yesterday.”

Sirius just let out a ‘humph’ and crossed his arms, rising from the bed.

“Whatever, let’s just go to dinner… she’ll probably be there celebrating her freedom from us.”

This time James stopped to look at Sirius, “you know she would never do that and besides something doesn’t seem right… it’s too out of the blue.”

Remus nodded and let out an agreeing hum and they both followed Sirius towards the door.

Days passed; you hadn’t left your bed unless you had to use the bathroom. You were drowning in tears the pain in your heart not subsiding.

The teachers were informed that you were “sick” and that you needed some time to recover from your sudden illness.

The only time you had gotten any form of nutarians was when Lily basically forced you to consume something, anything. She was growing more worried each passing day, having talked to the boys and keeping them updated on your situation, since they all were worried as well and asked her to keep an eye on you for them since they hadn’t seen you since the day of the breakup.

The news of your breakup spread like wildfire; people not used to see the three boys without even a trace of you.

Remus was the first to experience a couple of the girls flirting very aggressively with him, but he brushed it off, knowing they could never replace you; it was you or nothing. Sirius was the next, he was less nice and told the girls to leave him alone. Lastly was James, he almost cried, wishing he could get you back, so he could be free from any other girls.

The girls were growing agitated by the lack of attention they were getting from the three Marauders, clearly not understanding why they were so upset by losing you.

It had been more than a week; Lily was studying in the library when she heard your name spoken behind one of the bookshelves. She stood from her seat, moving closer to listen to the girls on the other side.

“Ugh, it’s so frustrating! Sirius totally dismissed me the other day,” one of the girls complained.

“I know! I don’t understand, it’s been a week, they should be over her by now.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll soon realize that she wasn’t even that great and then they’ll be all over us,” the last girl said with a proud smirk.

The wheels in Lily’s head turned as she absorbed the conversation and as the last cog clicked into place realization struck – her legs couldn’t have moved faster out of the library if she tried, but she was on a mission to find the three heartbroken Marauders.

“REMUS!” Lily was sprinting towards the black lake where the three boys had been residing most of the week.

“Woah, Lily, calm down, love,” Remus chuckled and got up from his seated position to be level with Lily.

Lily sputtered, trying to catch her breath, bending so her hands were on her knees.

“Y/n… y/n,” Lily started, still struggling to get a word in between her gasping breaths.

“What’s wrong with y/n? is she okay?” Sirius said as he and James stood, panic flooding between the three of them at the thought that something had happened to you.

“She’s… fine… hhhh…” Lily drew a deep breath, regaining her ability to speak, “I don’t think she wanted to break up with you.”

“What do you mean?” Remus cocked an eyebrow, hope blossoming in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of getting their bunny back.

“She obviously did, she said she doesn’t love us anymore, so that’s it,” Sirius crossed his arms, his sadness still concealed by anger.

“She does love you, a lot actually… she’s been crying the whole week, she hasn’t left her bed… or dorm room for that matter,” Lily explained.

“I heard some girls talking about you three and y/n; they were speaking very ill of her and though I’m not sure, I think there’s a connection with them and y/n’s sudden need to end it with you three.”

“Are you sure? We don’t want to get our hopes up for nothing… we just really miss her,” James said sadly, all of them scared that their hearts would be broken all over again.

“I’m certain… she never shuts up about how much she loves you, which was the reason I was so shocked when she came in crying saying she had ended it.”

Lily hadn’t had the chance to properly finish her explanation before Sirius was bolting towards the castle and towards Gryffindor tower, with Remus and James close on his heel.

When three boys entered your dorm room, all out of breath and red in their faces, you were asleep curled up on your bed, still wearing what the boys recognized as Sirius’ t-shirt. They couldn’t ignore the dried tears that stained your cheeks, your face red from the crying, your lips turned down in a sad frown, even in sleep.

Remus was the first to walk towards your bed, seating himself beside you, slowly stroking your cheek as to wake you. James and Sirius placed themselves on the bed as well, waiting for you to open your beautiful eyes.

“Puppy… you gotta wake up now,” Sirius spoke softly, rubbing your back gently.

You stirred and slowly opened your eyes, focusing on the three boys on your bed; instantly deciding that you were dreaming, not believing that they could really be there.

“Hi… Remmy, Siri, and Jamsie,” you grogged out, voice hoarse from the constant crying.

“I wish you were here in real life.”

“Baby, we are here, this is real life,” James chuckled softly, still scared that you really didn’t love them.

You quickly sat up, reaching out and touching Remus’ face, only to just as quickly retract your hand when you felt the very real Remus sitting in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” You breathed quickly, not wanting them to see you in your broken state.

“Lily was worried about you… and she overheard something interesting in the library from some girls… so we want you to tell us what happened,” Remus spoke slowly and reached out to take your fiddling hands in his.

“What do you mean?” you played dumb, not wanting to answer their question, knowing you would break again if you did.

“We want you to tell us why you broke up with us, and not to lie this time,” Sirius was trying to conceal his anger, not wanting to upset you even further.

You let out a shaky breath, not knowing where to start; you looked between them all, all of them eager to hear what you had to say and listening intently.

“I was talking to this group of girls, and they got into my head about how you're all too good for me I don't deserve you... I just feel like you guys deserve someone way better than me and more beautiful than me that's why I wanted to give you an opportunity to be free from me.”

The three boy’s eyes widened in shock at your words, all three of their jaws open wide almost hanging on the floor from pure disbelief.

“Bunny, you're the most beautiful girl we've ever known we love you so much more than you ever know... We are the ones who don't deserve you, you’re an absolute angel and you should never let any stupid lowlife girls tell you that you're not good enough,” Remus said reaching out and stroking your cheek softly, tears gathered in his eyes.

Sirius’s eyes flashed red, he was in two minds, keeping you company or going to murder the girls who made you believe such nonsense, but he chose the first option, scooting closer to you and engulfing you in his arms.

“Puppy, please never listen to those stupid girls again... This week without you has been pure agony I've been stuck with these two idiots for far too long,” Sirius whispered to you whilst stroking your hair.

“Does that mean that we can get back together,” James said with a shy grin.

“Of course, if you'll have me back,” you looked at all three of them hopefully knowing that they in no way were obligated to get back together with you after what you'd put them through.

“Of course, will have you, we can't imagine life without you… a week was way too long without you,” Sirius said, his fingers tilting your chin so that you're forced to look into his eyes, he leaned down and kissed your lips - a whole week's worth of passion translated into this kiss.

Remus and James both moved so that they could embrace both you and Sirius creating one big ball of love.

[strangelysamantha]

hi can i request a blurb or a whole imagine where jj rlly likes reader but she’s a kook and his friends don’t like her that much, 💗 thank u

hatred runs out ❀

jj maybank x kook!reader.

warnings: swearing, hateful feelings, that’s all.

words: 2,015.

summary: you are a kook, you were trying to befriend the pogues as they made you happier than you had been in months. the only downside, none of them were quite welcoming, besides jj.

request? yes!

a/n: my ask box is open, send away! i’m working on multiple imagines that should come later! like and comment if you enjoy this. thanks for the request! <3

my masterlist

——————————————————————————

“she’s a kook jj, i mean, you aren’t seriously crushing on her? are you?” john b looked up at jj, and frowned when he saw he wasn’t laughing. “john b, i don’t know what it is man, but she’s different. i just know it.” john b cackled, “she’s not different. she’s a kook, i mean come on… she hangs out with topper. that says enough.” jj rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed. “you just don’t like her because she associates with sarah’s ex.” he shakes his head. “no, that’s not the reason jj. your mind is just fogged up, because you clearly aren’t thinking straight.” jjs anger was boiling up, and before he did something he would regret, he decided to just walk off.

jj stormed away. he continued walking despite john bs attempt of calling out to him to stop. he was trying to clear his mind, he genuinely liked you, so much that he felt the need to tell john b. jj wouldn’t usually be this upset, but when john b of all people disapproves because you are a kook, when the girl he is dating is sarah, it angers him. after ten minutes of air, and chilling out, he returns to john bs house.

once inside he sees you and kie. he was completely caught off guard. “oh? you’re here.” jj spoke to you, causing you to look up. “hey jj. yeah, i decided to stop by before my shift. do you want to join us? we’re playing uno.” your smile immediately lifts a smile to jj's face. “sure i’ll play some uno.” he approaches the table, and you deal him seven cards.

kie was the only one who semi liked you. obviously she wasn't ecstatic about you, but she was open to tolerating you. as time went on, she started to enjoy your company, she realized you weren’t that bad, and despite being a kook, the two of you related on many things.

“first card is a yellow two. jj can go first.” you stare at him, waiting patiently for his move. his heart was beating fast, as he tried to pick a card. as he placed a yellow seven, john b walked in. “why is she here?” you didn’t miss the sharp tone that lingered in john bs voice. “oh, i decided to stop by. i’m sorry, i should have asked.” you stand up, reaching for your jacket. “that’s right. you should have asked. you can’t just show up to someone’s house randomly. it’s weird.” you frown, not realizing until now that he didn’t trust you enough to even be considered an acquaintance.

“she’s welcomed here whenever she wants to be, john b.” jj spoke up for you. kie backing him up by softly saying yeah. “no. she’s not. it’s my house jj, and i don’t appreciate you inviting random kook strangers over. she’s not a pogue. she’s not like us. meaning; she’s not welcomed here.” you frown at his words. you quickly feel out of place and you rush to the door, pulling your shoes on. “i’m going to go.” you spoke up, grabbing your purse. “good. see you!” john b exclaimed, watching you walk out the front door and down the steps.

“what the fuck bro?” jj stared at john b waiting for an explanation. “what?” jjs eyes narrowed on his, he couldn’t be serious could he? “why do you always do that shit bro? i mean honestly. what makes her any different from sarah?” john b shakes his head. “don’t even compare them. they aren't similar.”

jj scoffs, “oh they’re not?” jj begins to expose the similarities but john b shuts it down immediately. “jj i’m not going to explain myself to you anymore. i don’t like her, and i don’t want her over here.” jj groans in frustration. “if only you got to know her man, then you’d know how amazing she is. i mean ask kie. kie thought she was annoying at first and now they can be in the same room without being in a yelling match.” kie nodded, listening in but staying mostly silent.

“fine. the only reason i’m agreeing is because you hate kooks too, which means you might be right. about her.” john b sighs, giving up. “thank you. please, even if you decide you still don’t like her, please just consider getting to know her.” he pleads, “i already said i will.” john b rolled his eyes, jj smiles, “okay. we should invite her to hang out with us after pope gets off work.” they all nod in agreement, planning something so they could see if they wanted you to join their party.

the pogues had planned on inviting you to the wreck, and then to a mini trip on the hms pogue, for a boat ride. you were ecstatic, excited that they wanted to actually hang out with you. you think hard, trying to find a perfect outfit. you didn’t want to overdress, or underdress, and you didn’t want to look bad. after deciding on a simple outfit and swimsuit, you head to the wreck.

you see the group in the back corner. when you walk inside, jj is the first to spot you. a smile spreads to his lips, as he waves you over to join them. you sit down by john b, jj sitting on the other side of you. “hey.” you say shyly, not entirely sure if this whole thing was a set up. you were hopeful it wasn’t, but you could never be too sure.

“hey, thanks for coming.” pope said. you smile brightly at him, “thanks for inviting me.” pope nods. your stomach was hurting by how nervous you were. jj made small talk with you, as you guys were waiting for kiara. you weren’t entirely sure what they were planning, you were just glad to be a part of it.

“alright guys. here’s the scraps.” kiara walked to your table, setting down a bowl of fries, and then a plaster of burgers. you smile softly, jj and john b immediately grabbing the food. you wait, not entirely hungry since you ate before you left. jj offered you a bite of his burger, “oh thanks!” you laugh slightly as you bite from where he had bitten, enjoying the taste, “hey you actually have mustard right there.” you smiled as you spread mustard on jj’s face. you couldn’t help the giggles erupting from you, as jj’s mouth opened wide in shock. “oh really? well you seem to have some ketchup-” his finger rubbed ketchup on your cheek. “all over…” he gestured to your face. “hey! give me a napkin.” you ask for a napkin and jj laughs. “no.” you immediately look over to pope, giving him a smile. “may i have a napkin?” you ask. he smiles, “sorry jay.” he hands you a napkin and you wipe the ketchup off your face.

“thank you pope. i like you. unlike some people at this table…” you look at jj and he’s just smiling like a maniac. pope laughs. “glad that you think so highly of me just because i handed you a napkin.” you nod, eating a french fry before glancing at john b. he was awfully quiet. “john b?” you question. he looks up at you. “yes?” annoyance already rolling off his tongue. “are you okay?” he rolled his eyes. “yes. even if i wasn’t, i wouldn’t confide in you about it.” you frown.

you wait a second, trying to think of how to lighten the mood. “you know what we need to do?” you look from pope to jj, to finally john b, poking at his arm. “what?” john b looks up at you. you tap jj’s stomach, indicating to him to stand up. he stands up, making room for you to be able to move out of the booth. you poke john bs side. “we need to dance.” you grab john b's hand, doing anything possible to lighten his mood. his frown was still hung on his lips. he hesitated and followed you to the middle of the restaurant. jj and pope stay back at the booth.

you lean over the counter, asking kie to play a song she knows john b would enjoy. “john b. you just need to calm down, and relax. you just need to dance like nobody's watching.” he stares at you, shocked. “it’s okay. i’ll do it with you.” his favorite song started playing, and you began to awkwardly dance. he laughed at your ridiculous moves. he held back from joining in, he didn’t want you to win. you began to break out dancing, and he can’t help but laugh. you look up as someone enters the restaurant. a smile flies to your face. “sarah!!!” she runs up to you.

“hey!!! i didn’t know you guys would be here.” you smile, still swaying slightly to the music. “sarah i would have definitely invited you if i knew you were free.” she nodded at your words. “all good girly, we still good for monday?” you smile, “of course.” john b stared, confused by this whole interaction. not only did you know sarah, you were actually friends with her. you had plans to hang out with her. maybe he was wrong, maybe jj was the one who was right. maybe, you actually were similar to sarah.

“do you want to join us?” you ask, sarah grabbed your hand spinning you around before breaking out in a fit of laughter. “stay another minute here with you losers… i’ll pass.” you jokingly act offended, “hey!” she shakes her head. “only kidding. i definitely would, but my dad wants me home. he claims he has a fun night planned but it’ll probably just consist of watching a movie and eating from here.” you nod. “well have fun with that.” you spoke, she smiles, “you know i always do.” you roll your eyes at her joke, she walks away grabbing her to go food before she disappears from the restaurant. “hey i’m gonna go take a sip of water.” you move back to the booth, jj refusing to move so you end up sitting on his lap. you sip water as you catch your breath from dancing.

john b heads straight to kiara. “how long have they been friends?” he asked abruptly. “her and sarah?” kie questions, pointing at you. he nods, “yeah.” kiara laughs, “they’ve been buddies for years. they didn’t get super close until a month or two ago.” he nods at her words. he was still shocked. he looked back at the booth, seeing you sat on jjs lap, his hands held firmly around your waist. you were speaking to pope, and he actually looked interested in what you were saying.

john b had just realized that he had the wrong idea of who you were. whether sarah made him realize that or not, he definitely didn’t want to hold a grudge with you, especially if sarah was your friend. john b walked back to the table, his attention on you. kiara had followed swiftly behind him. “let’s raise a toast.” the group was confused but they lifted their cups of water anyway. “to the newest member of our club.” his glass pointed in your way, his cup clashing with yours. you smile. john b was the only one you were worried about, and now he was saying he welcomes you.

the group cheers as you smile brightly. “thank you guys! i’m so excited for our future adventures.” you drink from your glass. the group waited for kiara’s shift to end before taking the hms pogue for a ride. you were sat by jj, pope to your left. kiara and john b talking as they directed the boat.

“well, welcome. you made it.” pope smiles, laughing slightly. “i did, isn’t that crazy. john b hated me like 6 hours ago.” jj laughs, “classic john b for you.” you nod at his words. pope, jj, john b, kiara, and you, talked all night, watching the stars as you guys got closer. it was so much fun, and today’s events allowed you to become a permanent group member.

<3

[the-bau-quinjet]

Is that my sweater?

Summary: When lounging around the compound, Steve wears a lot of sweaters. When he's on a mission, you "borrow" those sweaters.

Warnings: fluff, angst, implied smut, some cursing probably

Word Count: 2284

a/n: I needed some fluffy Steve Rogers in my life today.

Masterlist

You're not sure when it started, but when Steve is on a mission, all you do is worry. It's easier to control when you're on the mission with him or even on a mission of your own, but when he's gone and you're in the compound?

All you do is worry.

You could barely even sleep. That is, until you found a semi-decent solution.

Before the last mission Steve went on, the two of you were arguing about Harry Potter. He had the audacity to say the movies were better than the books, which is categorically untrue.

Unbeknownst to you, he was just trying to get a rise out of you because he likes the way your face scrunches up in annoyance.

Anyway, he followed you to your room when you stormed out of the kitchen, not wanting you to be mad at him while he was gone. He carried his sweater in his hands, having taken it off while cooking, leaving him in a white t-shirt.

When he got to your room, he dropped it on a chair so he could grab your hands to truly convey how wrong he was about the books and movie situation.

When he was called for the mission, he left the sweater behind, leading to your so-called-solution for sleeping while he was away.

The idea hit you one night when you were physically exhausted, but mentally couldn't calm down. You rolled over, trying to get more comfortable when you caught sight of his sweater on your chair.

In your sleep deprived state, you shuffled over to grab it, throwing it on over your own pajama shirt before returning to bed.

You were enveloped in his scent, easing the nonstop worry long enough for you to fall asleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you told yourself it was a one time thing. It only happened because he left the sweater there. You were just worried about your best friend. It didn't have to mean anything.

Those were all lies.

The next time he left on a mission, you were quick to find you couldn't sleep again. Your thoughts kept returning to his many sweaters, causing you to sneak into his room to steal one to sleep in.

Every time he left while you were still at the compound, you would "borrow" a sweater from his closet, returning the previous one you had to his laundry basket.

You figured he would never find out. He owned so many sweaters, he wouldn't notice when one was dirty even if he didn't wear it.

Oh, how wrong you were.

-

"Y/N, welcome back!" Bruce greeted you as you walked into the lab, having returned from a mission late last night.

"Thanks, Banner!" You looked around the room, surprised to not see Tony. "Where's Tony?"

"Oh, he's on a mission. They left a day after you, should be back on Sunday." He replied, not taking his eyes from the tech he was working on.

"They?" You questioned, trying to think of who you had seen around the compound since returning.

"Yeah, Tony, Bucky, Nat, Wanda, and Steve." Again, his eyes remaining glued to his project, not realizing the way your face fell at the mention of Steve being gone.

"Five of them? What happened?" You tried to mask the worry that was already creeping in, threatening to take over.

Bruce finally looked up, surprised you hadn't heard about the explosions.

"There was a series of explosions in Baghdad. Intel suggested it was all to assassinate one man, but multiple bombs were used to divert attention."

You nodded, trying to take in the information. "Any leads?"

Bruce's expression turned grim as he nodded. "Hydra."

You felt your heart drop even further as you now fully understood just how dangerous the mission was. No wonder they needed the five of them.

You nodded in response before muttering something about going to the gym, needing to leave the lab so you could worry in private.

Since the compound was nearly empty, you ended up going to the gym as you said. You managed to distract yourself for a few hours, but there was still 4 days before they were supposed to be back.

That night, you snuck into Steve's room, borrowing another sweater to snuggle up in for the next few nights.

-

Friday morning, you woke to somebody knocking on your door.

You couldn't really be mad since it was already almost noon, but it was still mildly annoying to be disrupted from your limited sleeping.

In your hazy morning fog, you got out of bed to open the door. Your grumbling about being woken up died on your tongue when you realized just who was on the other side.

"Steve!" You jumped into his arms, ecstatic to see him after worrying so much. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until Sunday!" You squeezed your arms around him tightly, unwilling to let go even when your feet returned to the ground.

"Yeah, we got done earlier than we expected." Steve graciously returned your hug, thrilled to see you after nearly two weeks apart.

After a few reassuring words that the mission went well and he was uninjured, you finally stepped back from each other.

"I was wondering if you wanted to join me to watch the next Harry Potter-" He abruptly cut himself off as he took in your appearance. His brows pinched together in confusion. "Is that my sweater?"

You instantly froze. In your sleep fogged ming, you had forgotten to take off his sweater before answering the door. You could feel the blush warming your face as you tried to think of a way out of this.

"Would you believe me if I said no?" You gave him a nervous smile, trying to avoid admitting the truth.

He laughed, although still confused. "Not really, no."

You sighed, before reluctantly confessing. "Yeah. It's your sweater."

He waited, as if expecting you to willingly explain why you had it, before he eventually asked the question you were dreading.

"Um, why are you wearing it?" He coughed, a slight blush growing on his cheeks as he looked you up and down again.

Your mind raced trying to come up with a good reason for you having his sweater, but you couldn't think of anything but the truth.

You threw your hands up over your face, avoiding all eye contact as you blurted out, "I was worried about you."

He waited again, before gently prompting you to continue. "So..."

"So, I broke into your closet and stole your sweater to sleep in because it's the only way I can get myself to calm down enough to sleep while you're on missions." You gasped, covering your mouth as you realized what you just admitted.

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he sputtered. "Missions? Like multiple? You've, uh, you've done this before?" His face grew redder at the thought of you sleeping in his clothes.

You nodded, hands still over your mouth to prevent any other unfortunate confessions.

"Um, since, uh since when?" He cleared his throat, trying not to sound to giddy.

"You remember when we had the Harry Potter movies versus books argument?" You moved your hands away from your face just enough to talk, before quickly covering your face again to hide your embarrassment.

He nodded, thinking back a few months.

"You left a sweater in my room when you were called away on that emergency mission and I just..." You gestured with your hands, not wanting to actually say it out loud.

Steve was completely speechless. You worried about him enough to want, no need to sleep in one of his sweaters when he was gone?

The only word he could manage to get out was a whispered, "why?"

You shrugged, repeating your earlier statements. "Because I worry about you when you're on missions."

"Yeah, but why?" He was having a hard time comprehending what this actually meant. He meant why did the sweater help, but you took it as a question of why you worried.

You shrunk in on yourself, avoiding eye contact again.

"I, uh, well you're my best friend, and I, um, care about you..." You trailed off, not sure you were entirely ready for your feelings to be out in the open.

"Enough that you worry so much you can't sleep without my clothes?" Steve was so bewildered, he was barely thinking. He was definitely not controlling his tone of voice. The question came across to you as harsh and annoyed.

In your eyes, he was clearly upset with the situation. The only logical reason you could think of for him to be that upset is if he knew about your feelings and didn't reciprocate them.

Tears sprung to your eyes as you hastily removed the sweater, leaving you slightly chilly in just your tank top and shorts. The chill sent a new wave of emotion over you, anger replacing the sadness at how harsh we was being with you.

"Yeah, I care about you, asshole. Hell, I think I'm in love with you." Despite your mumbling, he could clearly understand what you said. His eyes went even wider at your latest confession.

"I'm sorry I took your clothes." You threw the sweater at him, grabbing a sweatshirt from your desk. "If it helps at all, I only ever had one sweater at a time." Your bitter tone did not go unnoticed by Steve.

"Y/N, I..." He paused, still overwhelmed by finding out that you loved him too.

Your eyes quickly softened, the brief angry stint ending. You couldn't be mad at him for not feeling that same way. It wasn't fair. You would just have to move on.

"Steve, it's fine. I'll get over it." You brushed past him into the hallway, deciding to drown your sadness in junk food from the kitchen.

Steve stood frozen, watching you walk away and wondering how that went so poorly.

-

When you made it to the kitchen is was thankfully empty. You dug around for a few minutes, looking for something that would make you feel better, ultimately settling on a package of Oreo's and a glass a milk.

For some reason, it's always been a comfort food for you, reminding you of being a kid and having no real problems.

A few stray tears fell down your cheeks, but you hastily wiped them away. You would resign yourself to cry in the comfort of your own room later.

A few minutes into eating your Oreo's, nearly everyone appeared in the kitchen.

You honestly should have expected it since it was pretty much prime lunch time.

You did your best to put on a happy face as you ate your cookies, not really joining any conversations but nodding along. A few minutes later, everyone settled around the room, eating various things and having separate conversations.

You had just finished your cookies and rinsed your glass when Steve ran into the room, a look on his face that could only be described as desperate.

"Whoa, slow down there Capsicle. Where's the fire?" Tony joked, earning chuckles from a few people.

Steve ignored him as his eyes scanned the room, settling on your frozen form by the sink.

"Cap, you good?" Sam questioned as everyone grew more concerned with his behavior.

Again, Steve ignored him. He took four large steps around the island before coming face to face with you. You took a deep breath, really not wanting to have this conversation in front of literally everyone you work with.

"Steve, wha-"

He cut you off by pulling your head to his, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss.

You froze at first, but quickly leaned into his embrace to deepen the kiss.

He pulled back, much too soon for your liking, to stare into your eyes.

"Y/N, I honestly have no idea what just happened in your doorway. I think my brain malfunctioned or something, but please believe me when I say I've been in love with you for months."

A blush painted your cheeks as you took in his words, a weird mixture of confusion and relief flooding your emotions.

"You do?" He nodded, still holding you close to him. "But- you just- you do?"

He laughed, pulling you into a hug and whispering in your ear, "I do. I really, really do."

"I love you too." You admitted in as soft a whisper, eagerly leaning into his warm embrace. You took a deep breath, finding comfort in the all too familiar scent.

You would have stood in his embrace for hours if not for your moment being interrupted by the clapping and hollering of your teammates.

"About time, punk." Bucky smirked from his seat on the barstools.

"Personally, I would love to know what happened in Y/N's doorway." Tony chimed in, laughing when you hid your face in Steve's chest.

"Steve probably just found out about Y/N's sweater habit." Nat added casually, earning looks from everyone in the room.

You were speechless, having been sure no one else knew.

Wanda, Sam, and Clint looked way too excited to learn more.

"You all really need to be more observant." She muttered to yourself.

You and Steve slipped out of the room when attention had turned to Nat, slowly making your way back up to your room.

"You're welcome to steal my sweaters anytime." Steve pulled you into his side as you walked down the hall.

"Oh, well I guess I'll start with this one then." You smirked before pulling him into your room, already removing the sweater from his body.

Permanent tag list:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman

[whump-town]

The Traveling T-Shirt

No Pairings

No Warnings

It's just Morgan's t-shirt traveling through the BAU one person and story at a time

It starts with a coffee spill in Seattle. With Aaron, startlingly enough.

Six days in the rain and it seemed even their cleanest, driest clothing was damp with the chill from the constant downpour. Though, six days on their feet with clothing they’d already worn at least twice that week on their backs, they looked more and more “rag-tag” as the hours bore on. Even Hotch had lost his cookie-cutter charm. His white t-shirt crumpled where it was typically pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. His hair wouldn’t stay gelled into the style he liked it in, leaving it fluffy and soft on the top of his head. He looked significantly less like SSA Aaron Hotchner and a lot more like Aaron.

Maybe he had lost SSA Hotchner somewhere along the days and victims because SSA Hotchner would never spill coffee on himself. But Aaron would and Aaron did.

Derek watched the whole thing take place, unable to take his eyes off of Hotch since the second that he walked in. Something about his tired zombie-like lurches just couldn’t break Derek’s curiosity and he had to know what would come out of Hotch’s current state. Despite the far-away look in Hotch’s gaze, the tired bags of discoloration under his eyes, Derek would not have predicted this as the outcome. Hotch is so out of it that all he can do is stare at the mess he’s created, glaring at the mess of coffee grounds across his less than pristine white dress shirt.

“Here,” Derek shakes his head, has to manually clear the fog occupying his brain. He pulls at the loose clump of napkins someone had left atop the coffee table for this exact situation, presses the mass into Hotch’s stomach. It feels akin to something else, distinctly deja-vu. Like he’s pressing into a wound, holding him together with nothing more than cheap napkins.

The physical contact brings Hotch back to the Earth and with a few blinks of his blood-shot eyes he sighs irritably and mumbles, “I don’t have any more clean shirts.”

Derek would argue the one he’s currently wearing is not clean either. It’s got a few dots of red expo marker on the left elbow where Reid bumped into him, rambling quickly about his map and the geographical profile. On the cuff of his right sleeve, there’s something brown or black which could be something from a pen or an expo marker or something else he’s just stuck his hand in. God knows what else is on this shirt.

Hotch puts his hand over Derek’s, holds the napkins himself. Derek pats his shoulder, “it’s alright, man. I’ll get you a shirt.”

They could go just about anywhere and just buy him a shirt. It could be some looney graphic t-shirt from the boy’s sections of some store down the street or another white dress shirt to replace the one he’s wearing but Derek just gets one of his. It’s a light grey, the color worn down by how frequently Derek wears it. Where it fits Derek snugly, hugs his chest and back tightly, it fits Hotch oddly. Displays to them all just how right they were in the assumptions they have held about how his recent divorce is affecting him.

He’s lost weight.

Too much.

One thin grey Hanes t-shirt can’t fight off the chill and overtop it, covering his visible bones, Dave throws him a sweater. He stays buried in that sweater and shirt all day, long into the night as they go hunting out in the streets with flashlights. Rain comes down heavy and thick.

Dave gets his sweater back. Folded neatly and smelling of the distinct fabric softener Hotch uses, it makes his whole office smell nice and Dave nearly can’t bring himself to wear the thing again. Doesn’t want the scent to fade, every inch of that sweater is now stitched together with something more.

The t-shirt gets left at the bottom of a drawer, to be discovered months from now.

Emily finds it six nights after Foyet left Hotch in Saint Sebastion’s hospital held together by sugrical staples and the stubborn will to live. All of his clothing has been hunted through, his shirt drawer is nearly empty. JJ and Penelope had undertaken the job of finding Hotch clothing for the hospital -- anything that he could just slip his arms into without having to lift them above his head. The only things left in his drawers are regular t-shirts and jeans, meaning Emily doesn’t have a whole lot to pick through right now.

She hadn’t anticipated this need and as much forethought as she put into staying the night was assuming Hotch would have clothes she could steal. She hadn’t really thought she’d be here tonight but she doesn’t think she can leave him alone. Doesn’t think it would be kind of her as his friend to see him like this and still choose to leave him for the night.

She decides on a thin grey shirt that she finds, turning her nose up to his university t-shirts (as if she’d wear those) and a pair of sweat pants on his floor that she thinks are clean or at least don’t smell bad. It’s not the best but she came unprepared and she’s not going to complain, both are comfortable even if the pants are giant on her.

To her surprise, he’s still fighting off his meds. Hazy brown eyes blink open when she steps back out into the living room, following her as she comes to the couch. She’s careful, even if she does it nonchalantly, as she moves his legs a little so that she can sit down beside him. He’s stretched across the couch, too big so he’s pinched up in places, but he doesn’t want to sleep in his room. Stubborn like a child being asked to take a nap -- “but I’m not tired”.

“T’as not my shirt,” he mumbles into his blanket. He’s got the heating blanket pulled up his nose, wrapped tightly around his shoulders and hands.

Emily looks down at it and frowns. “Well, then who the hell else’s is it?” She reaches for the TV remote on the coffee table, turning it on without waiting for his answer. Clearly, she doesn’t care who’s it is, she’s not taking it off now. His grunt, muffled by the blanket, means he doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care enough either to figure out who it is.

He doesn’t last much longer, falls asleep with her squishing him on the couch (though, arguably, he’s squishing her). She’ll brush off his timid embarrassment at having to need her around the next morning, for waking up in the middle of the night having to be held down. Sobbing incoherently about something, neither of them really sure what. Only calming down when she put his head in her lap, stroking his hair back until he fell back asleep. Which is how he wakes up, his head in her lap and his hand holding her’s hostage.

But she shrugs it off and says she only did it for the free shirt, “don’t worry about it.”

She keeps the shirt, uses it several more nights as they graduate from sleeping on the couch to him finally going back to his bed. To being mentally present enough again to fight her about taking meds, to walking her to the front door every night, and watching her leave.

She buries the shirt too. It feels too tight on her skin, wrong. She touches the material and remembers seeing him hysterical, writhing in pain, and unable to be comforted. Can smell the antiseptic from his skin. Can hear the doctor warning her about his heart. That shirt feels like losing her best friend but she can’t bring herself to get rid of it.

JJ uncovers it a year later (before Emily has done the unspeakable, the unimaginable, and died and come back to life). It’s a girls night gone wrong but not impossibly so.

“Just grab one of my shirts,” Emily says, still laughing.

JJ glares back at her. She’s covered in water from the sink -- Emily sprayed her with the faucet. It’s revenge, payback for the pasta sauce JJ swiped down her cheek.

“You two are devious,” Penelope insists, waving her fingers at them. She’s still chopping up mushrooms, trying to size them as best as she can so that they are spread evenly throughout the alfredo sauce. “Behave before you ruin the sauce and I have to tell Dave that I not only shared his recipe but that you two ruined it.”

JJ has to search for a shirt from Emily’s pajama drawer. She doesn’t want any of the old college shirts and certainly doesn’t want any of the dopey graphic t-shirts Emily is so partial to. She ends up on a grey shirt, worn and old and soft.

Emily knows the shirt the second the JJ comes out and it takes her a moment to hide and stifle the anxiety that its presence gives her. Hotch’s health is better, he’s got a routine down with the medication he’ll be taking for the rest of his life because of that attack, but he’s smiling again. It’s harder than it was before to win one out of him but he can do it, they happen.

“Which one-night stand is this?” JJ asks, plucking the shirt with her fingers and raising an eyebrow.

Emily shakes her head, clears her throat of the residual guilt, and smirks, “trust me, you don’t want to know.” Hotch would be mortified at the insinuation but it’s funny and what he doesn’t know (and what they don’t know) can’t hurt him. She’s sad to see the shirt go, it’s a door closed, but relieved of its burden she can breathe again. Feels Foyet leave her completely.

JJ goes unburdened.

That old shirt is a comfort. She nurses Henry through fevers in it. Uses its edge to wipe his tears from his face. It’s always at the top of her laundry basket, the first thing she puts on when she gets home from a rough case. Will isn’t sure where she got it from because he knows it’s not his. It’s not the first time JJ’s stolen someone else’s clothes (he’s picked up enough of them to know that Reid wears a size small, that dark shirts sized medium are Morgan, and that white t-shirts in a medium are Hotch’s). He thinks it’s cute, she’s been stealing his shirts for as long as he’s known her.

In October, the fall of the same year that Emily leaves for Interpol, JJ gets held up in a meeting with Hotch. Something to do the with Department of Justice and all she manages to get out over the phone is that she’s absolutely pissed and Reid can just faintly hear Hotch offering her a coffee before she thanks him and the line goes dead. Will is on night shift and he can’t come home. So Reid fills in, their impromptu babysitter for the night.

It’s fine, calm… for the most part.

Reid lasts about an hour and a half before he finds himself in need of a change of clothes. He’s got pumpkin all over him and his fun little idea to let Henry carve a baby pumpkin was obviously a bad idea. He just didn’t know that in advance. He’s watched Jack enough times to feel fully confident in his skills but the age gap between Henry and Jack is severe. There are a lot of developmental differences in children only two years apart in age, Reid was not prepared for that.

He feels weird about stealing a shirt but his own is soaked in pumpkin guts and Henry’s bathwater.

JJ doesn’t notice the shirt exchange. She just grins at the sight of Spencer and Henry curled up on the couch, Will sitting beside them eating popcorn while “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” plays softly.

Three days later Morgan sees his shirt on the back of the couch. It’s been washed and is waiting to be returned to JJ but he knows damn well that it’s his. “How the hell did you find this?” Morgan asks, lifting it up. Reid had called him over to fix a leaking pipe (Reid is supposed to call his Super who has a mechanic who can do it but he’s too anxious for that) and Morgan was less than prepared to find his missing shirt.

Reid frowns, confused, “that’s JJ’s. I borrowed it Thursday night when I babysat.”

Morgan shakes his head, no this is his shirt. He’s sure of it. It’s been gone for years. He thought the washing machine ate it. He couldn't remember where else it would have gone off to. That or he left it in some hotel but here it is. Grey and worn and soft, it’s his.

He takes it to work in his go-bag and all but rolls his eyes into the back of his head when he watches Garcia stumble and drench herself in cold, left-over tea. He stands from his desk, sighing hard, “it’s alright, baby girl. I’ve got a shirt you can borrow.”

He’s never getting this shirt back.

[butwhyduh]

Night Swim

Garth of Shayeris/Tempest x batsis!reader

Summary: pinning over him. I know like 7 people will read it but he’s too cute. Canon has no home here and timelines don’t matter.

Warning: dash of innuendos.

The apprentice of a justice league member that went on his own. That could describe almost all of your brothers but it also described the beautiful man standing before you. That currently didn’t even notice you were staring at him puppy dog eyed.

“So, are you ever going to do anything about it or just stare at him until he jumps back in the sea again,” Kori said beside you. You jumped and gave her a look. “Noise cancelling glass. He can’t hear us and no one is looking over here,” she reassured you.

“That obvious,” you asked turning to face her. She nodded with a little smile. Of course she thought it was cute. She had told Dick the first time she knew she was attracted to him. That’s how she was raised. No fear of rejection or shame in sexual attraction. You were raised by batman and had a healthy dose of both.

“There’s not like it would do any good. He’s never given me a second thought and I don’t even think he likes surface walkers anyways,” you deflected. She snorted.

“He dated Donna.”

“That shouldn’t count. She’s Themyscirian. They’re like perfect,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know. I find Dick very appealing and he is human. Is his powers what attracts you to him?” She asked leaning on a desk. Her long curly red hair flowed over her shoulder in a way that only Kori could.

“No, of course not. I mean, they’re cool for sure. But it’s.. he’s nice and honorable and funny,” you said and she grinned almost proudly.

“And you can be nice and honorable and funny without any meta powers. Don’t put yourself down. And if you need help..” she started.

“No no no. No wing woman,” you said quickly.

“What do you need a wing woman for?” Dick asked behind you. Your eyes widened before you turned around.

“Nothing. Just some guy from college. That I don’t like,” you said in possibly the worst lie of your life. Dick narrowed his eyes at you.

“I can tell you’re lying but if I don’t know the truth, I can’t lie to Bruce about what you’re doing so don’t tell me,” Dick said. Wally, Donna, and Garth walked in the room.

“Wait, did I hear that Nightwing’s little sister is seeing someone? Is he ready to die,” Wally laughed clapping Dick on the shoulder.

“I’m not having this conversation,” you squeaked out before squeezing between the heroes, feeling yourself far too close to Garth for just a moment. Thank goodness M’gann wasn’t there to read your thoughts or feelings. Kori stayed mum on the subject and concentrated on the mission that Dick was prepping the team for.

You didn’t go on missions now. An injury that put an end to that. You just couldn’t maintain the level a vigilante needed. Sometimes you’d help with the computers but mainly you worked at Wayne Enterprise with Tim. You were just visiting on this trip and wasn’t involved in the mission.

“Wish us luck,” Kori said giving you a hug. You couldn’t help but watch Garth in his new blue suit that fit perfectly as the rest of the team walked by.

“Woah,” you said barely above silent but Kori hugging you caught it all and giggled quietly. You flushed and tried to stutter out some excuse.

“He is very handsome. Wish him luck,” she whispered in your ear. You made a little noise to disagree and she simply grinned at you while walking away.

“What was that,” Dick asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, just a joke. Good luck. Be safe,” you said to him and Dick didn’t argue but definitely didn’t believe you before joining his team.

As they left, your mind wandered to the first time you met Garth. It was a mission in a warehouse fire that had homeless people camping out on the second story. You walked carefully to the back office through dense fog with flames threatening any moment to see if there was anyone in there. The fire was getting really close and it was kinda dicey. But it was your first job away from Gotham and you were 14 and you felt the need to prove yourself.

You entered the room bent low with smoke overhead. You saw something move in the back of the room and you made your way towards it. But just as you crossed to the back half of the room, part of the ceiling collapsed, trapping you in the room and knocking you to the floor. You jumped back against the wall. There wasn’t a window and the movement? A toy.

You shrank against the wall and pushed your panic button. The fire was hot and you cursed wearing shorts. “Shit,” you breathed as it started moving closer. The air was starting to get thick. The flames jumped and you pressed against the wall with your eyes covered, expecting flames to hit you.

But instead you felt cool wet air and you opened your eyes to see water surrounding you. It appeared to float in air and you reached a hand out to touch it, confused. As soon as you felt the tips of your fingers dampened, the water crashed to the floor causing you to jump.

In there place was a teenage boy only a few years older than you, grinning. You stared at him in silence. He had just saved your life.

“Did you- how did you-“ you stuttered and his smile grew even wider.

“Aqualad, at your service. You wanna leave before it crashes on us?” He said and you took a step to wince in pain. Oh yeah, when you jumped you twisted your ankle. Your plan, like all the other bats, was to suck it up and hobble out. But Garth had other plans and he quickly scooped you up bridal style as soon as he noticed you couldn’t walk.

“Just hold on. I’ll carry you,” he said walked down the charred stairs carefully. You couldn’t take your eyes off his handsome face the whole time. Your heart pounded and your lack of experience with dating or liking anyone had you completely dumbfounded. “You can let go,” he said with a little smile.

You were out of the warehouse clinging to him past the time necessary and quickly moved away from him, feeling your skin flush. Dick gave you a look over before give Garth with a look you couldn’t recognize.

——————————————

“She’s catatonic, Bro.”

“Feed her something.”

“Wally, food isn’t always the answer,” Dick said giving your shoulder a shake. You jumped and knocked over a glass of water.

“Sorry!” You yelped reaching over to grab a towel.

“I’ve got it,” Garth said and with a flick of his wrist the water started to pour in the sink rather than off the counter. As you watched the water jumped before flowing down the drain. You laughed a little and looked up to see Garth grinning at you. Dick stared suspiciously at you both before being pulled somewhere by another Titan.

“So was the mission okay?” You asked, not knowing what to say. Your crush was more ‘stare across the room’ rather than do anything about it.

“It went well,” he answered grabbing a water bottle and chugging it. You tried not to stare.

“Cool suit,” you said and immediately felt stupid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Thanks,” he said without adding anything else, leaving an awkward air to hang.

“Damn, you might be from the sea but are soo dry, Garth,” Roy said clapping him on the back on his way to his room. Garth looked at you confused.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been land side. Is being dry an insult now?” He asked.

“I mean, kinda. It just means boring,” you answered with a shrug. “You know Roy.”

“But you are dry. I mean, you live on land. Not that you’re boring,” he said with an awkward laugh. You smiled back at him before taking a sip of your drink nervously. “Does that mean you want to be wet?”

You coughed as you choked on the liquid. He tapped you on the back. “You okay?” He asked concerned. Donna walked by with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

“I’m fine. No, that’s not how that works. It’s just we aren’t really dry. We’re like 80 percent water. Dry means like sand or something. Too dry,” you said and he nodded humoring you.

“It seems pretty dry here,” he said playfully.

“I can knock over more glasses. Get this place all wet again,” you quipped.

“Tempting. Or you can go swimming with me,” he answered back.

“Haha or I could- what? It’s nighttime,” you answered. “And doesn’t that do something to the currents or something?”

He gave you a dry look. “The currents come in at night? Yep. You’d be the safest person in the water swimming with me. I could navigate night swimming as a squirt. Come with?” Garth asked.

“I-“ you stared before mumbling.

“You what? I didn’t hear the last part,” he said.

“I... can’t swim,” you said and he stared at you and you felt like sliding under the counter and through the floor. Then Garth’s lips curled into a smile and he laughed a little. You looked down awkwardly.

“Oh you’re serious?”

“Yeah...”

“I’m sorry. I forget that swimming is learned skill here. I apologize,” he started.

“It’s okay. Really,” you insisted.

“Come with me. We’ll stay shallow,” he offered. You looked at him before nodding.

“This is a bad idea but let’s go,” you said pulling him along. Garth laughed as you pulled him out the back door towards the beach. “I forgot a bathing suit,” you admitted.

“I guess you could go insi-“ he trailed off as you pulled your shirt off and shorts to swim in your underwear and bra. He quickly looked away as you ran in the water to your waist.

“Coming in? Can’t believe I have to ask, merman” you said and he pulled off his shirt to quickly join you. You splashed him with water which quickly turned into a splashing war.

“Okay, you win!” You yelped as he bombarded you with water. He splashed you one last time and you turned away. Garth grabbed you by the waist as a wave splashed over you. You simply watched each other for a moment. You noticed your feet didn’t touch the ground anymore. You clung to him.

“I can’t touch,” you said a little panicky. He held on to you.

“Don’t worry. I’m right here. I won’t let you drown. It’s my job, remember?” Garth smiled. “Look around. Look at the moon.”

You looked up to see the luminous globe hanging above the sea. It lit a silvery path through the water, highlighting waves crashing. The beach seemed far away. The only sounds were the sea and a few night birds as well as Garth’s breath from being so close. You looked back at him and almost froze. He was gorgeous. The water truly was his element. His dark hair curled in the water and the moon glow highlighted his nose and collarbones. His purple eyes looked almost black in the darkness but the way he looked at you said a ton.

He looked down at your lips and you couldn’t help but lick them, tasting salt water. Garth bent a little and you turned your head up to touch lips softly. His arms wrapped closer around you as you kissed. Garth easily kept you above the water. Your brain was broken. You were kissing Garth, who you’ve had a crush on for a long time.

Suddenly water splashed over your head as a wave crashed on you both. You leaned away with a cough as water invaded your mouth and nose. Your eyes stung and watered a little.

“Sorry, I forgot to pay attention,” Garth admitted sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” you said with only a little cough. “Can we?”

“Get you on land? Yeah. You’re getting cold anyways,” Garth said before swimming towards the shore. It wasn’t a rough choppy swim the way people did. He seemed to simply glide through the water gracefully. So beautifully. Which was broken when he fell over on the beach.

“You’re the most graceful swimmer and trip on your feet when you hit ground,” you said with a laugh as you attempted to help him up. He was far too heavy to lift but appreciated the effort.

“Atlantean,” he shrugged. “Don’t make fun of me too much. You can’t even swim.”

“Yeah? You wanna take a dip in Gotham Harbor?” You asked and he laughed.

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to get some unknown cancer from whatever pollution they have. Or whatever rouge is living there,” he added.

“That’s why I can’t swim,” you answered. It really was cool in the wind and you quickly pulled on your clothing.

“But doesn’t batman have like multiple pools?”

“Yeah but I never used them. I was 15 when he took me in. Too old to learn,” you shrugged.

“You’re never to old to learn to swim. It’s important for safety,” Garth said. “Especially here,” he motioned at the beach.

“Especially if I keep kissing Tempest in the water?” You quipped.

“That’s just a bonus,” he said pulling you close by the hips. You grinned up at him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

And a spotlight shined glaringly at you both. You covered your eyes and looked away.

“Come inside,” boomed the voice of your brother. “Now.”

And that’s how you got a 20 minute lectures on the danger of night swimming and risk of hypothermia and Garth got the shovel talk. But despite the fact that Dick was really angry, you didn’t regret a thing and went to bed with wet hair and smile on your face.

[the-broken-truth]

The Dollmaker's Healer - Yandere Donna Benevieto x Reader (Part 1)

Memory is both a blessing & a curse - both helpful and hindering - both a miracle and a burden. You remembered how you come to be in the village - One of your late relatives passed away and bequeathed to you their Romanian Estate; you didn't even know that you were of Romanian Descent. Well - you knew your surname had a Romanian meaning but you didn't take much thought into it. Along with the estate - there were a few vaults and chests your late relative hoarded; making one of the richest residents in the village.

After meeting with the lawyer and getting your plane ticket - you traveled to Romanian's Village and was taken to your estate by a horse-pulled carriage.

The Estate was massive - tucked away in the Misty Valley with trees surrounding you; located on the edge of the cliff where the waterfall roared. The estate was about 3 stories - complete with an attic and a basement that was converted into a training room/herbal lab; that was your favorite part of the house. During your time in O/S (Orginal State), you spent a lot of your time hunting with your uncles or making salves and elixirs with your aunts from various plants; documenting the effects to know which were needed at which times.

To your uncles - you were the Bearer of the Eagle's Eye: You saw the furthest and could nail prey from as small as rabbits to as big as elk with a single arrow.

To your aunts - you were the Mistress/Master of the Gardens: Able to identify any kind of plant without fail. You got the best of both worlds and it came in handy considering that you were more attached to the wilds than civilian life.

With that memory of how you come to be here first in your mind, another come - the first time you saw the veiled woman and her puppet. You were standing on the back patio that overlooked the forest below the cliff your home sat - the fog was light this morning and you were just basking in the beauty when you looked to the side and saw another estate on the other side of the opening, sitting on the other waterfall's cliff. - it was grand but not as grand as yours. On the other estate's patio - you could see a figure, dawned in a black dress with a veil covering their face and - was that a doll upon their lap? You watched them for a while before the doll - it moved on its own, getting out the other person's lap and the two of them looked in your direction before disappearing into the estate. You thought about what the carriage driver told you - The L/N Estate was close to the House Beneviento - the current and only head of that family was Donna Beneviento, also known as the Dollmaker. You didn't think anything of it and went back inside your home to make some new healing salves you came up with.

A few months had passed since you first come to the village - you knew nothing here was normal: Lycans attacking at times, mutated wolves coming up out of nowhere, and then...there were the Daughters of the Castle - you encountered them a few times but you were able to defend yourself; sometimes leaving with a bite or a few scratches but it was never too bad.

One morning - you noticed that you were out of meat and grabbed one of the purses of Lei from the chest and put on your cloak before heading out the door. At this time - you developed of a bit of a reputation: You've used your salves for the people of the village and the sick got better, the hurt was relieved of their pain, and the restless was sleeping soundly; you made it into a bit of a business and it was very profitable. Everything was going great...until...the moment you met them.

"Excuse me. Are you Y/N L/N of L/N Estate?" A low voice called out behind you as you paid for your meat from the butcher. It was her - the veiled woman and beside her - clenching onto her dress - was the small doll you saw with her that day.

"Yes. I'm Y/N. May I ask who you are and what business you have with me?" You asked her.

"My name is Donna Beneviento - Head of House Beneviento. I came to find you because...I was hoping you could help me with my problem." Donna spoke in a low voice.

"What kind of problem?" You ask.

"It's her scar." The raspy voice of the doll called out - causing you to look at her. "She has a scar upon her face that she would love to be rid of but nothing she tried in the past seemed to have worked." The doll spoke.

"I'm guessing you're her companion? What's your name?" You asked the doll. The Doll and the Dollmaker were surprised - you weren't frightened by a talking doll?

"Angie. My name is Angie." The doll spoke. "You do no fear me?"

"At this point, I've seen a lot of things, Angie. Nothing really surprises me anymore here. So - what can you tell me about the scar?" You asked.

"It's...more of an infection caused than a common mortal wound." Donna's soft voice spoke as you stood back at your height to speak to her.

"An infection. Wait - was it caused by a Cadou?" You asked with a raised eyebrow - making both the doll and the dollmaker gasp.

"You know about the Cadou?" Angie exclaimed.

"Yes, I've dealt with a few cases of Cadou Scarring during my time here in the village. I made an elixir - while it can't get rid of the Cadou itself, it can make it so small that it gets rid of the scarring it leaves behind." You said with a smile.

"You...You can get rid of the scarring without getting rid of the Cadou? I...This is what I need - when can you do it?" Donna's voice was a bit louder - laced with hope that she could be free of the horrible scar without getting rid of the gift her mother gave to her.

"I have some vials of Cadou Represser at home; I don't feel quite comfortable allowing unknown people coming to my home but I can to yours - if you're comfortable with that. It will take 3 does - each a week apart." You explain.

"Yes - I can accept that. When can you come to House Beneviento to give me the first dosage?" Donna asked, her hands trembling with excitement.

"Once I'm done here - I dropped the food off at home, grab the vial and a fresh syringe, then meet you both at House Beneviento. Is that alright?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"I...Yes. Please do come." Donna said as she gave a slight bow and turned on her heel before walking away with Angie at her heels. You smiled at the thought of aiding someone else with your knowledge and continued shopping - completely unaware of the smile and blush the veiled woman hid.

[A While Later]

After returning home and placing the food in the proper places - you made your way down to the Elixir Lab - that's what you liked to call it - and opened the cabinet to get a fresh bottle of Cadou Represser along with a fresh syringe - the cap securely over the needle to make more it was not contaminated by anything. You placed the two in your baggy jacket pocket before leaving your home once again. You began your journey to House Beneviento - crossing the wooden bridge that looked like it could collapse at any moment to the misty forest full of hanging dolls; you just looked at them and continued on your way until you came to a large grave surrounded by at least 20 smaller ones - looking at the gravestone of the large grave, you noticed that half of it was gone but the surname remained.

'Beneviento.' Sadness grasped your heart as you realized what you were looking at. 'Her family's massive gravesite. She really has no one besides Angie and her adoptive mother; that poor soul.'

You closed your eyes and brought your hands together in front of your chest in a praying manner - praying for the departed Beneviento Family & Donna's Happiness; no one should be as alone as she was. You finished your prayer and continued on your way - completely unaware of the porcelain eyes watching your move since you walked in the forest.

Upon arriving at the Beneviento Manor - you wanted up the wooden stairs to the door and knocked.

"Who is it?" The voice of Donna called out from behind the wood.

"It's Y/N. I'm here to do the treatment." You responded.

"Oh, please come in; the door is unlocked." Donna called out again.

You opened the door and saw Donna sitting in her wooden rocking chair near her round table; a cup of tea cooling by her side.

"Hello, Ms. Beneviento." You greeted as you made your way over to the veiled woman.

"Hello." It was simple and soft but you couldn't say anything about it.

With her permission - you lifted her veil to reveal her face and the Cadou that covered the right side of her face. Donna waited for you to utter about how horrifying she was but when she looked at your face, she saw the light blush creeping across your face. She asked if you were alright but all you said was: beautiful.

It was her turn to blush now.

No one ever called her beautiful - especially after seeing her scar. Donna felt a fluttering feeling in her stomach and warmth in her chest but she said nothing. You apologized for staring but she said it was alright; you thanked her before you gathered the supplies you brought with you and began your work. Filling the syringe with the liquid, you informed her that it would be a small stick and maybe some discomfort but it would pass in a few moments - she understood and you injected the Cadou Scar with the tip of the syringe and slowly injected the liquid until it was empty. You gathered your stuff but looked into the eye of the woman with a smile.

"I understand your reason but you really shouldn't cover your face, Lady Beneviento; you're very beautiful." You said with a smile.

"You... Do you really think I am beautiful?: Donna asked as you lightly dabbed the injection spot with an alcoholic wipe to make sure the injection site wasn't infected.

"Of course you are. You're a little different but that just adds to your beauty." You replied as your rose to your feet, gave her a polite bow before turning to leave but was stopped by her voice.

"Wait... Do you have anything else you need to be doing at this moment?" Donna asked.

"Not today. Why?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Then...would you like to stay for tea?" Donna asked as she gestured her hand to the teacup.

"I would love to." You answered.

That's how it began - ever since the treatments started: you would go over to Donna's house just to see her and Angie, the two of them seemed to lighten up whenever you came around. During the second treatment, Donna asked you about her personal life - mainly: If you had a lover at home? This made you blush and Donna looked at but annoyed but when you said you didn't have a lover, she seemed to relax. After the second treatment - the Cadou was more than half as small as it was when the treatments started. Donna would ask you to stay more and more often, even when you had other clients to tend to - she was always upset when you had work but she didn't let her emotions get too involved...until that day.

It was a few days before her last treatment - the Cadou was so small that it only covered her right eye - the two of you were sitting and drinking tea and eating lemon cake squares; you made some and thought Donna would like one so you brought some over. Donna was talking about a new doll she was working on but when you didn't engage in conversation, she looked at you and saw you were zoned off somewhere. She gained attention once again and asked you what was on your mind - you informed her you met someone in the village.

This made her drop the cup in her hand, making it crash against the teacup platter resting on the table, shattering both.

"What do you mean - you met someone?" Donna asked with a low voice.

"Well - her father was one of my clients and she was thankful for my help. I ran into her in the village a few times running errands and she and I have been hanging out." You said with a blush on your face - this angered Donna more.

"But...Why would you need to hang out with her when you have Angie and me? Are we not enough for you?" Donna almost hissed at you.

"Well, she seems nice and we have a lot in common. She wanted to take me out to dinner tomorrow - it will be like our first date." That made something in Donna snap.

"A Date? With her?" She was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just what I said - you will not date this woman. You will not see her again." Donna said.

"And just who are you to tell me who I can or cannot see? My Mother? Donna, I'm a grown (Man/Woman), I can see who I want." You protested.

"I said you're not allowed to see her again; just listen to me and leave that woman alone. All you need are Angie and I." Donna said as she rose to her feet and made her way over to the stairs but stopped when you spoke again.

"Donna, you can't tell me who to see. You don't own me." You said.

"You need to listen to me - you are not allowed to see her again; just let it go." Donna gripped the rail of the stairway.

"You know what? I think I've been here for far too long to the point you think you can tell me what to do like you own me. I think I should leave." You walked to the door and reached out for the handle when the air suddenly got heavier.

"No. Don't...Don't leave me... You can't leave me, Y/N. Please." Donna called out as she began walking over to you but you kept your distance.

"No, I need to leave. I'll see you in a few days to finish the treatment but after that - we are no longer friends, Donna." Those words made Donna's blood freeze.

"No... No. Don't say that!" Donna's face raised as she lunged forward and grasped Y/N's hand. "Please, don't leave; I need you, Y/N. You can't just leave me." Donna begged.

"Watch me." You removed her hand walked out the door, slamming it behind you.

Donna fell to her knees and hugged herself, sobbing and begging for you to come back, to hold her and tell her you wouldn't leave her.

"Don't you understand, Mommy?" Angie's voice called out. "It's that other woman, she's making them think they don't want to be with you. If she wasn't in the way - you and Y/N would be together."

"Yes... I know it's her fault." Donna clenched her head and started laughing to herself. "She wants to take them from me. My Healer, my light, my love. But I won't let her. Don't worry, Y/N; once that weed in our garden is ripped out...it will just be us....Forever."

[hermannsthumb]

Town council Hermann vs Alien Conspiracy Newt please!!!

THIS WAS FUN!!! inspired both by this tweet and conversations abt a newt/herm AU of that tweet with @k-sci-janitor (who also thought of the funniest sign newt made in this fic, aka the cheekbones one, and what his tats should look like). this is long sorry :/ gets a little spicy towards the end but nothing worse than a high pg13/light M

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

The evening of the weekly town council meeting, it pours like nothing else. Which Hermann figures is really quite appropriate. Loathe as he is to soak his trouser legs, trudge through the mud that used to be his front walk, and hold his umbrella for so long his arm aches (for the community center is a mere half-mile walk away that Hermann can't justify substituting with a bus), he can't imagine council meetings happening in any other sort of weather. In fact, they rarely tend to; their dreariness seems to be a necessity, part of the preparation, as if to put everyone in as miserable a mood as possible.

Hermann hates council meetings. He supposes he'd be more sympathetic towards the plights of his constituents—if one can call one's neighbors constituents—if he'd wanted the damned job in the first place. As it is, he feels a bit like he was conned into it. Hermann had been a lowly physics professor at the local community college, passionate about public education and funding for public education and all those proper sorts of things an educator ought to be concerned about, when he suddenly found himself seized with the idea of making a difference. So he ran for a head position on the council. And he won it. Only no one told him that the council deals a lot less with public education and a lot more with noise complaints, cul-de-sac bake sales, and raccoons in dustbins, which makes why he ran completely unopposed all the more obvious.

A fat raindrop explodes against the edge of Hermann's umbrella and splashes his glasses. Hermann grits his teeth and wipes them dry with the cuff of his sweater. Bloody meeting; bloody rain; Hermann just wants to go back home, and fix up a nice pot of herbal tea, and set a blanket in the dryer for ten minutes, and...

"Dr. Gottlieb! Hey, Dr. Gottlieb, wait—!"

A blur in an oversized yellow raincoat hurdles itself at Hermann from the stairs of the community center. Hermann considers pretending he is a different Dr. Gottlieb, one who certainly has no reason to know maniacs in raincoats, or maybe high-tailing it in the other direction. This is the other reason why Hermann loathes council meetings: Newton Geiszler.

The unfortunate thing is that Newton Geiszler was, at one point, a respectable academic type, and in fact one of Hermann's own colleagues at the community college. (Hermann only found this out after the fact—he does not make a habit of intermingling much with the biology department.) And Hermann does mean was. Around a year ago, Geiszler was asked to temporarily step down from his position after he suddenly and unexpectedly went off the deep end. He has not been asked to come back yet. And not without reason. "Dr. Geiszler," Hermann sighs. "I've asked you not to lurk about here like that. It's...unsettling."

"Sorry, man, sorry," Geiszler shouts. He stomps over and makes himself at home under Hermann's umbrella. Hermann's not sure how he's been managing to see anything, let alone Hermann approaching down the sidewalk: his glasses are completely fogged-up and rain-splattered. "Do you mind if—thanks, dude."

Geiszler flips his hood down. He’s short, only coming up to Hermann's nose, with stubble nearly overgrown to a full beard and a mess of wet brown hair. He shakes that hair now, like a dog, soaking Hermann in the process. Hermann growls. "I beg your pardon,” he says.

"Oops,” Geiszler says. “Sorry. Anyway, Dr. Gottlieb, I'm really glad I caught you, there are—there are some things I wanted to tell you about. Before the meeting. They're—hold on." He rummages around in the deep pockets of his raincoat and produces a damp notebook, which he begins to flip through frantically. "It's about—"

"I know what it's about," Hermann says. Geiszler fumbles to push his glasses back up his nose. "In fact, there are some things I need to speak with you about as well."

"You've seen them?" Geiszler says in a hushed tone.

Hermann scowls. "I certainly have.”

They first started cropping up in the forest around the little cabin Geiszler calls home. Then, like dandelions or bamboo, they spread fast and far—to the town commons, in the front lawn of the coffee shop Hermann frequents, in front of his house. Whenever Hermann dashes one down with his cane or hauls one off to a rubbish bin, two more only crop up in its place. It's annoying, frankly. As if Hermann doesn't have to deal with enough already.

3 ALIEN ABDUCTIONS IN ONE WEEK - WHEN IS THE COUNCIL GOING TO DO SOMETHING?, the new one sitting in front of the community center says.

It's better than last week's sign, Hermann supposes. THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE - AND HERMANN GOTTLIEB IS BLIND TO IT.

"You know you need a permit for those, Dr. Geiszler," Hermann says. "Or, at the very least, the council's permission. They're a public nuisance."

"My signs are a public nuisance?" Geiszler shouts. Hermann flinches back. Geiszler may be compact, but if he doesn't have the shrillest voice on the whole damned planet. "Open your eyes, dude! A dozen people went missing last month! The only public nuisance is whatever's coming from—" He bites his lip and jabs his finger at the sky, as if saying anything remotely akin to outer space would suddenly send fleets of UFOs pouring down from above. "And you're just letting them walk right fucking in."

“I thought they were flying in?" Hermann says. He raps Geiszler’s shin with the end of his cane. "Do get out of my way, Dr. Geiszler. The meeting starts in ten minutes, and you're welcome to air all of your grievances then."

Geiszler is silent as Hermann ducks around him and ascends the community center ramp. For a moment, Hermann thinks he may have won this small victory, and then he hears the wet slaps of Geiszler's rain boots against the pavement behind him. "Really funny," Newton says. "Real fucking funny, dude. I bet it'll be just as funny when they come for you next!"

Hermann unlocks the door. Geiszler waves a stack of black-and-white polaroids beneath his nose. "I took these last week," Geiszler says, and begins flipping through them as frantically as he had his notepad. Each one is blurry and indistinct, like Geiszler snapped them through a gauzy curtain with shaking hands. Hermann's not sure what he's meant to be looking at. "The day that waitress went missing from the bus stop. And two nights after that—your neighbor, the one who went outside to let his cat in and never came b—"

"Enough," Hermann says. He pushes the polaroids away, knocking two to the ground, and Geiszler scrambles to pick them up before they're ruined. "Dr. Geiszler, it is undoubtedly tragic that these people have—er—vanished, as they have, but continuously insisting extraterrestrials had something to do with it, and furthermore—" Geiszler opens his mouth as if to argue, but Hermann raises his voice and pushes on. "—furthermore, that I'm meant to do something about it, is completely—well, it's unhinged, frankly. I'm not law enforcement. Or the mayor. Or bloody—NASA. What do you want from me?"

Geiszler stares at him for a long time. He pockets his photographs. "They're gonna come for you," he says, ominously. "Just like they did for me."

The meeting goes off as expected, which is to say, badly. Hermann gets shouted at by nearly everyone in town, many of whom blame Hermann and his presumed negligence for the disappearances over the past year as well (blessedly, they don't also blame aliens), though many more of them blame him for more trivial things such as the broken water fountain in the commons or the library's slow wireless internet. Hermann can't decide which is worse.

As it is, when the clock strikes eight, he's more than ready to go home. "Right," he announces, standing up and making a show of tidying his meeting notes. They're already tidy: Hermann's notes are always meticulous. He continues—rather quickly, in case someone gets bold and attempts to interrupt him, "Thank you all very much for such a, er, productive meeting. I'll make sure to pass along everything you've said to the appropriate people. If there's nothing else..."

Geiszler jumps to his feet. A few people groan; Hermann has a feeling they're just about as sick of him as Hermann is. "Um, yeah, actually, I want to add something."

"No," Hermann says. “Dr. Geiszler, please, we can talk—”

"When we were outside," Geiszler continues anyway, raising his voice, "you asked me what I wanted you to do. Well, I just want you to listen to me! That's all! I have so much proof—so much I can show you—and you won't even—!"

"Proof?" Hermann says. "Your rubbish photographs?”

"It's not just the photographs! It's other stuff, too! Like—" Geiszler lets out a long, angry huff of air, and actually balls his fists up at his sides. Hermann has never seen him so incensed, not even when he accused Hermann of being an alien himself during a council meeting last summer. "Look, just come to my house and I'll fuckin' show you. Or are you that afraid of being—I don’t know, proven wrong?"

Part of Hermann is convinced that if he follows Geiszler out to his isolated cabin in the middle of the woods, it'll be the last thing he ever does. At the very least, he certainly has no desire to spend more time with Geiszler than he's already forced to. Yet—on the other hand—Hermann does not appreciate the challenge, nor does he appreciate being made to look like a fool by the man who chairs the local paranormal society. "Fine," he snaps, and Geiszler startles in obvious surprise. "Fine, you wretched little man. I’ll let you show me whatever proof you think you may have, so long as you take every single one of those signs down."

"Um," Geiszler squeaks. He clears his throat. "D—deal?"

Hermann seizes his cane and thrusts his chair back under his table roughly. "Well?" he says to the rest of the hall, none of whom have budged since Geiszler began shouting his head off. He scowls at the lot of them. "The meeting is over. You can leave."

It's Hermann's job to shut down the building each week, so he waits for the very last stragglers to toss out their paper water cups, shrug on their raincoats, and file outside before switching off the lights and locking up. He finds Geiszler lurking by a rather worse-for-wear green VW Beetle at the curb, the hood of his raincoat flipped back up over his hair. Hermann desperately hopes that the car isn't Geiszler’s. He is Hermann’s ride home tonight, after all. "I took the signs down," Geiszler says in a rush. "All of the ones around here, anyway. I'll have to do the rest tomorrow." He jerks his thumb at the backseat of the Beetle, where Hermann sees a haphazard pile of some of the 3 ALIEN ABDUCTIONS signs. His heart sinks. The X-Files bumper stickers should've been a dead giveaway, really.

"Thank you," Hermann sighs. "Well, let's get this over with."

"The heat is busted, so you might wanna leave your coat on," Geiszler says apologetically when Hermann manages to squish himself into the passenger's seat. The floor is a sea of empty Dunkin' Donuts cups, stacks of pulp science (or, if Hermann were to be less kind, pseudoscientific) magazines spanning back at least half a decade, and a pin-littered linen tote bag filled to the brim with boxed Annie's macaroni and cheese.

"Uh, sorry," Geiszler says. "I had to run some errands earlier. You can just—toss that in the back. Yeah."

The ride is short but bumpy, and though the removal of Geiszler's shopping bag offers Hermann more leg room, there is nothing that can make up for his tragically awful driving and his tragically awful CD collection. Hermann almost bolts from the car when they finally pull up at Geiszler's ivy-shrouded cabin, so relieved to have made it there in one piece that he's all but forgotten that he must now spend the rest of the evening with Geiszler, too. He remembers soon enough: another duo of aggressive signs have been pounded into Geiszler's mossy front path, TURN BACK NOW - ALIEN ABDUCTION ZONE, and a rather good sketch of Hermann beneath WHAT ARE THOSE CHEEKBONES HIDING? "That one's from the summer," Geiszler says sheepishly, kicking down the latter with the toe of his boot. "I keep forgetting to take it down. I don't still think you're an alien, by the way."

"Er, thank you," Hermann says. "I suppose?"

"They wouldn't be that obvious," Geiszler says, emphasizing the they with a meaningful glance up at the night sky.

"Of course not," Hermann says.

He's not quite sure what he expected Geiszler's house to look like. Some sort of—conspiracy nutter's den, perhaps, with aluminum foil hats and deconstructed radios and elaborate photoboards full of thumbtacks and red string. Or the interior of his car on a larger scale, with empty takeout containers and crumpled up papers on every surface. He's...sort of right. There's a noticeable lack of tinhats, but there are plenty of (modestly-sized) corkboards on the walls and multiple coffee cups peeking out of a recycling bin. The rest is merely precisely what Hermann would expect from an academic in his 30s: books, and mis-matching furniture, and a sink of dishes begging to be washed. It's...a bit disappointing, frankly. Though Hermann is rather impressed with the sleek telescope angled in front of the back slider door. Impressed, and envious. It's a very nice model.

"Make yourself at home," Geiszler says, unzipping his voluminous raincoat and tossing it, along with Hermann's, over the back of a worn armchair. He's wearing a pair of torn skinny jeans and a band t-shirt that reveals his heavily tattooed, and deceptively shapely, arms. Hermann tears his eyes away and forces himself to sit down at one end of Geiszler's couch. "I'm gonna make us some coffee. Do you want any sugar or non-dairy creamer?"

"No, thank you," Hermann says. "I don't drink coffee this late. It'll keep me up all night."

"Well, I hope so, that's kinda the plan,” Geiszler says. He rolls his eyes. “The aliens never come before at least midnight. Soy milk or almond milk?"

Hermann thinks, briefly and longingly, of his nice warm bed, the blanket he intended to toss in the dryer, and the herbal tea he won't be having after all. "Almond milk?" he hazards.

Geiszler stares at him in evident disgust. "Dude, I was kidding. You know how bad that shit is for the environment? It takes, like, a fuckin' thousand gallons of water or something like that for one carton of almond milk. It's insane. I mean, I guess it's still less water than what dairy needs, but there are plenty of better options."

"Oh," Hermann says. Hermann drinks skim milk. "I'm sorry. Er. Soy milk?"

As Geiszler fixes them mugs, Hermann begins to poke around some papers scattered across the coffee table. One is a list of names and dates, seemingly random, Hermann thinks, until he recognizes (scrawled in purple ink at the very bottom of the page) that of the gentleman who disappeared from his back porch just down Hermann's street. When he recognizes another—a teenager who worked as a barista at Hermann’s favorite coffee shop—he realizes it must be everyone who's vanished from town in the past year. Another paper has the same dates repeated, though not alongside any names—rather, bizarre little phrases like circling lights and that sound again. "You found my notes," Geiszler says cryptically, and then thrusts a mug out to Hermann.

Hermann takes the mug. A logo on the side tells Hermann it was from some academic conference in California ten years ago. "What are they supposed to mean?" he says.

Geiszler snorts. "Uh, I thought it was kind of obvious. Look—" He sits next to Hermann, far too close, and points at the column of numbers on the first page. "These are the dates when people have been reported missing," he says, and then scans his finger over to the second page, "and these are the dates when I've observed extraterrestrial—or at least, unexplainable—activity overhead. See how they match up almost perfectly?

"Mm," Hermann says. He does not. "So—if I am to understand you correctly—you believe that a, ah," he takes the page back from Geiszler, "a 'weird swoopy sound' from overhead had something to do with that poor young woman disappearing from a bus stop last week?”

"It wasn't just a weird noise!" Geiszler exclaims. "I showed you the pictures. I ran outside when I heard it, and thank fuck I had my camera, because I caught those lights just as they were leaving. And then what do I find out the next morning? There was another abduction, at almost the exact same time I saw the lights!"

"Ten miles from here," Hermann reminds him. "It would've had to have been a bloody fast ship."

"Yeah, no shit, Hermann," Geiszler says. "They're, like, fucking—mega-advanced lifeforms. They probably have the tech to vaporize the entire Earth if they wanted. Of course it was a fast ship.”

Geiszler is still sitting awfully close to Hermann. He runs very warm, unlike Hermann, warm enough to make Hermann warm too—like a scruffy, tattooed, freckled furnace. Yes, freckled, for Geiszler has the lightest dusting of freckles across his round chipmunk-like cheeks that Hermann finds inexplicably charming. He wonders if Geiszler would notice him loosen his collar a bit, perhaps take off his sweater. He really is getting quite warm. "So, I was saying," Geiszler continues, and though he speaks almost directly into Hermann's ear, he sounds as if he's a mile away from him. "Waitress at bus stop—weird lights over my cabin—waitress gone from bus stop. The proof is, like, undeniable!"

"Indeed," Hermann says.

He undoes the top button of his collar. He hasn't touched his coffee yet—he wonders if Geiszler even cares. The tattoo on Geiszler’s bicep, some sort of space tentacle monster, stares back at Hermann. "I'm telling you, man," Geiszler says, "this is no joke. They're taking people, maybe even for good."

They're gonna come for you, just like they did for me. When Geiszler began spouting nonsense about aliens last year, he was not booted from the biology department right away. Mostly everyone at the college, Hermann knows, tolerated his eccentricities on account of his admittedly brilliant mind and popularity among the students. The final straw came when Geiszler's extraterrestrial delusions (for what else could they be?) reached a new level: he showed up to campus in his pajamas one morning, raving that the aliens were not only zooming about over his house, but had actually abducted him the previous evening. "You seemed to fare alright, though, didn't you?" Hermann says. "When you were—ah—taken? They even dropped you back off in time for work. Quite courteous, I should think."

"That's—" Geiszler begins to shake his leg up and down, nervous energy radiating up his body and through Hermann's. He spills some of his coffee on the carpet. "That was—that was dumb. I got lucky. I think I was one of the first ones, you know? Because the disappearances didn't really get bad until, like, a month after that? I was in bed—and, and it wasn't like how it is in movies, I wasn't sucked up in a giant beam of light or anything like that, one minute I was there and then the next I wasn't, I was somewhere...else. And—uh. I don't really remember what they looked like. I tried to—sketch them out, but it was like trying to remember a dream, all the specific details about them just faded once it was over. But, um." He rubs the back of his neck, and Hermann is surprised to see him blushing. "Well, if I'm being honest, I think I kinda freaked them out."

Hermann can't help but snort. "You what?"

"I'm serious!" Geiszler shrieks. "I freaked them out. I was just really excited about it all. Like, dude, come on, I was abducted by aliens. How fucking cool is that? I just kept asking a bunch of questions, like, are you gonna probe me? are you gonna take me back to Mars or Jupiter or, like, I don't know, fucking Gallifrey? do you even understand what I'm saying, how do you communicate? and then the next thing I knew, I was landing on my ass in the school parking lot. They must've been observing me like I was observing them, like, they maybe knew I worked there? Anyway—" He shakes his head. "I tell you what, I'm real glad I decided to not just wear boxers like usual to bed that night. That would've been really embarrassing."

Bombarded with the sudden mental image of what Geiszler usually looks like in bed, Hermann (feeling rather warm again) tugs at his collar and clears his throat. He has certainly seen more than enough for the night, and if his mind is straying to something as prosaic as what does Dr. Geiszler look like half-naked?, it likely means it’s time for bed. "Er, right. Dr. Geiszler—"

"Just call me Newt, man," Geiszler says.

"Newton," Hermann concedes. It gives him a private little thrill. No one calls Newton Newton; it’s always either Newt or Dr. Geiszler. "Newton,” he says again, “this has been a very—illuminating—evening, but it's getting rather late, and I think you ought to drive me home before—"

And then Newton begins to take off his shirt.

Yes, a small part of Hermann's brain whispers traitorously, yes, yes, yes, even as Hermann recoils and stammers out, "Newton, what—?!"

"Oh, calm down, I'm not coming onto you," Newton says. He drops his t-shirt on the floor and jabs a thumb at his chest. His bare chest. "See, look. Proof."

Hermann's not sure what he's meant to be looking at. The giant Godzilla tattooed over Newton's pectorals? The flying saucer tattooed above Newton’s belly button? Newton’s nipple piercings? Hermann thinks he understands what an overheating computer feels like, an influx of too much information with processors unequipped to handle it. "I," he says. Newton’s belly button is not pierced. Hermann’s not sure why he thought it would be.

"Look at my chest, dude!" Newton says, tapping his skin insistently.

It takes Hermann a great deal of effort to pull his eyes away from the nipple piercings. In the dead center of Newton's chest, spaced perfectly between his pectorals and right over the nostrils of Godzilla, is a strange, almost luminescent glyph of a language Hermann can't begin to recognize. It's raised from Newton's skin, more like a brand than a tattoo. And...well, when Hermann says luminescent, he really means it. The squiggle seems to glow blue. "This was on me the next morning," Newton says. "I think they marked me. Like you'd tag a lab rat?”

Hermann can't help himself: he reaches out and touches the mark. "Strange," he murmurs. Compared to the heat of Newton’s body, the glyph is quite cool. Frigid, in fact, like metal, and yet as soft as the rest of his skin.

He's close enough to Newton to hear the hitch in his breath when they make contact, and as he traces his fingertips over the glyph, he can feel Newton's heart pounding beneath them. Strange, indeed; Newton has been such a thorn in his side for so many months, and yet all Hermann wants to do now is touch even more of him. He trails his hand lower, down to the flying saucer on Newton's soft abdomen. Newton inhales sharply. "Um," he says. "Should—should I put my shirt back on?"

"Do you want to?" Hermann says.

"Not really," Newton says.

He stares at Hermann, eyebrows knit together behind his glasses, like he can't seem to make sense of him. His confusion is very much warranted; Hermann can’t seem to make sense of himself right now, either. Then, to Hermann's supreme annoyance, the pieces seem to click into place in Newton's mind, and he grins. "Oh, duh," he says. "No wonder. You wanna fuck me, don't you? That’s why you’re so obsessed with me.”

That would certainly explain the strange warm feeling that comes over Hermann sometimes when he thinks about Newton in the dead of night that he has, up until this very moment, attributed to bouts of temporary insanity and/or a latent murderous desire. Nothing so dramatic as all that, then—just regular human biology. Urgh. How disgusting. And for Newton, of all people. “Obsessed with you?” Hermann sniffs, desperate to retain some element of propriety even while he begins to tug at Newton’s button fly. “Newton, you have spent thousands of dollars on yard signs just to invite me over for a coffee.”

“Uh, yeah, and it worked,” Newton says.

He curls his fingers in the front of Hermann's sweater, thumbing over one of the buttons.

“Even when I thought you were an alien,” Newton says, “I still kiiiiinda wanted to fuck you.”

Delusional or not, Newton looks terrifically good with a beard.

"Wait," Hermann gasps some time later. "Newton, stop a moment—"

Newton pulls away from him, frowning. He pushes his glasses back up on his nose. "What is it?" he says. "Did I hurt—?"

But Hermann pats at his shoulder frantically, pointing beyond him at the back slider and the dark of the forest beyond that. Newton cranes his neck around. "Only I'm sure I saw something. Lights, or…” Hermann feels a small twinge of embarrassment. The night is dead silent, and dead still. “Well, now I'm not sure."

“You probably imagined it," Newton says. He slips back down to press a kiss at Hermann's jaw. “It’s too early to be them.”

Not even ten yet. Newton kisses behind Hermann’s ear. It feels very nice. "Yes," Hermann agrees slowly, his eyelids flickering shut. He smooths his hand up and down Newton’s back. "Yes, I suppose you're right." Newton’s stories must have left him on edge. Which is of course ridiculous, because they’re all a load of rubbish—there may be extraterrestrials somewhere out there in the great wide universe, but they’re certainly not swooping down and plucking up hapless test subjects from Earth, let alone their small town, every other day. Hermann has much more important things to concern himself with right now, like how it feels when he threads his fingers in the soft strands of Newton’s hair, or the sound Newton makes when Hermann digs his nails into his skin, or how wonderful kissing Newton is...

And, unobserved by both of them, the three lights hovering above Newton's cabin blink away as quickly as they'd come.

[jade-parcels]

A classical music piece that reminds me of Ajax. Enjoy this unedited word vomit 💕

❄️Anne Akiko’s Estonian Lullaby❄️

This piece feels a bit sad to me, it’s beautiful, soft and overall genuinely nice to listen to. I heard it in the car the other day and I cannot get this image out of my mind.

Ajax has returned from a 4 month deployment out to Liyue, leaving you back in Snezhnaya with his family. Every day you wait for a letter that will never come, not with the new restrictions on contacting those outside of the Fatui ranks. And every night you sit by the windowsill after dinner, resting your forehead against the cold glass as you silently watch, hoping to see your fiancé’s silhouette emerge from the snow. Tonight is no different.

Downstairs, Tonia plays her violin and her mother sits at the piano, the two playing a piece from an old book from Fontaine. The sweet melody threatens to lull you to sleep, your eyes droop, your body wanting to rest after hours of work earlier but no, you force your eyes back open, wiping fog from the window so you can see properly. What you see now isn’t the usual landscape, the sun has set, the moon reflecting a blueish glow onto the snow outside. Though there is a new blue glow that is not provided by the moon- no, that is a vision. That…Is Ajax.

Your body moves on its own, tugging on your boots, sliding into a thick jacket and slipping out the back door undetected. He’s there, standing on the frozen lake, waiting for you to come to him. And you do

The snow crunches beneath your feet as they carry you to him, your arms extend to wrap around his warm body, your tears wetting the Fatui uniform you’d buried your face into

“Shhh…I’m here, it’s alright” Ajax whispers, swaying you side to side “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry” he tries to laugh but you can hear the quiver in his voice

You join him in the gentle swaying, fumbling for his hand, placing your other on his shoulder. Ajax picks up on what you’re doing, wrapping his arm around your waist as he begins to lead you in a dance. He isn’t the best at it, neither are you, but no one is here to see. Tonia’s violin and her mother’s piano playing can be faintly heard from here so the two of you steal this moment for yourselves, silently swaying side to side, finally holding each other after months apart.

You look up at him, taking him all in. He’s paler than usual, his beautiful eyes have purple bags beneath them. He looks so tired, utterly drained. The way he moves is stiff, as if he’s sore. You don’t doubt that he is, he’s told you about what it takes to be a harbinger. Being injured isn’t even the worst that could happen.

Ajax rests his head on top of yours, breathing in your scent. The swaying becomes slower, his grip on you tighter “This…this isn’t me coming back” his voice sounds strained “I have to be back to the palace by dawn I just…I just had to come see you. I feel so empty when we aren’t together it- I don’t know how to describe it” he shakes his head, sighing into your hair

“I feel the same way” Your hand leaves his shoulder to trace comforting circles on his back “Why can’t you stay? Haven’t they worked you hard enough? You deserve to come home for awhile”

Ajax merely shakes his head “You know there’s no such thing as them working me ‘hard enough’. This is my job, I’m used to it” he looks out at the stars, his vision blurred with unshed tears “I know it’s childish to wish for things. Teucer likes to wish on stars, he says if he really believes then maybe they’ll come true. Well…I wish that you and I could run away”

His admission catches you off guard, you pull back in order to look at him and are surprised to see him crying. Ajax has shown a range of emotions. You’ve seen him jump for joy, grit his teeth in anger, but you’ve never seen him cry. You use your sleeve to wipe his tears away “Now why would you want to do that?” You ask “Your family would miss you”

Ajax takes a stuttering breath before talking again “Thats the hard part. I’d have to bring them with me. We’d live far away where the others won’t find us. My brothers and I can build us a house in the woods, we can all live happily without any responsibilities…wouldn’t that be nice? I could be there all the time, I wouldn’t have to worry, wouldn’t have to miss out on everything all the time…I could just…be a normal guy”

Your heart aches for him. Ajax is a complex man. In a way, he’s still a kid who grasps at fairytales and wishes they were true. On the other hand, he’s a beast. You don’t like to think about it, don’t want to think about that side of your husband. The way his abyssal form froths at the mouth at the sight of blood, the way he grins when striking enemies down. He turns into a different person out on the battlefield. If you two ran away, would he be able to tame that side of himself?

But overall, Ajax is a family man. He loves his mother, his big sisters and brothers. He’s a role model for his younger siblings. He looks up to his father, respects him more than any other male figure in his life. He strives to be like his father: a good husband, a reliable man who will do things out of the good of his heart. A man who will care for the sick and help out a neighbor without expecting a favor back.

Ajax chose a profession without thinking about the long term effects it would have. He never saw himself living long enough to get married, never saw himself able to settle down. Now he has a dilemma which cannot be solved. As much as he longs to run away he knows the other harbingers would track him down easily. They’d drag him back and dispose of his family to prevent future distractions.

So this is what he must do. His deployments are getting longer and longer. He doesn’t know when he’ll get to come back. All he knows is that he needed this time with you, he needed to hear your voice, feel your touch. Even it would only last an hour

The stars above flicker, the snow gently falling to land on your eyelashes. You know he has to go, he has to go back to being a killing machine for cruel, loveless archon. You want to be selfish, you want to drag him inside and curl up under some thick quilts together, to drink hot tea and listen to stories about Liyue. But it won’t happen.

Ajax composes himself, cupping your cheeks with his warm hands. His lips are chapped and cool when they meet yours, his kiss tastes like firewater and gingerbread cookies. He tells you he’ll be back, asks that you keep this meeting a secret…Then all too soon he pulls away, leaving you feeling cold and empty. You call out to him “I love you! I love you, I love you, please come back to me soon!” He says he will, promises to try and get some vacation time.

You stand there numbly as pretty snowflakes dance around you. Clouds roll in, blocking the moon’s glow. You watch as Ajax disappears into the darkness, the soft glow of his hydro vision getting further and further away until you could no longer see it.

Again, you hear the sweet melody from the house. It sounded much louder when the two of you danced, now it sounds so far away. You trudge back up to the house, kicking off your boots when you step inside. Teucer bounces over to you, toy ‘cyclops’ in hand

“Hey! Where did you go? You coulda froze out there!”

You ruffle his hair and force a smile “Ah, I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just…dancing” he looks confused but doesn’t question you further. Instead, he grabs your hand and takes you to the livingroom, where everyone else is now, in order to enjoy the music together

[theskywaslookingback]

tma fic recs please ? 🤲🏽

Oooooo yes! I never get asks like this, thank you!

[my tumblr fic recs tag is here for browsing]

I had to put it under a cut because it got...entirely too long barely half an hour into making it, sorry.

Under 5k

means of cartharsis by orphan_account [G] [965]

“You’d think – you’d that at this point nightmares would be second nature for me, hm?” Martin says, forcing a smile even as he tugs the blanket tighter around his trembling shoulders.

It’s meant to be a bit funny. Instead of laughing, though, Jon frowns.

“No,” he says simply, and matter-of-factly wipes the moisture from Martin’s cheeks with a tissue like he’s a crying child.

A Proper Sleepover by Goodluckdetective (scorpiantales) [T] [1.4k]

In a different world, one where Elias is not waiting for them outside the Lonely, everyone has a chance to savor a moment of respite. As much as they can get these days. If only to talk about things that long need to be spoken.

“Basira says we should all sleep in the same room tonight,” Jon says without looking up. “Safer. So we can keep an eye out for intruders and also each other.”

“So we’re having a proper sleepover then?”

Jon scoffs. “Technically we’ve been having a proper one for months.”

where i go, when i go there by rainny_days [T] [1.7k]

Martin wants Jon to hold his hand. Martin doesn't want Jon to hold his hand.

It's complicated.

all the other ways by AptlyNamed [G] [2.2k]

Jon loses his first soul mark when he is eight years old.

a palace from ruin by bibliocratic [G] [2.2k]

"What're you sorry for?” Martin asks.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

interiors by doomcountry [T] [2.7k]

In the doorway, he fumbles with his keys. Their sound is loud in the silent stairwell. You don’t remember getting here.

searching for a light (for a right) by Kalgalen [T] [2.7k]

Some people make the mistake of assuming he's naive about sex, for the simple reason he hasn't dated in a while. Tim has called him a prude, at one point, and implied that he was somehow afraid of the intimacy required by the act; he wasn’t entirely wrong, but this definitely isn’t the reason for Jon's disinterest and general bafflement toward what most people seemed to consider as "what makes them human".

Jon simply hasn't found the right person. That is all it is: high standards, and a reticence to let people in.

(In which Jon finds out society is wrong about what a romantic relationship should be.)

how to plant a garden in rocky soil by treeprince [T] [2.9k]

Sometimes you just need a good pair of hands to work out all the kinks in your life.

Good thing Martin has two.

A Weather In The Flesh by cuttooth [G] [3k]

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

*

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

I'll bring the motion by callmearctus [T] [3.1k]

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

A Bread Made In Heaven by Againstme [G] [3.3k]

Martin moves over and watches how his boyfriend handles the dough. He's awkward with it, tentative and gentle, as if he's scared of hurting it somehow.

"Is this, uh, am I doing this right?" Jon asks, still slowly stretching out the dough and folding it onto itself.

"Well," he says shifting closer to Jon again, "you could be applying more pressure. Here, let me help you out, dear."

Martin moves fully behind Jon, and reaches around him, putting his hands on top of his boyfriend's. Jon inhales sharply, but doesn't say anything else, just lets Martin's hand rest on top of his.

Martin's hands are bigger, but not big enough to entirely envelop the other's hands, and Jon's hands are much, much warmer than his own are. To see what they're doing, Martin moves his head to look over Jon's shoulder. Though he can't see his boyfriend's face from this angle, he can see how it is slowly growing red at the edge of his vision. He decides not to tease him on it, instead content with letting a smile spread across his face and slowly guiding their joined hands in the proper motion.

Or, Martin teaches Jon how to make bread.

stumbling and spinning by lady_mab [G] [3.3k]

“Things happened,” Jon says demurely, trying to untangle Gerry’s fingers, but it only results in him getting pulled in so Gerry can kiss him properly. “It’s not all that bad.”

“I suppose not,” Gerry says with a sigh, sitting back upright. “You somehow managed to snag an incredible boyfriend out of it.”

It takes a solid few seconds before realization clicks in Martin’s brain. “You mean me?” [...]

“You have to admit, Jon has great tastes,” Gerry teases.

nothing sweeter than local honey by beeclaws [T] [3.4k]

So Tim is content, one arm leaned into the spray, waiting for the water to warm, enjoying the feeling of homecoming underneath the gentle fuzz of jetlag, when he hears gasping, panicked breaths coming from the other room.

Tim and Jon, in the aftermath, relearning how to be okay.

When Words are Inadequate by Mugatu [T] [3.8k]

Meals and the preparation of are, for want of a better word, informative. Fact gathering. A place where they can fill in the gaps of their knowledge of the other.

Jon cooks for Martin, and they learn more about each other.

go softly by doomcountry [T] [4k]

And there is nothing else besides this.

Imago by cuttooth [T] [4k]

“Jon?” he asks tentatively, tightening his grip around the poker as it slips against his sweaty palm. The antennae twitch, and suddenly Martin knows that it’s Jon, the knowledge sliding into his mind in a surge of desperate affection, the same profound love he felt that first time he truly saw Jon in the fog of the Lonely.

“Oh,” he whispers. “It really is you.”

*

Jon changes, but he’s still the same to Martin.

shoreline by bibliocratic [G] [4.1k]

“Martin," Tim says kindly, tipsily, only mildly slurring. "Dearest, dearest Martin. You're wankered, babe. Last train to Stockwell fucked off hours ago because it is now piss off o'clock in the morning, and there's a sofa with your exact name on it at my place. Thought you said you wanted some handsome fellow to take you back to his tonight?”

Or: The OG Archive crew go drinking, Martin comes out, and gets some well deserved TLC. In that order.

get your epitaph right by bibliocratic [G] [4.2k]

Martin's daemon has tried on the shape of dogs and lizards and snakes and horses, and even – once, when he was younger and Mum took him to the seaside, a fish.

Martin's never seen his soul in the dressing of a spider before.

i've known the warmth of your doorways by beeclaws [T] [4.2k]

'I’m always in pain, Jon wants to say, even as he dismisses the thought as melodramatic. Between his growing collection of old wounds and scar tissue, the supernatural hunger for statements that hasn’t been truly satiated in months, and the unpredictable aches and strains his body threw off day by day long before he ever set foot in the Institute, some level of pain and discomfort follows Jon wherever he goes now. He is used to being in pain. He’s not used to someone holding his hand as he suffers through it.'

Jon catalogs the comforts he receives, and wonders how long he will be allowed to keep them.

lay down your weary head by Zykaben [T] [4.6k]

Jon has been running himself ragged, searching for every scrap of information he can possibly find about the Unknowing. He's exhausted and sleep-deprived but he can't bring himself to take a break, not now.

Luckily, Tim and Martin are there to make sure that their boyfriend gets the care and rest he needs.

only the sweetest words remain by bluejayblueskies [T] [4.6k]

This isn't how things are supposed to go, right? Jon remembers those ratty paperbacks from the charity shops, dime-a-dozen romance novels with broken bindings and yellowing pages and words that spoke of love and passion and sexuality in prose that was more than a bit too mature for someone whose age hadn’t yet reached double digits. Stolen glances turn into dinner dates turn into passionate kisses turn into…

Well, he’d never actually read those parts of the books, because it had all seemed so deeply uncomfortable and gross. But he got the picture.

Or, Jonathan Sims, on being loved

5k-20k

and they keep not letting go by Marianne_Dashwood [G] [5k]

It’s an electric feeling, something strange and new and familiar all at once, even though he has been holding Martin’s hand for most of the day. His stomach swoops, like he is standing on the edge of the precipice of realisation and staring into the void of unknowing. But at the same time, he does know. In this instant of contact between them, the last few years of cups of tea and small smiles and momentary glances, of panic and fear and only feeling safe with Martin’s solid presence in the room, despite his paranoia, rush into him, and oh, oh oh.

ready to call this love by yewgrove [G] [5.6k]

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99 [T] [6k]

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

This Must Be The Place by cuttooth [T] [6k]

“You said – you said we were going home,” Martin says softly.

“I did,” says Jon, and is grateful that Martin doesn’t comment on him calling the Archives home. “I – I don’t really know where to go. I, uh, I don’t have a flat anymore, I don’t think. We could find a hotel?”

“Let’s go to my place,” says Martin. His hand squeezes Jon’s, more gently than before. Most importantly, Jon notes, he doesn’t let go.

*

Jon and Martin go home for a little while.

Small Things, Simple Acts by ZaliaChimera [T] [6.6k]

Even after leaving London, Jon and Martin are not free, not really. Maybe they never will be.

But for now they can be themselves, and maybe in the end, that's enough.

house by tomatoes [G] [9k]

Martin can take care of himself.

roses, roses, roses by acetheticallyy (judesstfrancis) [T] [9.3k]

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses.

a deeply annoying child by ajkal2 [G] [9.6k]

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

Inseparable by voiceless_terror [T] [10.3k]

“You can stay.” The voice interrupts his internal panic, and he looks over to find Jon studiously avoiding his gaze, staring hard at a neighboring bush. Martin wonders what caused his sudden change of heart. “But you have to sit on the other side. And don’t talk to me.”

Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood meet as children. Some things change, others do not.

i'm almost me again, you're almost you by gruhukens [G] [12k]

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite [T] [15.8k]

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Over 20k

The Kindness of Strangers by TheOestofOCs [M] [23k]

It was easier to treat Jon like a monster when he wasn’t shivering against his back, brokenly humming—wait, was that…

“Are you trying to do ‘Hey, Jude’?” Tim demanded.

Jon stopped, stiffening. “Mm hrmh mm mmh hm,” he said defensively.

“You really can’t hold a tune, can you, boss?”

*

It was just an ordinary walk to a restaurant. Tim had insisted that if they were going to talk, there would be no tape recorders or weird Archives ghosts listening in. A bit of fresh air wouldn’t kill him, Tim had said. What could go wrong?

By the time Jon spots the white delivery van, it’s much too late.

The Stranger kidnaps Jon. Tim comes along for the ride.

Misjudged by ShastaFirecracker [T] [36.5k]

Martin's been a longtime listener of What the Ghost, so when Georgie gives a shoutout to her flatmate's Twitch channel during a Q&A, he checks it out - only to discover that her flatmate is also his most terrifying coworker at his new job. The first time they crossed paths, Jon yelled at him for incompetence. But on the streams, Martin sees an entirely different person - someone fun and relaxed, engaging and unfairly attractive. Over time, Martin begins to find that Jon buried inside his dour, awkward coworker. He also learns to live with the fact that his crush is painfully one-sided... or is it?

if we make it through the night everyone is gonna hear us (Series) by skvadern [Ratings Vary] [42.4k]

In which Sasha survives the NotThem (with a little help from a certain Distortion) and she and Jon spend s2 working together to try and make sense of everything that's happening to them. It goes...interestingly

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic [T] [49.7k]

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

it's only forever by lady_mab [T] [50.9k]

“The castle at the center of the labyrinth,” Jon breathes, recalling again the words from one of the past conversations with Martin. “He’s there.”

“Turn back, Jonathan,” the Goblin King says, and Jon is surprised to hear a slight edge of desperation in the tone. “Turn back before it’s too late.”

“I can’t,” Jon answers with the same tone. “You know that I can’t.”

The Goblin King’s grin is gone completely, and he regards Jon with a degree of pity before that melts into resignation.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey [T] [53.3k]

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

A Home For What Loves You by TheWrongShop [T] [151k]

It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited".

Or; Jon and Martin end up investigating Carlos Vittery's basement and finding the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.

RATED E *MINORS DNI*

A Look And A Voice by cuttooth [E] [6.9k]

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Jon asks bluntly, and for a second Martin can’t breathe.

“It - it doesn’t matter what I - ” he begins valiantly, before Jon interrupts him.

“Because I want to have sex with you, and frankly it doesn’t matter if you think it’s for the wrong reasons. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. The only thing that matters is if you want to as well.”

*

Martin meets a guy in a bar and takes him home.

Warms The Coldest Night by cuttooth [E] [11k]

"Flame that warms the coldest night Bring to us the waxing Light, Be with us on Solstice Night." Gypsy - Bring Back The Light

There is mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the Archives when Jon gets in.

Curiosity by ShastaFirecracker [E] [11.6k]

“You know that conversation we had the other day about how one of the most important things for queer youth to learn is that it's okay to change their minds, because identity and self-discovery are always fluid?”

Behind him, Martin slipped oven mitts over his hands and pulled open the oven door. The scent of garlic and rosemary flooded the kitchen. “Yeah?” he said.

“I, um... I'd like to revisit the topic of sex.”

At the Interim (Series) by Rend_Herring [E] [41k]

A Measure Outside the Lines and The Residuum

triptych (Series) by Stacicity [E] [44.9k]

A collection of Jon/Tim/Martin fics

a steady hand, a delicate man by callmearctus [E] [52.8k]

Martin is the proprietor and manager of a very discrete and fairly exclusive brothel situated between Belgravia and Chelsea. Blackwood House excels at special requests and pleasing any client.

Except for Jon, who probably has never been pleased a day in his entire life.

Despite that, he still comes back. It eventually begs the question: how do you solve a problem like Jon Sims?

[novelconcepts]

Prompt: Dani and Jamie first argument. Maybe the first time one of them sleeps on the couch (and doesn't sleep at all)

It’s such a stupid fight, Jamie thinks even as they’re having it. Such a stupid argument, she doesn’t quite know what kicked it off. Months and months on the road with Dani, months and months of learning all the little particulars of her--taste in music, dislike for repetitive tapping sounds, unpredictable sense of humor, awful propensity for replicating in private the accent of whatever state they’ve landed in today--and never once did they argue. Not really. She was beginning to think they never would--that Dani’s peculiar burden, her own peculiar resistance to logic, would keep them both safe from that which befalls all couples.

Silly. Silly to imagine, with the lovesick eyes of that honeymoon stage, and sillier now. The Dani she’d been met with at the start had been alternately strange and sad, hopeful and haunted, but she’d always been new. There’s a certain sweet charm that comes with novelty, making even the most irritating traits shine. Everything can be wiped clean with a kiss, when it’s new, or with wandering hands, or with a well-timed joke.

But months fade into more, and before she knows it, there’s nearly a year behind them. A year of them. A year of Dani’s smile growing stronger, of Dani’s hands shaking less, of her own belief that this is...good. Better than she could have imagined, letting her guard down. Better than anything she’s ever been granted in her life.

And now: 

Now a fight. Stupid. Small. Not like the closest they’ve come before now--Dani rolling her eyes at Jamie’s inability to make a bed, Jamie scoffing over Dani’s oddball methods of sorting laundry--but...stupid, nonetheless. She’d been tired. She’d snipped. Dani, unexpectedly, had snipped back.

And suddenly, they were arguing. Genuinely, for the first time, arguing--about Jamie’s tendency to shut doors, about Dani’s irreparable need to feign a smile. Both of them spotting that urge in the other which is so easily reflected in a mirror: to fix at all costs. To close off paths to darkness. To make it better, even if it means doing it in silence, or doing it alone.

Dani says, “If you’re going to keep walking away in the middle of a conversation--”

Jamie says, “Well, it’s not like you’re talking--”

It’s stupid. It’s silly. It shouldn’t be happening at all. Tired, she thinks. Tired, and it’s been raining for days, and the shop hasn’t been pulling the customers they’d expected this quarter. Dani has been quieter lately, it’s true, though not the way she’d been those first few weeks. Not the quiet of miserable baggage. Not the simple weariness of looking into the jungle for the eyes of a beast. 

Jamie can understand that. Jamie’s gotten good already at searching out those moments, at taking Dani’s hand--or leaving her to her peace--as needed. 

This, the normal of it all. This, she isn’t ready for. She’s never had a normal relationship, exactly; there had been bone shards and broken promises in the last one, and secrets tucked carefully away, and smiles that never met bright eyes. There had been a lot to unpack, to offer up on the altar of her own dignity. But normalcy? The normal edge of a woman’s voice when she’s just too tired to say the right thing? The normal cut of her own words when she’s just too off to play diplomat in response?

It’s new, and it’s weird, and it sits badly in her chest when Dani throws up her hands and says, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I need a minute.”

She watches her stalk away, down the hall to the bedroom. Dani doesn’t slam the door. It almost makes it harder; if she’d done that, the intention behind the act would be clear, impossible to miss. If she’d done that, Jamie could piece it together: a shut door means keep out, means stay away, means don’t follow. 

The Dani who wakes from shuddering nightmares always wants her close.

The Dani who’d just shaken her head in exasperation? She can’t be sure.

A part of her wonders if this isn’t all her fault--if it’s the mark of a bad day she should have seen coming. She’s better about this, normally. She’s better at all of this. The woman who had just snipped and sliced, whose smile had been bitter-edged, isn’t unrecognizable; she’d known her so well from a year-old mirror. The woman who had threatened violence at every irritation. The woman who had grown thorns to prevent her own puncture wounds. Not a woman she’s ever been with Dani, really, but do these shadow parts of a self ever die? Has she tricked herself--tricked them both--into believing Dani’s love was enough to bury thirty years of habit in the ground?

Dani hasn’t shut the door, but she hasn’t come slinking back out with apology in her voice, either. And maybe that’s as it should be. Maybe that’s right. Hadn’t it been Jamie who had started it? She can’t be sure--there’s a strange fog around the conversation, an adrenaline-pumping, threat-level-high intoxication eating away at the memory already. Anger has a way of banishing good sense, and all detail along with it. Maybe she hadn’t started it, but she sure hadn’t let it die with a single snide remark.

And now, she thinks, sitting on the edge of the couch with a spreading unease, Dani can see. For good, for real, the bits of her she’d managed to hide away for a year. Dani can see the part of her she’d tried so hard to keep leashed since a meltdown in a rose garden.

Dani can see it, and doesn’t Dani carry enough? Isn’t Dani tired enough, without this added burden of someone else’s anger?

It’s not...peaceful. It’s rage. She shakes her head, presses a hand to her mouth, remembering the shiver in Dani’s voice. And maybe this hadn’t been rage, exactly--neither of them yelling, neither throwing things or landing harsh blows--but it hadn’t been peace, either. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth, a tremble in her legs, how little like them the evening has felt.

The door is open, but she can’t hear Dani moving around. Maybe she’s gone to bed. Maybe she’s decided enough is enough for one night. 

All right. It’s one night. What’s one night? There will be others--probably. Never any certainty to a thing like that, but she’s as near to sure as she can be. There will be other nights, and they’ll talk it through, but...not now. Not with Dani having left her here. Not with Dani sitting silent in the other room, probably letting her own anger twist around her like a shroud. 

The couch isn’t so bad. The knit blanket is too light for the spring chill, maybe, and the throw pillow is too small beneath her head, but she’s had worse. Years on a prison cot, for one. In comparison, this couch is paradise. 

A quiet paradise. 

A quiet, miserable paradise.

She exhales, reaching to switch off the lamp. One night. Admittedly, sleeping alone for the first time in a year feels wrong--incredible, how quickly she’s come to rely on the pressure of Dani’s arm around her middle, the soft brush of Dani’s breath against her shoulder--but she had started it. She’s almost certain now. She’d started it, and Dani had rightly left her to think on her mistake. Dani had rightly walked away and left her to mull it all over.

It works. It has always worked. Worked just fine back then, leaving a shadowed greenhouse for a few days to get her head on straight. Maybe Dani’s right about that tendency to shut doors, to lick her wounds in private. Maybe Dani’s right that it’s a habit too ingrown to break.

Probably. 

She’s too aware of everything--the breeze through the cracked window, the hum of the refrigerator, each creak-and-settle of the walls around her--in the dark. Too aware of how small she feels, stretched out beneath a thin blanket, her hands folded awkwardly on her stomach. Too aware of the way Dani had thrown up her hands, headed back down the hall, left her to pace the cage of her own stupid anger alone.

What was she even so upset about? That Dani had...what? Looked at her askance? Shaken her head? Not quite modulated her tone, and come out sounding as though the business taking a bit of a dip is Jamie’s fault? Dani hadn’t meant it like that. She’s sure neither of them had really meant any of it like it had come out--that, sometimes, words and tone get all muddied up and blow holes in things that ought to be strong enough to withstand any attack. Hadn’t they been over it and over it in therapy? That she needs to stop and breathe and calculate the intent, not the impact, of a person’s behavior?

Intent: mild irritation. A bad mood. Offense taken and dealt without really looking.

Impact: Dani in the bedroom. Her on the couch. Sleeping apart for the first time since leaving Bly. 

She closes her eyes. Tries to breathe. Tries to remember what it was like sleeping alone, all those months ago. Tries to remember how naturally it had come, stepping back from the others, going home to her own flat. 

That woman feels even further away than the one who’d used anger as armor. That woman feels too far to reach. 

“What are you doing?”

She jumps. Dani is standing in the hall, backlit by the bedroom light. Her expression is washed out, unreadable. 

“Sleeping,” Jamie says in a voice not quite calm, not quite stable. Dani makes a thin noise.

“On the couch?”

“You--” She sits up, clutching the blanket for support. “You said you needed space.”

“I said...” Dani takes a step nearer, and another. Her brows are drawn, Jamie can see now, her arms wrapped around herself as though for warmth. “I said I needed a minute.”

“Right.” This doesn’t feel like them. This feels even less like them than the argument had--because that, at least, had been petty and dumb. This feels too much like open water, uncharted, unexpectedly deep. “Wanted to respect that.”

“By sleeping on the couch.” Dani has stopped, still hugging herself, just out of reach. Jamie gropes up for the lamp, switching it on without looking. 

“Well...yeah. You said--”

“A minute, Jamie.” Is it her imagination, or is Dani trying not to smile? “You thought a minute meant the whole night?”

She doesn’t answer. Her throat is suddenly tight. Dani is looking at her, not with irritation, not with a fed-up grimace, but with a burgeoning smile. 

“Haven’t you ever had a weird spat with a girlfriend before?” 

Not trusting herself to speak, Jamie shakes her head. Not one like you. Not one carrying too much to manage. Not one I’ve fallen in--

“Well--neither have I, I guess.” Dani is almost grinning now, though there’s something jumpy about her eyes. Something like she’s trying, even now, to hide behind old habits. “That was...that was weird, right?”

“It was,” says Jamie carefully. She’s too off-kilter to read between the lines of Dani’s rictus grin. Too unbalanced to see what Dani is really trying to ask.

“It was weird,” Dani repeats, as if trying to convince herself. “And weird happens. Weird doesn’t mean...weird doesn’t mean we...”

Ah. There it is. She may have lain out here staring at the ceiling, parsing out her own guilt, but Dani was in there doing something worse. Dani was in that bedroom trying to determine how much of that fight was even her--and how much, maybe, belonged to a particularly weighty ghost.

She unfolds from the couch slowly, not sure if Dani is quite ready to be touched. She’s rocking a little, Jamie can see now, back and forth on her heels. Like she’s trying desperately to hold together. Like she’s coming ever-closer to unwinding. 

“Fights happen,” Jamie says. “Dumb ones, more’n most. I’m sorry for starting it.”

“You didn’t,” Dani says. “Did you?”

Her grin is loosening a little, the struts falling out along the way. In a minute, the whole thing is going to come down, and the expression waiting beneath will--Jamie suspects--look an awful lot like a woman freshly haunted. 

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, taking a hesitant step closer. “Does it matter? Sorry either way.”

“Me too,” Dani says, her voice small. “It was a--a bad day.”

“Yeah.” Her fingers are twitching at her sides, itching to reach out. Dani glances from her face to her hand, her smile flickering at last. 

“Can you, um. Can you come to bed anyway? Even if it’s not okay. Even if we’re--”

“We’re okay,” Jamie says, and knows it. Stupid, petty arguments full of bitter, petty words mean so little when stacked up to how Dani makes her feel. Even on bad nights, Dani makes her feel safer than anyone she’s ever known. 

She hopes Dani can say the same. Is determined, if Dani can’t yet, to make sure she leaves that exact legacy on Dani’s life. Safe. Secure. Loved. 

Dani is reaching out, pulling her close, her breath fast and sharp. “Can we make it a rule?” she asks into Jamie’s shoulder, her forehead pressing down hard. 

“What? Never go to bed angry?”

“Never go to bed apart.” With every stroke of Jamie’s hand across her hair, she seems to settle a little more. Seems to breathe a little easier. “You can be angry, I can’t--we can’t always help that. But come to bed anyway. Kiss me goodnight anyway. Can we make that promise?”

She sounds uncertain, and Jamie knows she’s remembering a final conversation with another person she’d loved. A last she hadn’t known was such until it was too late to take back. There hadn’t been room for forgiveness there, or apology, or a goodnight kiss. 

“Promise,” Jamie says, and knows it’s one she’ll keep faithfully to the end. However long they get. However much time. If they fight once a year or once a month, it won’t matter. Never go to bed apart. That’s doable. It’s the least she can do. 

“Does this mean,” Dani asks, voice muffled, “we’re official now?”

“Officially what?”

Dani shrugs one shoulder. She seems unwilling to remove her face from Jamie’s shoulder, to pull free of Jamie’s embrace. “I dunno. Isn’t this what real couples do? Argue?”

“Maybe.” She’s not sure either of them is standing on firm enough ground to say what real couples do, or don’t do, or shouldn’t do. She’s not sure relationships have enough ground rules to be drawn out and catalogued as such. 

What she is sure of is how Dani makes her feel. That she has, over the past months, been stepping closer and closer to a line. That she will, soon enough, tip over it into something that looks an awful lot like always. 

She could say it now. It might soothe Dani, to hear the words for the first time. But it wouldn’t feel quite right. Wouldn’t be quite what Dani deserves. It can wait. 

“I don’t think that part matters,” she says instead. “The arguing. I think the part that counts is what comes after.”

“Where I can’t stand five more minutes without you hugging me?” Dani sounds shaky, embarrassed. Jamie grips her a little tighter.

“That even when you want to throttle me, you still want me in that bed more.”

That, she thinks, is the mark of a relationship. Of their relationship, at least. Not the bickering. Not the silliness or the pettiness. The desire to make it right again as soon as it’s over. 

“Don’t like fighting with you,” Dani says. Jamie gives her a gentle shake. 

“I do hear it improves the sex.”

“I like the sex,” Dani says, almost sullenly, and Jamie laughs. 

“Well then. No reason to change things, is there?”

[nah-she-didnt]

Inheritance

Knitting may be a less physically painful hobby than sewing, Lily thought bitterly as she unraveled her work for the third time in an hour, but it was no less frustrating. True, her fingers bled less while knitting than they did during her needlepoint phase. She’d jabbed herself more times than she could count last time she tried to embroidered a sad-looking flower onto the corner of her least favorite pillowcase. No, knitting certainly yielded less bloodshed than sewing, but it didn’t come without a price.

“Ouch!” Lily cried as she poked her humungous stomach once again with the end of the long, metal knitting needle. She could never get used to her belly, which seemed to swell more and more every day. “Damn- stupid-” She growled with frustration, crumpled up the ruined baby jumper, and hurled the bundle of yarn and needles across the room.

Lily watched the bundle soar through the air as her chest heaved slightly from her outburst. She rubbed absentmindedly at the spot where she’d impaled herself on the needle. Couldn’t break the skin, she reminded herself, but she still bruised like a peach. Little purple bruises all over your stomach weren’t typically a comforting sight in the ninth month of pregnancy.

Eight months. She shuddered a bit at the thought. Eight months of being sick, of stretching and expanding, of reminding herself that she was not a selfish cow for bringing a child into the world in the middle of a war.

For bringing this child into the world.

She groaned as she leaned forward to brace herself to stand. With a huge effort, she was able to push to her feet and shuffle over to retrieve her knitting. Won’t be long now, she thought to herself as she settled back into her spot on the couch to finish her work, stop messing around and get this done before he gets here or you'll never finish.

He.

Her heart sunk at the thought. It had been difficult to hide her disappointment when she’d heard her baby was male. She remembered how James had smiled softly at the scan and squeezed her hand. “A boy,” he’d whispered to her, “a little boy.”

She’d smiled and squeezed his hand right back. A boy.

Lily remembered the moment perfectly, how she’d fallen deep into that all-consuming fog. It was official, at least part of the prophecy was true after all. A boy, born at the end of July...

Three days. That’s all she needed. Three days until the sticky summer days of August. She would distract herself with this horrid jumper for three whole days, and then the baby could come whenever he pleased.

“Having fun?”

Lily jumped in surprise, causing her once again to drop a stitch. “Git,” she grumbled as she squinted down at the yarn, trying desperately to recover her mistake, “can’t you make a noise once in a while? You’ll startle me into early labor.”

James grinned and hopped over the back of the couch, landing next to her with a soft thwump.

“Whatcha got there? Is it a…” he regarded her lumpy, misshapen jumper, “a bib?”

“Very funny,” she snapped, refusing to look at him as she knitted, then purled, then knitted again.

“I’m sorry,” he grinned, clearly trying not to laugh, “I know it’s a jumper. Why the mad rush to finish, anyway?”

“I want it to be ready in time,” she said through teeth gritted in concentration, “he’s going to be here soon.”

“Right.”

Lily waited. She’d known James long enough to know when he was holding back. She turned her head slowly and fixed him with a glare. “What? Go on, spit it out.”

James had long grown used to Lily’s hormonal bitchiness. Nevertheless, he looked unsure of how to proceed without getting his head ripped off. “Well,” he sighed, eyeing the jumper hesitantly, “it’s just that, the jumper’s a bit small, don’t you think? I mean, won’t he be a bit big by the time it’s cold enough outside to wear?”

Lily felt the heat rise in her cheeks. This was absolutely the last thing she needed to hear right now. “I don’t think so. He’s a baby, how big can they be?”

“Well,” James said carefully, “let’s see. It’ll get chilly enough for jumpers by, I dunno, October? So he’ll be three months? He might have some meat on him by then if he’s anything like me when I was a baby.”

“No,” Lily shook her head and returned to her work. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Purl again. “He’d be two months. Two.”

James sighed. “Lil-”

“If he’s born in August he’ll be two months in October.”

“We have to be prepared for the wo-”

“No.” Lily said the word quietly, but with a danger she hadn’t realized she possessed.

James held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Ignore me. I didn’t mean-”

“He’ll be tiny,” Lily said into her hands. Knit. Purl. Dropped stitch. Damn. “Tiny enough to fit into this sweater. And he’ll be perfect. And safe and healthy and loved.” Another stitch dropped. It was getting hard to see her work through her tears.

“Lily,” James said softly as he reached for her hands. He brought the needles slowly down from her face and tucked his hand over hers in her lap. “Let’s take a break for a moment, alright?”

She nodded. She could have wrestled her hand from under his to wipe the tears from her cheek, but she let them fall freely. James wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled him into her chest.

They stayed that way for a while, Lily crying silently into James’ chest. After a while, she became aware of his own warm tears on her hair. She wondered dully if he was thinking what she was thinking. What have we done?

“Why the knitting?” James murmured as he ran a hand up and down her arm comfortingly, “why the rush?”

Lily sniffed. She hadn’t expected the question, and she suddenly found she didn’t have an answer. Knitting just seemed like a thing to do for your baby. “I just want him to have something of mine. Something to...remember me by.”

It was a mark of the bond between them that James did not protest at her words. He knew more than anyone how their stories could end. How little time they might have with their son.

“He’s going to love it. But you know,” James nudged her chin gently with his forefinger so that she looked up into his face. His cheeks were still blotchy from his tears, but a real smile shone on his lips. “You know he’s going to have your eyes. How could he not? That’s something he could never get from anyone else.”

Lily smiled too. She tried to picture her own green eyes looking back up at her from a bundle of blankets in her arms. Her eyes, maybe James’ hair. It was a lovely picture.

“Three days,” she leaned up and kissed James gently on the lips, “let’s get through the next three days. We’ll have plenty to worry about when he arrives and I won’t have time to finish this stupid jumper.”

James laughed. He stood from the couch, stretching his arms above his head as he went. “He’s going to love the sweater, Lil. Who knows, maybe he’ll give it to his own baby someday.”

“Oh, god,” Lily murmured as she resumed her work with a renewed intensity, “don’t say that. He’ll need something nicer than this for his own kids, this one’s shite.”

---

“I can’t believe you didn’t let me at the baby boxes first,” Ginny grumbled as she poured through a trunk of useless artifacts from her and her brothers’ infancies. A torn sweater here, a lone bootie there. A Babbity Rabbity book that was so worn from years of use that it tore at the binding. Ten years and seven children later, even the hardiest hand-me-downs could fall apart. “Bill got all the good stuff for Vic.”

“Well, dear,” her mother sighed as she levitated yet another trunk onto the kitchen table, “he was the first in the family to have children, after all.”

“It’s not like Fluer lets her kids wear any of our old jumpers,” Ginny muttered bitterly, “it isn’t from Paris, so of course it’s all rubbish.”

“What about this, Ginny?” Hermione called from her spot across the table. She’d spotted a dusty, but beautiful, mobile made up of stars and whirling planets folded up in the corner of a trunk. Small silver chimes hung from the top of the mobile which could almost certainly be charmed to play softly as the baby slept below. “This is lovely, isn’t it?”

Ginny, despite her determination to be a grumpy, hormone-filled nightmare today, eyed the mobile with interest. “It is nice.”

“Hmm,” her mother hummed as she dug through a bag of old baby socks, looking for a matching pair, “I suppose I didn’t let all the good stuff go to your brother after all, then?”

Ginny huffed as she accepted the mobile from Hermione and gingerly placed it into her bag. “Fine. Maybe not. But he’s still always been your favorite child.”

“What about me, then?” Ron called as he strode into the room, Harry at his side.

Ginny threw a faded plush snitch at his head, which he caught easily. “Not you, git. Bill.”

“Oh, true,” Ron shrugged as he leaned down to kiss Hermione on the cheek. By the time they got married and had kids of their own, Ginny thought savagely, there would surely be nothing usable left in the trunks. This was her only consolation.

“Gin, it’s alright. We don’t need anything from here,” Harry said reasonably as he peered into the trunk with interest. “Of course, Molly, it’s all lovely. But we’re buying loads of stuff for the baby, he’ll be just fine.”

“But still!” Ginny protested as she dug further into the trunk, “I want the memories, you know? I want to pass something down to my kids. Something like...like this.”

At the very bottom of the trunk lay a tiny, perfectly folded Gryffindor jumper. No years of wear-and-tear, no moth holes or loose strings hanging from the sleeves. Her mother had even added a tiny lion to the front in perfect golden stitches against the crimson background. Ginny pulled the jumper gingerly from the trunk and ran the tips of her fingers along the ridiculously soft wool.

“Oh, Molly,” Hermione murmured in awe as she stared at the jumper in Ginny’s hands. “It’s beautiful.”

Her mother smiled softly. “I knit that jumper when I was pregnant with you, Ginny.” Her voice had grown hoarse, as if she was trying her best to keep the emotion at bay. “I wanted you to have something of your very own. You only wore it a few times before you got too big. It was silly, really, to spend so much time making something that you’d grow right out of, but I couldn’t help it.”

“No wonder we were all in Gryffindor,” Ron grinned, as he eyed the jumper, “you and dad have been priming us since birth.”

“Oh, hush,” her mother snapped at Ron, “you know we didn’t care, not really. After all, I was almost sure Percy would be in Ravenclaw when he first went to school, but then-”

“Harry?”

Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it stopped mum’s story at once.

Harry’s eyes were on the jumper in her hands, and they were wet. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at the bundle of red and gold. He didn’t give any indication that he’d heard Hermione say his name.

Ginny felt her heart sink into her stomach. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“What?” Harry shook himself a bit as if coming out of a dream. He glanced around at all the eyes fixed on him. “Oh, sorry. I just thought- never mind. Being silly.” He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly, his chest still heaving slightly. The legs of his chair scraped loudly across the kitchen floor as he stood suddenly.

“Got to get some fresh air, excuse me,” and Harry practically bolted through the kitchen and through the back door.

Her mother gazed sadly after him. “Oh dear, I should have thought before bringing all this out. I hope he’s not too upset.”

“It’s alright mum,” Ginny patted her mother’s arm gently, “he’ll be fine. I’ll go talk to him.”

Ginny crossed over to the back door and eased her way through it. How on earth had her mother, a woman who had been pregnant at least seven times, been able to live in a house with such tiny doorways? She waddled down the porch and into the back garden towards her husband’s form.

It was difficult to see him in the early evening light, but she did not like the look of the way his shoulders slumped forward where he stood.

“Hey,” she breathed as she reached Harry. She could tell he’d been crying by the way his breath caught in his throat with each inhale. The sound made her feel faintly sick. “What happened in there?”

Harry shook his head sharply. “Nothing. Being stupid, that’s all.”

“It’s not stupid,” she took his hand in hers and gripped it tight. “Having a baby is scary. I get it. I don’t have any less faith in you for being scared.”

“It’s not that,” he whipped around to look at her, his eyes alight with adrenaline. “I’m not scared. I’m going to protect our baby with every breath I have left in me, I promise you that, Ginny.”

She smiled patted his hand gently. He had these moments every now and then, the wild sense of panic that always preceded a fight. She couldn’t blame him exactly, given everything he’d lost, but she was worried for him. “I know you will. I will, too.”

Harry nodded vigorously and turned back to the garden. She could feel his body relaxing slightly, could sense some of the panic recede from his muscles and release through his exhale.

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Harry breathed as he brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, “it was that damned tiny jumper. It was unnaturally small. I don’t remember Teddy being that small, do you?”

Ginny laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. The sun was really setting now, casting the entire yard in a soft orange glow. Somewhere in the distance, a family of gnomes grumbled to each other as they dug through her mother’s tomato patch. “He was never that small, though I suppose Teddy was a bit of a fat baby.”

Harry snorted. “I’m telling him you said that.”

“Don’t!” Ginny swatted at him playfully, “don’t you dare!”

He just laughed again and pulled her close against his chest, the back of her head resting comfortably against him.

“It is nice, though,” he sighed, “the idea of passing something down to your kids. Giving them a little part of you. I wish I’d had more of my parents’ things.”

Ginny nodded slowly. She couldn’t imagine a childhood without hand-me-downs. A little bit of history in every toy, every piece of clothing. “Perhaps we can make up for it. Create some new traditions.”

“Yeah?” She could hear him grinning through the word. “How would we do that?”

Ginny sighed, a little horrified with herself at what she was about to say.

“Well, we could always ask my mother to give us knitting lessons.”

Really. Married, pregnant, and finally letting her mother teach her to knit after years of protestation. What had her life come to?

[daisybeewrites]

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

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

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

[mae-gi-writes]

Hii can i request “Daylight” by Maroon5 for hyunjae 🥺🥺

Daylight | Hyunjae (tbz).

Listening to: Daylight by Maroon 5

A/N: the amount I relate to this though TT . TT I hope this was alright! I wasn’t quite sure what kind of scenario to go for with this song but oh well! Thanks for requesting and I hope you like it <3 <3

-----

"Don't leave."

Hyunjae chuckles, though it comes out empty. His grip tightens over your middle as he pulls you close, "you've said that over ten times already."

"But I mean it."

You sit, cuddled into his lap and legs splayed around him, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck with no intention of letting go so soon. Darkness permeates the walls of your room with a bare slither of the moon highlighting the soft strands framing Hyunjae's face. He ressembles an angel, you think to yourself, and justike an angel, he'll be disappearing from your arms the moment the sun rises the next morning.

"Please don't leave."

Your murmur, again bouncing off his collarbone, almost breaks in the process. One of his hands come up to stroke your hair, "I won't."

"Do you mean that?"

Pulling back slightly to gaze at the seriousness on your face, his eyebrow raises slightly in amusement, "don't go mopey on me on my last day."

You huff, "fine then. Just leave."

"Ah you," he bops your nose in affection, "you're hurting me with your words, Y/N."

"Good. Then maybe you won't leave."

Hyunjae can't help the laughter bubbling up from his lips at that, and despite your sourness you can't help but laugh along with him. It's like heaven, wrapped in Hyunjae's embrace like he's never going to let go. You want to believe that this will last forever, that this particular moment will freeze in time just so that you can be selfish for a little while.

But the glowing neon lights from your digital clock placed on your nightstand says otherwise. They're taunting, almost warning you of the time you have left.

3.45.a.m.

"You're going to be okay right? When you get there?" You ask him after a moment of comfortable silence.

He shifts you in his lap, pressing the softest of kisses under your jaw as he replies, "don't worry about me. Eric will pick me up from the airport," that is followed by a scoff, "wants to show off his new car."

"He bought it himself?"

"He says he does. I don't believe him though."

"Oh please," you nudge his arm playfully, "you're just jealous."

"No I'm not," Hyunjae retorts, nudging your side playfully. You duck away, giggling at the frown on his face before your thumb smoothes over the crease.

He softens, impulsively tuggig you close and imprinting a soft peck on your lips, "I'll miss you, you know."

His words are barely above a murmur, but they ring loud and clear through your ears, enough that it makes your eyes burn with the familiar ache of tears,. Wordlessly, you wrap your arms around his neck and tighten your hold, hugging him close and wishing that you don't have to let go. Not now, not ever.

He hugs you back, one hand stroking soft circles down the small of your back. It makes you shiver and you sigh into his neck, wondering why life seems so unfair.

"I'll miss you too," you finally say in a small voice.

"Four months," his alto brushes against the shell of your ear, "four months. And I'll be back."

Four months seem unbearable. Almost impossible. You've been doing this long distance thing for so long that it tears you apart and stitches you back together god knows how many times. But you hold on, because Hyunjae is a huge blessing in your life. He's a blessing that you now can't life without and you can't imagine living through your day to day without him.

"Hey," his hand slides up the back of your neck to tug you away, eyes finding yours and lips pressing together at the tears glistening at the corners, the downward tug of your mouth, "it'll be okay. We'll be okay. Unless you know, I die because of some stupid shit--"

"Oh shush. You're so dramatic."

"I know. That's why you love me."

Rolling your eyes and unable to stop the grin from spreading across your face, you dip your head back down for another kiss. Hyunjae's lips mold to yours with a familiarity that causes a series of tingles to shoot down your spine. Gasping silently in his mouth, your hands find purchase in his hair while his travel down to your waist, squeezing softly with affection.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips, before kissing your next breath away. You allow him to, neck falling back against his mouth slowly peppering kisses down your neck.

"I love you too," you whisper back, hold him close. Nosing down your collarbone and peppering a rain of kisses over your exposed skin, it takes him a moment to realize that you're crying, sobbing silently as you clasp the back of his head in an iron grip.

"Hey hey hey," his hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away at your tears streaming down your face. His own features soften, eyes glistening with wetness before he brings you into a hug, "hey Y/N, it's okay. It'll be okay."

You know it will. You've managed to make it work for the past three years and honestly you should've gotten used to it by now. But the pain is always fresh, like a wound constantly ripping open every time Hyunjae hops onto a plane and disappears from the space he's carved into your bed.

You hate it. You hate it so much you want to rip your hair off until the pain numbs out the one in your heart.

Dawn arrives a little too soon for your liking, and since you've fallen asleep on Hyunjae's chest in the process of crying, your first thought as your eyelids flutter open is that he's gone. Hands shoot out in panic, almost elbowing the said man in the process.

"Oh!" Your head turns to see a sleepy Hyunjae, blearily blinking back at you through a fog of sleep, "oh," and your body instantly relaxes knowing that he's still here.

"Hey," Hyunjae murmurs, nosing your jaw and leaving a small kiss there, "morning."

"Morning," you whisper back. His hair tickles your nose as he kisses your cheek, "what time is your flight?"

"Nine," he sneaks a glance at his phone before a groan rumbles through him, "should probably start getting ready."

He's right and you nod along, ignoring the swell taking place in your chest like a balloon about to burst with all the sadness you've been stowing away. You help him pack the last of his things and make him breakfast; your eggs are a little more carefully made today, ensuring that his toast isn't burnt and that he gets a side of baked beans to fill him up. Qll the while ignoring the blatant reminder of reality that stands by your door in the form of his suitcase.

He doesn't have to ask you whether you're okay; he feels it, spots the permanent wetness in your eyes even as you laugh at his jokes throughout breakfast, notices the tightness of your knuckles aa you hold onto your utensils as though scared your sanity might slip away at any given moment.

And when it is time for him to say his goodbyes, he shrugs on his jacket and opens up his arms. You don't hesitate throw yourself at him, wrapping yourself as tightly as possible while his mouth presses another soft kiss to the outside of your ear.

"Don't cry, okay?" He peppers a line of kisses along your cheekbone. That only makes you hold him even tighter still, burrowing your face into his chest until Hyunjae manages to cup your cheek to tilt your head up, "I mean it, Y/N."

"Then don't go."

"Oh come on," he scoffs and flicks your forehead lightly, which causes you to yelp, "hey! Not cool."

"That's for being too cute," his hands slip down to rest on your forearms, eyes locking on yours, "now don't cry. Or I won't buy you boba anymore."

"That's an empty threat and you know it," you mutter with narrowed eyes.

Chuckling, Hyunjae then brushes away some stray hairs from your forehead before he leans in to peck the said area, "I have to go. I'm cutting it close."

"I know."

You hug him once more. Just one more, your mind chants in desperation. He pulls back after that before his mouth finds yours in a searing hot kiss -- one that is filled with promises and love and pure affection dripping from his lips -- as you stumble against him, right into your front door.

You're practically breathing into each other when he pulls back, foreheads pressed, "I need to go," he rasps out and you nod, heart dropping to your stomach with dread.

He’s right. So you do what your body is screaming at you not to do. You step back and he grabs onto his suitcase, turning back to look at you with eyes just as wet as yours. And for some reason that makes you feel a little bit better.

“Take care,” your hand lifts to cradle his face, going on your tiptoes for one last kiss. He returns it softly, thumb cradling your jaw as he mumbles out, “you too.” 

“Text me when you pass through security,” you say, watching him open the door and fighting to keep yourself from crumbling with every step that widens the gap between your two bodies.

“I will,” he sends you a smile that is supposed to be comforting and yet, still makes you wish that you could rewind time. 

“Bye.”

“Bye, Y/N. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

When the door closes behind him, your knees give out in the ear-numbing, heart-wrenching silence that swallows you whole.

[bokunosimpfiction]

Demon!Dimitrescux Reader

Synopsis: Lady Dimitrescu reveals herself as a demon that has made it her personal mission to guard you after what you believe is the case of worst/best timing of your entire life. No trigger warnings. 1.6k words.

A/N: This took me less than two hours to write/publish this. I needed this out of my system ASAP

             The black Toyota Corolla had to look strangely familiar your first pass down the street. It reminded you of your boyfriend’s car, and you swore that the digits of the license plate must have been one or two off his, and the generic pine tree air freshener must have been a different color. Not to mention the woman in the backseat with a cocktail dress on.

             You chose not to think about it as you walked into the 7-11 in nothing but your pajamas and the pair of crocs you haven’t worn since being on the college swim team. It wasn’t hard to decide what to grab off the shelves. A bag of chips store brand sour patch kids and gummy worms, a two-liter of Pepsi, and a bottle of wine too big for one person. The cashier looked just as tired as you did, and you understood what it was like, barely, time is a social construct that distanced you deeply from the night shifts you pulled at this same store while in college. Nine to five shifts (Dolly Parton shifts, your coworker would call them with a smile) were only better because you could sit down and have a stable sleep schedule. It was the same grueling work, and in your case, you had to deal with the same shitty people that complained about things you can’t control.

             His droning voice pulled you out of your train of thoughts. “The total is forty-eight fifty-seven.” He was either crying in the backroom while you were picking out your chips or hit a massive dab, you weren’t sure, but his red eyes made either option feasible. You didn’t comment on it, only handing him two twenties and a ten and taking the change back before walking out the door. You didn’t say anything to him, and vice versa, which you appreciated because you didn’t have the energy to deal with a chatty Kathy right now. And as you pull yourself down the street, your bag of crap from 7-11 in your hand, you pass that same deja-vu-mobile and look at the stickers on the back.

             The same I love my dog and proud cat-dad stickers in the exact same place, the dent on the right side of the bumper, and the license plate that was in fact, one hundred percent his. Which begs the question, who was the girl in the cocktail dress, and what was she doing in the backseat? The question didn’t matter for long because the car promptly burst into flames. Oh well. Wait.

The.

Car.

Is.

On.

Fire.

             It’s your boyfriend’s car.

Your

Boyfriends.

Car.

Is.

On.

Fire.

             You wipe out your phone to call the fire department when you see the girl in the same cocktail dress crawl out of the car, dress pulled up to her waist, barefoot and mascara streaming down her face. She’s violently beating his clutch against the ground, desperate to put out the flames while your boyfriend slams the door open on the other side and throws himself out full force onto the asphalt of the busy street. He looks up and sees the anger in your eyes.

             “Hey, babe.”

             “I-I-can-” he stutters violently. His face was red in anger and blood dripping from his nose due to the face-first collision with the freshly paved street.

             “We’re over.”

             You do him the favor of calling the fire department for his car and walk off as soon as you hear the sirens of the firetruck. You didn’t have anything to do with it. No need to watch the fallout when you had nothing to do with the disaster. Besides, your soda’s getting cold, you wanted to drink that before it got Luke-warm. You ended up dropping off the crap and walking to the 24-7 grocery store a little farther in the other direction to get ice cream. Standing in the frozen aisle, in nothing but your pajamas, bright red crocs, and moist eyes, you try and decide between the weird, nuanced flavors that all taste like vanilla anyhow.

             You look up towards the top shelf when you notice the woman leaning over you. She’s deathly pale, skin as pale as paper and lipstick so red it glowed compared to everything else. Her huge hat would make a shadow on her face if it weren’t propped right above her hairline.

             “So, did you enjoy the show sweet-heart,” she whispers in your ear. You feel her breath on your neck and her gaze freezes your heart. “You didn’t think that his car catching on fire was a happy accident now did you?”

             You turn around, only not to see her behind you, but on the fogged-up glass doors on the other side of the aisle. “Did you really think that I’d be standing right behind you?” Her question is almost taunting.

             “Who are you?”

             She breathes into her elegant pipe only to blow out to re-fog the glass before staring dead into your eyes and saying the words that changed your life forever. “I’m your guardian demon.”

             You honestly thought you were losing your mind, seeing this woman in the glass, telling you she was a demon who set your ex’s car on fire. (It felt odd to call him that, you had been dating him for three years). Her elegant leg steps through the glass, her dress riding up to just below her knee before it hit the ground and the rest of her flowed into our realm as smoothly as her dress swayed when she walked over to you.

             She was almost twice your height, and the view from where she stood in front of you made her feel even more so tall. “So mortal, what do you have to say, knowing that you have a five-hundred-year-old all-powerful demon protecting you?”

             “What happened to my guardian angel?”

             She scoffs. “You never had one. Most people nowadays have guardian angels, in fact, I’ve only heard of one other mortal who hasn’t had one that’s alive right now.”

             “What do you mean?” You can’t help but ask. There’s an entire world of things you didn’t understand. Angels. Demons. Hell, even bigfoot could be real for all you know.

             “Well, darling, there is a very simple answer to that question: there are only so many angels for so many mortals, and so sometimes a few slip through the cracks of the system, and that’s where we step in.” She moves around to the refrigerator next to you and inspects the sorbets. “Despite what the church tells you, us demons love humans. They’re a claim to social status. You bring a human home, and you’re viewed as wealthy, famous even.”

             “So that’s what you get out of taking a person’s soul in a deal.”

             She turns to you. “When I what now?”

             “Ya’ know,” you say, “a person makes a deal with a demon in exchange for money or fame, and when they die their soul belongs to the demon and they’re doomed to eternal hell yada-yada-yada.”

             “Is that what they’re teaching you, now.”

             “At least that’s what my mother says. I didn’t really believe in any of this stuff till you stepped out of the door and said you set my ex’s car on fire.”

             “I would have done it sooner, but you looked so happy with him, it was difficult to pull that away from you,” she sighs before standing up to her full height, “that woman he was with was going to give you HPV and I’d prefer the human I fought tooth and nail over to not get an STD. I would never have let that stupid-man-thing touch you had I known he would cheat on you with a mortal so… infected.” What an interesting word to decide to land on.

             She turns and waltzes back across the aisle with a grace that has long been lost to time. “And besides, you’re better off without him, with him off your mind you’ll be able to take that new project on at work and get that raise you’ve been needing so badly.”

             You’re still trying to process this. “You mentioned that you only heard of one other mortal with a demon guardian. Who is he?”

             “His name doesn’t matter, all I really care about is that damn man-child, Heisenberg, is watching him, which means he won’t be alive much longer.”

             “Do you kill us?”

             She puts her hand to her chest and looks genuinely offended before her features soften when she realizes you had never met a demon in your entire life not to mention even believing in them. “We would never. Our humans are like our children, and while we may not be able to subtle pull strings to protect those that we watch over, we do have our more… direct ways of protecting them.”

             “Like setting his car on fire.”

             “I’ve done worse things to keep you safe.”

             Your face pales, but your curiosity brightens your eyes. “Like what?”

             “Your so demand, child, but remember when lightning struck the tree in your backyard, and it fell and landed on your neighbor fifteen or so years ago?”

             You can’t formulate words.

             “Or how your car broke down on the side of the road so you couldn’t reach the hotel you booked?”

             “You did that!”

             “They were going to steal your luggage!” She scoffs before taking a long drag from her pipe. “Anymore, questions?”

             “Is Jesus real?”

             “I wasn’t there for that, and if he was, he hasn’t left his fluffy little sky bed since being nailed to that goddamn cross.”

             “One more.”

             “It better not be stupid, darling.”

             “What ice cream should I get?”

             Her soft smile returns. “Get the java-chip, but the one right behind the front one, there’s a little extra than usual in that container.”

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers Bloody Bouquet Short Story: “The Night Before the Wedding ー Sakamaki Laito” [ENG Translation]

1) The story is written entirely from Laito’s POV

2)  Rather than aiming for a ‘word-by-word’ translation, I tried to translate it in a way so it reads smoothly in English as well. Japanese literature is written in an entirely different style from its Western counterparts after all.

ーー Just what exacty is the point of this?

“I suppose it’s to make your first night together even more special...?”

It’s the day before the ceremony. She has forbidden me from sleeping together with her. As I grumble to myself, I run both hands through my hair - the locks dampened by the hot water from the shower raining down on it - brushing them to the side. I raise my head with squinted eyes, before opening them wide as the water gets inside. However, I endure the continuous stream without even blinking. It falls and flows down, before new drops come falling down once more...Starting at the corner of my eye, going all the way down my jawline, almost resembling tears. 

Right before tomorrow’s ceremony, I am still my usual self. Meanwhile, she ...Bitch-chan is on cloud nine, clearly in a merry mood. ...I have learnt just how important these kind of things are to girls, so from time to time, I would play along and show her an equally excited attitude. However...

“She might have noticed...that I was forcing myself to seem thrilled?”

A sarcastic chuckle slips past my lips, muffled by the sound of the running shower. When I cup my cheeks with both hands, water splashes about from the surface of my skin before I turn off the shower.

Looking back at it, she seems to have lost the brightness in her eyes as the day of the ceremony approaches. However, it still seemed as if she was looking forward to the ceremony...Which meansーー

“She really did...notice...huh?”

That I actually do not care about this wedding all that much.

I am sure it sounds misleading, but that does not mean my feelings towards Bitch-chan have wavered in the slightest. Besides, I am the one who suggested we should get married, and I’m not exactly pessimestic about our future either.

The real problem is difficult to pinpoint, but I am sure it has to do with my personal beliefs. I have no problem with marriage as part of a sexual fantasy, but I still have my doubts about weddings in the sense of it being a strong, emotional promise build on the exchange of vowing one’s eternal love.

However, the second the black roses’ curse was lifted, I undoubtedly believed in it, and wanted to do so. That is exactly how we broke free from the curse after all.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to get used to it...”

I cannot suddenly change who I am after being this way for over a hundred years. I am sure that must be a point of concern to her. However, is it too much to ask for me to have her perceive the fact that I became honest with my feelings for even a split second as something positive? 

“Guess it can’t be helped...Haah.”

I rise from the tub with a sigh, carelessly wipe dry my wet hair and get changed into the clothes which had been haphazardly thrown on the floor. While it is somewhat of a drag, I decide to go take a peek at her room.

At this rate, she might just pull something at tomorrow’s ceremony. Therefore, I’ll give her plenty of my kisses and fangs, whispering words of ‘false love’...to calm her down.

“I have to get rid of this misunderstanding to put the Princess at ease, right?”

I mutter under my breath, tracing my fingertips across the fogged up mirror before taking a peek inside.

Am I the one suffering from marriage blues? As said thought crosses my mind, I can’t help but find it mockable.

“Tomorrow night’s ‘fun’ is at stake here after all.”

When I speak those words as if I am trying to convince myself, for some reason, it almost looked as if my reflection in the mirror was crying for a second. 

ーー THE END ーー