#anyway drop them and runs away into the abyss | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

genshinluvr · 1 year

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Into the Void

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You never had a single thought about falling into the Abyss until it happened to you while you were in Sumeru trying to gather some Viparyas for your research. Who knew that you being a mortal, would be stripped from you so soon all because the Abyss needed a new ruler.

Note: I have decided to combine two requests together because I have been lagging behind on completing requests because of how busy I am with my university. So I've been thinking about posting mini stories (either for the Isekai'd!reader series or for individual characters), but I'm not entirely sure if I should do it because of how busy I am with school. Anyway, I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Blood, slight violence, but it's just a pinch of violence; other than those two, I'm not entirely sure if there's another warning needed 🤔 it's hurt/comfort

Word Count: 9.7k

You run as fast as you can. Your heart is racing in your chest; your blood is pounding in your eardrums. You’re panting so hard that you can taste the coppery blood in your mouth. You have no idea where you’re running or who you’re running from. All you can do is run and not look back at what’s chasing you through the thick forest of Sumeru. The last thing you remember was having to trek up the mountains of Sumeru in search of the Viparyas to study the mysterious plant, only for something or someone to chase you through the forest of Sumeru.

“Leave me alone!” You screech.

You quicken your pace and dodge the trees; the scenery around you becomes a blur as you race through the forest, trying to flee from what’s chasing after you. All you want is to grab a Viparyas or two, bring them back to the Akademiya, and study the flowers for your botany class. But due to unforeseen circumstances, you will not be able to gather some Viparyas for your studies until you’re able to lose whatever is chasing after you.

It was like you have gotten slower, and the thing has gotten faster. You jump and hide behind the bushes, hoping to catch your breath quickly before having to make a run again. Yes, you do not know what you’re running from or who you’re running from, but alarms go off in your head, telling you to run immediately. You clutch your hands to your chest, press yourself up against a tree behind the bush, and try your best to even out your breath. Your legs are sore, your chest and throat hurt, your head is pounding, and you feel like you’re going to pass out at any moment.

SNAP!

Your head shoots up from the sound of a twig snapping a foot in front of you. Without a second thought, you jump out from behind the bushes and continue to run for your life in the forest. Your heart is racing in your chest so much that it is starting to hurt, causing you to slow down in your tracks, stumbling over vines. The tree branches whip across your face as you race further into the forest, not knowing where you’re going. As far as you know, you’re straying farther and farther away from Vanarana.

You continue to venture deeper into the forest, hoping to catch sight of a familiar surrounding that Tighnari once showed you. Unfortunately for you, with every tree you see and every corner you turn, everything looks the same, and you know that there’s no way for you to get out of the forest quickly without getting caught. Heck, you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to leave the forest and return to the Akademiya.

Your right foot ends up getting caught on a vine on the ground, causing you to stumble and fall into the large crack in the ground. You feel your stomach drop, and you flail your arms to try to get a hold of something so you wouldn’t fall further into the cracks, but you end up grabbing nothing but air. Your hair whips around your face, obscuring your vision, and your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach as you’re free-falling somewhere unknown.

“Xiao!!!” You screamed, hoping the Yaksha would come to your rescue.

To your dismay, the Yaksha never shows up to rescue you from your doom. You continue to plummet into the unknown. Your eyes blur with tears with each passing second. You then land on the hard ground, wailing in pain when you land on your arm, bending it in the way arms aren’t supposed to be bent.

You slowly kneel and clutch your injured arm to your chest, tears rolling down your cheeks as you look at your surroundings. It did not look like an underground of some sort. You’re in an endless darkness of void; there is little to no light. You slowly get up from the ground, your arm still pressing up against your chest. You don’t know what you look like currently, but you’re certain that your Akademiya uniform is dirty and ripped at the ends from running and getting caught onto branches in the forest. You look up, hoping to see the entrance where you have fallen from, but to no avail. It’s like the ground has opened up underneath your feet and swallowed you whole before zipping the entrance away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, wiping the endless tears that continue to roll down your cheeks. “Where am I?” You whisper, your lower lips trembling, your body shaking with fear.

You squint into the darkness and begin to wander around aimlessly, hoping to find an exit. You’re taking baby steps, afraid that you’re going to trip and fall over something that can lead you to another endless void of darkness. You stop in your tracks when you feel something staring directly at you; goosebumps form on your arms, the hairs at the back of your neck stand up, and your heartbeat begins to race against your ribcage.

“Oh, what’s this? I see that we have a visitor from the outer realms.” A deep voice coming from the darkness chuckles.

You freeze and tense up. “Who are you? Where am I?” You squeak, curling into yourself, seeking comfort.

“Oh? You don’t know where you are? You poor thing.” The voice coos mockingly.

This time, the voice from the darkness is closer to where you’re standing. You shrink away from the voice and slowly back up, hoping to find a corner somewhere to hide and seek comfort like a terrified deer that is cornered by a predator.

You grit your teeth together. “Answer my question,” You growl, digging your nails into the palm of your hands as you wait for the voice to give you answers.

A figure is now looming over you, staring down at you with its red eyes. Just the mere sight of the creature made your heart fall out of your ass. Standing in front of you is the Pyro Abyss Lector. You stumble back when the Pyro Abyss Lector hovers closer to you, holding your uninjured arm out in front of you, hoping it would stop the Pyro Abyss Lector from coming any closer to you.

The Pyro Abyss Lector holds his hand out. “I am Enjou, the Pyro Abyss Lector. And you, my dear, are in the Abyss.”

“The Abyss?! How did I end up in the Abyss!?” You whisper to yourself. You continue to back away from the Pyro Abyss Lector named Enjou. “No, no, no, no, no.” You shake your head and pat your cheeks, trying to keep your sanity together. “I fell through the cracks in the forest of Sumeru. There’s no way for me to end up in the Abyss,” You tremble.

Enjou chuckles. “In denial, are we? I can feel your sanity deteriorate as we speak.” From the tone of his voice, you can tell that he is smirking at your misery.

“How do I get out of here?” You demand.

Enjou lets out a snort before bursting out laughing at your sudden burst of confidence and determination to get out of the Abyss. How cute. Now he can see why the former Abyss Prince and Princess were so enthralled by you. Your little burst of confidence is adorable but not cute enough to get you out of the Abyss easily.

You look at the Pyro Abyss Lector with a confused glare, wondering why he finds your comment amusing. Is he mocking you? “What’s so funny!? Do you really think that I’ll be stuck in the Abyss for the rest of my life!?” You demand.

Enjou wipes his imaginary tears, crossing his arms over his chest. You can almost see a smile on his face if he had a mouth. “Your confidence and determination are adorable. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt that you’ll be able to make it out of the Abyss, but I can’t promise you anything. Especially when you’re not from this universe.” Enjou squats in front of you and taps on the tip of your nose mockingly.

“What do you mean? I am from this universe. Are you crazy?” You squeak.

Enjou towers over you and slams his hand on the wall behind you beside your head. You flinch and glare up at Enjou, who is drilling holes into your skull with scrutiny. “I know you’re not from this world, human. We all do.”

You look at Enjou with confusion. “Who’s we?” You whisper.

Enjou leans in close to your face; you turn your head and close your eyes. You don’t like how close he’s standing in front of you, nor do you like how close his face is to yours. Enjou reaches forward, grabs you by your cheeks, his palm caressing your chin, and turns your head so you can face him.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me now, [Y/N]. We’ve been watching you since the beginning; the Abyss is always watching.” Enjou whispers into your ears, sending chills down your spine.

“What do you want from me?” You spat, clenching your jaws while glaring up at the Pyro Abyss Lector.

Enjou tightens his grip around your face, making you visibly wince. “Instead of prancing around Teyvat, how do you feel about becoming the next ruler of the Abyss?”

You squirm in his grasp, grabbing Enjou’s wrist, attempting to pry his hands away from your face, only to fail. “Never!” You grunt, thrashing around in Enjou’s grasp. “I will never rule the Abyss, and I refuse to!” You growl.

Enjou chuckles. “Oh, you think you have a choice! How cute.”

Back at the abode, there is nothing but chaos. People are shouting over each other, pointing accusing fingers at each other. It has been a day since you disappeared out of thin air without a single trace, and no one can track you down. Not even the best Harbingers can track down your location.

“Xiao,” Zhongli says, looking over at the brooding Yaksha, “you said that [Y/N] called out your name, but when you appeared after they called you, they disappeared out of thin air. Is that correct?” Zhongli asks.

Xiao shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know how to describe it. I tried to grab them as they were falling; it was like my hands went through theirs.” Xiao clenches his fist, reminiscing about the horrors a day prior.

Scaramouche narrows his eyes and props his feet up on the ottoman. “How come you didn’t jump in after them when that happened?”

Xiao sighs and closes his eyes. “If I could, I would. But when I tried to go after them, it was like the ground had closed up,” Xiao replies.

“How strange….” Ayato murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dainsleif looks around the room. “Does anyone know about their whereabouts when they were in Sumeru?” Dainsleif asks.

“[Y/N] mentioned gathering Viparyas for their botany class to study the flower,” replied Albedo.

Tighnari lets out a hum, propping his left hand on his hip while stroking his chin with his right hand. “Viparyas can only be found in Vanarana, in the Grove of Dreams. If [Y/N] were to go to the real version of the Vanarana, they’ll only find the Padisarahs,” Tighnari murmurs.

“Could it be that [Y/N] went to the Grove of Dreams?” Thoma asks, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

Aether shakes his head at Thoma’s question. “There’s no strange hole that closes up when you fall into it in the Grove of Dreams. It’s possible that [Y/N] could have fallen into a cave, but after hearing Xiao say that the ground swallowed [Y/N] up, I’m not too sure anymore.” Aether sighs in defeat.

“I really hope that [Y/N]’s okay. They’ve been gone for one day, and we don’t know where they are exactly. I’m really worried about them.” Heizou expresses, his shoulders slumping as he holds the throw pillow to his chest.

Cyno crosses his arms over his chest. “One day doesn’t sound too bad, as long as it doesn’t drag on for over a week,” said Cyno.

Venti scrunches his face up. “Being away from [Y/N] for that long and not seeing their face for over a day or almost a week sounds awful,” Venti grumbles, messing with his braids.

“Where’s Childe? He’s been gone for a few hours, and we still haven’t heard anything back from him.” Al Haitham comments, leaning against the wooden pillar in the estate.

Gorou shrugs his shoulders at Al Haitham’s question. “The last thing he said was that he’ll be scouting the area where [Y/N] was last seen. It’s a good thing that Dottore made a bracelet for [Y/N] that has an elemental trace on the bracelet,” Gorou says, sitting down on the wooden stool with a shaky sigh as he runs his hands through his hair.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing that the creepy doctor did that,” Itto says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the icy blue-haired man.

Dottore raises his eyebrows at Itto. “Creepy doctor?” Dottore mutters to himself.

Pantalone snickers. “A fitting nickname for the Doctor,” Pantalone whispers to Dottore, earning an elbow to the gut from Dottore.

“I really hope that Childe comes back with some good news. I have a bad feeling about [Y/N]’s sudden disappearance while they’re out in the forest looking for Viparyas. Their disappearance feels intentional,” Baizhu mutters, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Diluc raises his eyebrows at Baizhu. “What, like their disappearance was planned, or are you implying that they were targeted by someone?” Diluc asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Someone is targeting [Y/N], for sure. I don’t think [Y/N] would ever intentionally disappear. The only time they “disappear” is to hide away in their bedroom to take extra naps between their studies. Other than that, [Y/N] wouldn’t disappear without a trace,” Kaeya sighs, closing his eyes and resting his head on the palm of his hands.

Kazuha sighs from the comfort of the couch. A throw blanket draped over Kazuha’s legs as he clutches the throw pillow to his chest. “I can’t help but notice that there has been an increase in danger lately,” Kazuha murmurs, playing with the tassels on the throw pillow.

The door to the estate slams open, and Childe runs into the mansion with Ganyu and Lumine following after him; the three of them look frantic and almost terrified.

“Rex Lapis,” Ganyu whispers, breathing heavily as she tries to catch her breath. “We have found some traces of [Y/N],” Ganyu swallows the lump in her throat and nudges Lumine lightly in the ribs with her elbow.

Lumine looks over at Aether, her eyes brimmed with tears as she holds up a blood-stained fabric. Al Haitham snatches the cloth from Lumine’s grasp and examines the material closely, with Tighnari and Cyno standing by his side.

“It’s [Y/N]’s Akademiya uniform.” Lumine croaks, wiping the tears that made their way down her cheeks.

Childe grits his teeth and clenches his hands into tight fists. “I know where [Y/N] is, but you’re not going to like it,” Childe states. Everyone in the room looks falls quiet and over at Childe.

“Where are they?” Cyno asks, crossing his arms over his chest, occasionally looking down at the white fabric that is now stained with dried blood.

Childe takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “[Y/N] fell into the Abyss, just like how I fell into the Abyss when I was fourteen,” Childe says.

“But how? How can we know for sure that [Y/N] has fallen into the Abyss?” Al Haitham demands, clutching onto the torn, bloody fabric tightly.

Lumine lets out a shaky breath. “[Y/N] was being chased by an Abyss Lector. After they have fallen through the crack in the Earth, the Abyss Lector sealed the cracks and disappeared,” Lumine explains.

“Are you implying that they have planned this entire time?” Pierro asks, crossing his arms over his chest with a deep frown on his face.

Lumine shrugs her shoulders. “I can’t say for certain, but what I do know is that the Abyss have been watching [Y/N] since their first arrival at Teyvat,” said Lumine.

Baizhu narrows his eyes, gripping his arms tightly, his nails digging into the skin of his arms, leaving a mark. “I thought the Abyss had been taken down,” Baizhu mutters.

Dainsleif sighs. “Unfortunately, the Abyss is still as active as they were since the beginning. Only they don’t have an Abyss Prince or Princess ruling over them,” Dainsleif replies.

“Oh no….” Aether trails off, his face turning almost as white as Paimon’s hair.

Everyone turns to look at Aether, confused by his reaction. Aether looks visibly sick; he looks like he’s about to pass out or go into cardiac arrest. Aether holds up his index finger and walks over to the wall, and leans against it, trying to steady his racing heart.

“Oh no? What do you mean by oh no?” Venti squeaks, looking at Aether nervously.

Aether looks over at Lumine, who fumbles with her gloves nervously. The two trade looks before nodding their heads as if they were mentally communicating with each other. Lumine takes a step forward and gulps. “Since the Abyss doesn’t have a ruler anymore and they have been watching [Y/N]’s every move since their arrival, there’s a very high chance that the Abyss is going to make [Y/N] the new Abyss ruler,” Lumine says softly.

“What?!” Heizou gasps, looking at Lumine and Aether in disbelief.

Ayato raises his hand, his eyebrows narrowing. “And how are they going to make [Y/N] the new ruler of the Abyss when they’re not even from this world, nor are they immortal or a god.”

Tighnari strokes his chin. “I heard that there was a group of scholars at the Akademiya that tried to make their own archon, but that project was later scrapped twenty percent into the project,” Tighnari murmurs.

“What are you implying, Tighnari?” Scaramouche asks.

Albedo frowns and closes his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. “Tighnari is implying that there’s a possible chance that the Abyss is going to find a way to make [Y/N] an immortal being before making [Y/N] the new ruler of the Abyss,” Albedo answers.

“Is that even possible? To make a mortal immortal, that is.” Kazuha asks, looking over at Dottore and Albedo.

Dottore hesitates for a moment before nodding his head slowly. “It is possible, but experiments like that take time and many trials and errors. If the Abyss were to find a way to turn [Y/N] into an immortal being in a short amount of time, it could cause detrimental damages to [Y/N],” Dottore says, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“How detrimental are we speaking?” Kaeya whispers.

Dottore presses his lips into a thin line and looks away, unsure whether he should answer Kaeya’s question truthfully or not. Making a human into an immortal being not only takes time, but there are a lot of risks in doing such experiments. One of the risks is the test subject’s potentially losing their life before the experiment is completed.

Zhongli sighs and clenches his jaws. “If [Y/N]’s mind and body are strong enough for it, they will live. If not, then they will die from the excessive experiments performed on them.”

“I’m going to kill them all if they lay a single hand on [Y/N]’s head,” Diluc growls, his jaws tensing up.

Gorou suddenly stands up and begins to pace back and forth in the living room. “We need to find a way to get [Y/N] out of there as soon as possible! I don’t want them to be in the Abyss any longer, or else something bad is going to happen.”

“Relax, Gorou! I’m sure [Y/N] will be okay! We’ll find them very soon, and they’ll be back at the abode in no time, safe and sound.” Itto says, placing his hand on Gorou’s shoulders.

Thoma chuckles weakly, letting his hands fall to his side. “One day is too long. We don’t even know whether [Y/N] is safe and uninjured or not.” Thoma lets out a deflated sigh and swallows the lump in his throat.

Childe clears his throat to grab everyone’s attention. “A day may have only passed in Teyvat, but in the Abyss, a month has gone by,” said Childe.

“So, for us, [Y/N] has been gone for a day. But in the Abyss, [Y/N] has been trapped in the Abyss for a month now?” Heizou asks.

Childe nods his head at Heizou’s question. Childe couldn’t help but think of the time when he was fourteen, the age when he fell into the Abyss himself. Childe spent three Teyvat days in the Abyss but three months of Abyss time. Times pass differently in Teyvat and in the Abyss, and it makes Childe wonder if you knew how much time has passed or not.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Shouldn’t we start looking for [Y/N] immediately if we don’t want them to wait any further?” Al Haitham asks, his gaze falling to the cloth in his hands.

Cyno nods his head. “Right. The longer we make them wait, the more we’re letting the Abyss corrupt them,” said Cyno.

In the Abyss, the sound of metal clashing rings throughout the void. You grunt and grip onto the hilt of the sword with a tight fist, pushing against Enjou’s blade. You didn’t know how you ended up in this situation where you’re sword fighting with a Pyro Abyss Lector in the Abyss. You lost track of time, only to find yourself in this situation where Enjou demands that you fight for your freedom from the Abyss.

“I will never be the ruler of the Abyss! Release me from the Void Realm, or else!” You demand, gritting your teeth together.

Enjou lets out a loud laugh and shoves you back; you stumble and drop your sword on the ground, landing beside the worn weapon. While you’re no fighter, you managed to keep up with thy Pyro Abyss Lector. It was all thanks to Childe and his persistence in getting you to spar with him. Without Childe making you spar with him and the others, you would be in a different situation with the Abyss Lector. You quickly roll out of the way when a ball of flame flies in your direction, burning the ends of your Akademiya uniform.

Enjou stands in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest. “For someone inexperience with combat, you hold up quite well,” Enjou sounds amused.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead and glare at Enjou. “Answer my question: why should I be the new ruler for the Abyss when I’m not from your universe, nor am I immortal?” You get up from the ground and wipe the sweat off the palm of your hands on your sullied Akademiya uniform and take a deep breath.

Enjou snorts sarcastically. “Why would you not want to be the new ruler of the Abyss? You get infinite power.”

You roll your eyes. “That sounds lame and boring,” You said. “Being immortal sounds fun, but it sounds torturous. Imagine watching those die around you while you live on for thousands of years.” You cross your arms over your chest with a dissatisfied frown on your face.

“Then you’ll know how that Bough Keeper feels,” Enjou replies. “He was never immortal; he was cursed with immortality.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, taking in slow deep breaths to calm your nerves. “I already know that information, Enjou. After all, he is my lover, and I know everything about him.” You look up at Enjou, who is now towering over you. “What’s next? You’re going to force me to become immortal as well?”

“Yes.” Enjou nods his head.

You blink at Enjou. “Wait, what?” You back away from Enjou, only to feel hands grasping onto both of your biceps, keeping you in place. You look up and see two Abyss Lectors holding onto your biceps firmly, preventing you from thrashing and escaping from their grips. You have thought about stepping on their feet to catch them off guard, but you then realize that the Abyss Lector and Herald float in the air. Their feet hardly touch the ground, the tip of their toes grazing the floor ever so slightly.

An Abyss Herald appears by Enjou’s side, tapping him on the shoulders. Enjou turns to look at the Hydro Abyss Herald, who leans in to whisper, “The former Abyss Prince and Princess know about [Y/N]’s whereabouts and are currently searching for a way to rescue [Y/N].”

Enjou lets out a thoughtful hum, almost huffing with laughter. “Take them away. We have no time to waste,” Enjou orders.

The Hydro Abyss Herald and the Electro Abyss Lector nod their heads and escort you deeper into the Abyss. You can’t help but notice that the further you’re led into the Abyss, the more disoriented you’re beginning to feel. Your head is hurting, and your vision will lose its focus and refocus. You shake your head weakly and try to fight back, only to fail.

The Abyss Herald tightens his grip around your biceps. “There’s no way for you to escape the Abyss. Accept your fate, and it will all be painless.”

“Painless? What do you mean by painless?!” You demand, squeezing your eyes shut and grinding your teeth together as the headache gradually becomes unbearable. It felt like you got hit in the head by the Harpastum repeatedly.

The Abyss Lector lets out a sharp “tsk,” and digs his claws into your arms, drawing blood. “You talk too much,” He mutters, dragging you further into the Abyss. The Abyss Lector, Enjou, and the Abyss Herald soon pull you into an unfamiliar environment. The tower in the distance has a bright shine to it, almost blinding if you stare at it any longer. You squint your eyes and look away from the glowing tower. Once your eyes adjust to your surroundings, you realize that they didn’t just drag you to the deepest part of the Abyss. Somehow, they have taken you to Enkanomiya.

“What the—” You did a double take. “How in the world did we end up in Enkanomiya? I thought we were in the Abyss.” You whisper, rubbing your eyes tiredly. You don’t know how many days have passed; you lost track of time because of the sudden sword fight between you and Enjou. You’re convinced that Enjou is testing your strength and skills with a weapon before they can make you “immortal,” if that’s even possible.

Enjou huffs. “We were in the Abyss, but because there are people who are searching for you and have small clues about your location, we have to change the scenery so the experiment won’t be interrupted.”

You slump to the ground, arms still being held by the Abyss Lector and Abyss Herald. Your head hangs low, and you close your eyes. Despite you not being in the Abyss as of now, you can still feel the effects of being in the Abyss for some time. You can feel your sanity beginning to slip away; the pounding headache is getting even worse.

“Fine,” you whisper. “Let’s get this stupid experiment over with so it can end my misery once and for all,” You said.

“Oh? Giving up already now, are we? I didn’t think you were a quitter because, from what I can recall, you were so determined and confident about getting out of the Abyss,” Enjou says.

Enjou walks up to you, the Abyss Herald, and the Abyss Lector. He stops in front of you and kneels in front of you, grabs you by the chin, and tilts your head up. “Where was that spark almost two months ago?” Enjou quirks his eyebrows at you.

You blink at him with bleary eyes. Two months? You’ve been stuck in the Abyss for two months now? “I’ve been gone for that long?” You ask weakly.

You squeeze your eyes shut when the pain courses through your body; you can feel it in your veins, and you don’t like it at all. Yes, you were determined to leave the Abyss, but hearing how long you’ve been stuck in the Abyss made you lose hope. You gulp your saliva and visibly flinch when you taste blood in your mouth.

“Two months, and you struggle to leave the Abyss. Your determination was adorable but futile.” Enjou releases your chin and stands back up. “Come, we must get the experiment over with. We’re wasting precious time,” Enjou says. He turns around and begins to walk.

The Abyss Herald and Abyss Lector follow behind Enjou, dragging you along with them. You let yourself become limp in their grasp, trying to process how time has gone by so fast when it felt like you fell into the Abyss for only a few hours. You shake your head and close your eyes; you know that the Abyss is different from Teyvat, so why are you so surprised to hear that almost two months have gone by? Maybe it’s not actually two months in Teyvat, but it sure does feel like it the longer you’re held captive by the Abyss Lectors and Herald.

Meanwhile, back on Teyvat, the men walk around Varanara, searching for the crack in the Earth that you could have fallen into that led to you being in the Abyss. It was hard to get a precise location on where you could have disappeared off to, but because of the bracelet that is infused with elements, it should make the search a little bit easier. The men stop in front near the entrance of Varanara, peeking inside to see whether there’s an elemental trace or not.

Dainsleif turns to look at the men, crossing his arms over his chest. “How do we know for sure if they walked into Varanara?”

“They were searching for Viparyas to bring back to the Akademiya to study, remember? Viparyas only exist in Varanara.” Aether says, his eyes scanning around for any traces of you.

Heizou nods his head. “While that is true, do you remember what Tighnari said? You can only get access to Viparyas if you’re in the Grove of Dreams. We don’t know whether [Y/N] was able to make it into the Grove of Dreams or if they were in the real version of the Varanara,” said Heizou.

“Well, what are we seeing right now? To me, it doesn’t look like the Grove of Dreams at all. In fact, it looks like the complete opposite of a dream,” Venti comments, peeking from the corner of the wall.

Scaramouche furrows his eyebrows. “A nightmare?” Scaramouche guesses.

Tighnari lets out a long sigh and flicks his ears with his hands out of irritation. “Well, since we’re not seeing any Viparyas and it doesn’t look like the Garden of Dreams, then we can assume that [Y/N] never made it to the Grove of Dreams.”

Something shiny ends up catching Itto’s eyes. He turns to look at the shining object and slowly walks over to where it lies. Itto squats down and grabs the item from the patches of grass, and lifts it up, only to realize that it is the bracelet that has elements infused into the bracelet.

“Uh, guys?” Itto speaks up, slowly rising up without taking his eyes off the bracelet in his hand.

Thoma looks at Itto quizzically. “What is it, Itto?” Thoma asks.

Itto looks over at the men and holds up the bracelet in the air. “This belongs to [Y/N], right?”

“Let me see that bracelet,” Ayato demands; Ayato walks over to Itto and grabs the bracelet from the oni’s hands, holding it close to his face to inspect the bracelet that was once wrapped around your wrist.

Baizhu approaches Ayato and stares at the bracelet closely. “The bracelet is broken, the chains are snapped, and the charm is cracked,” Baizhu murmurs. He looks at Ayato, silently asking if it is okay for him to take the bracelet from Ayato’s grasp. Ayato sighs and hands the bracelet over to the green-haired Dendro user.

Baizhu walks over to Dottore and hands the Fatui Harbinger the bracelet that he has made for you. Dottore grabs the bracelet from Baizhu’s grasp, frowning deeply when he sees the condition your bracelet is in.

“What a shame that someone has broken a bracelet that I have made for [Y/N],” Dottore mutters, tightening his grip around the bracelet.

Kazuha rubs his eyes tiredly, feeling exhaustion and hopelessness hit him all at once. “So, what are we going to do now? We can’t go into the Abyss; it’ll affect us all, and we’re not entirely sure if [Y/N] is still in the Abyss or not,” Kazuha says.

“Wait, we were going to go into the Abyss!? Is that even possible?!” Gorou squeaks, his eyes widening with fear.

Kaeya nods his head. “How else are we going to get [Y/N] out of the Abyss? They can’t escape from the Abyss themself. It’s impossible to do so,” said Kaeya.

“Then how did Childe escape the Abyss? He did fall into the Abyss when he was fourteen,” Diluc says, looking over at the ginger-haired Harbinger.

Albedo hums and taps on his chin. “From what I can recall, someone taught him how to escape the Abyss without getting harmed,” Albedo replies, looking over at Childe, who nods his head grimly.

Zhongli sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “We need to find [Y/N] as soon as possible. The longer they remain in the Abyss, the more corrupted they’ll be. Who knows what’s going on right now in the Abyss,”

Xiao narrows his eyes. “I have a strange feeling that they’re not in the Abyss….” Xiao trails off, stroking his chin while pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Oh? And why do you think that, Xiao?” Capitano asks, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to look over at the Yaksha.

Before Xiao could respond to Capitano’s question, hurried footsteps approach in their direction, causing everyone to freeze and pull their weapons out. Emerging from a distance is Kokomi and the four members of the Watasumi’s Army.

“Your Excellency!” Gorou’s eyes widen as Kokomi approaches the group.

Kokomi stops in front of Gorou and looks at him worriedly. “There’s something going on at the Sangonomiya Shrine,” Kokomi pants, trying to catch her breath.

Ayato steps up and stands next to Gorou. “What’s going on at the Sangonomiya Shrine?” Ayato asks, gazing at Kokomi quizzically.

Kokomi lets out a shaky sigh. “It’s hard for me to explain. Please come with me and see for yourself,” Kokomi says, looking at each man standing before her.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Tighnari whispers to Albedo.

Upon their arrival at Watasumi Island, they walk to the edge of the Sangonomiya Shrine, which looks out to the beautiful island. Kokomi turns to look at the men and points down at the swirling waters down below that lead to Enkanomiya. The men peek from the edge and notice something strange about the once-glowing blue waters.

“There’s a strange glow coming from the waters,” Kazuha murmurs, analyzing the waters below.

Albedo narrows his eyes. “The waters are gradually turning black. As if something is tainting it,” Albedo whispers.

Kokomi nods her head. “That is correct. This leads to Enkanomiya, but because there’s nothing but monsters and spirits in Enkanomiya, we do not know what is causing the water to become this way,” said Kokomi.

“You want us to go check and see what’s tainting the waters of Watasumi Island,” Aether states, looking over at Kokomi after staring at the swirling waters below.

Kokomi hesitates for a second before slowly nodding her head. “That is correct.”

Heizou looks at Kokomi for a moment before looking down at the swirling water that is gradually turning black like the night sky. “Do you, by any chance, know what is going on beneath the waters?” Heizou asks, stroking his chin with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Unfortunately, I do not,” Kokomi says, sighing in defeat while shaking her head.

Kaeya looks at everyone and steps to the edge of the pink seashell. “Well, gentlemen, it looks like we have some investigating to do for Her Excellency,” said Kaeya, a smile ghosting over his face.

“Who will do the honors and jump in first?” Cyno asks, leaning over the edge to get a better look at the waters below.

Al Haitham steps up a foot behind Cyno while Cyno is occupied with looking down at the ominous swirling water. “You will, General Mahamatra,” Al Haitham snorts and kicks Cyno off the edge.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” Cyno screams as he falls to the swirling waters below.

The men stare at Al Haitham blankly, slowly stepping back from the Scribe. Al Haitham smirks and crosses his arms over his chest, and looks at the others. It’s like Al Haitham is telepathically asking if there are any more volunteers.

Venti clears his throat. “You know what, I’ll go next because I don’t want to be kicked into the waters,” Venti raises his hand. Venti runs to the edge and jumps off, canon-balling into the waters below.

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “The damn kitsune would have the time of her life if she was in your spot and I was in the Mahamatra’s spot,” Scaramouche says, pointing at Al Haitham with a scowl on his face before walking up to the edge of the shell.

“Ah, I forgot that Lady Miko and Scaramouche have an interesting history,” Thoma laughs nervously while scratching the back of his neck.

Scaramouche stands at the edge, turns to look at everyone, and makes eye contact with Childe. The two lock gazes for a moment before Scaramouche raises both of his hands and flips Childe off with two middle fingers. Childe does a double take and blinks at Scaramouche with wide eyes, his mouth agape with shock. The men around Scaramouche and Childe snicker. Scaramouche smirks before doing a backflip off the edge of the shell and dove into the waters.

“That was… something,” Kokomi trails off and looks over at Childe. “Do you two have a history with each other or something?” Kokomi asks.

Childe takes a step towards the edge with his arms over his chest, a bitter smirk on his face. “You can say that we’re both comrades. Well, former comrades, once I catch up to his ass in Enkanomiya,” Childe replies. He waves the other men goodbye before jumping into the water after Scaramouche, determined to smack some sense into his fellow (ex) Harbinger.

After Childe jumps into the water, the other men take that as a sign for them to enter the waters. Aside from checking what is going on in Enkanomiya, they also want to prevent Childe and Scaramouche from killing each other.

“Let’s get this over with,” Xiao rolls his eyes with a long sigh before jumping into the water.

Meanwhile, in Enkanomiya, your arms are bound together by a chain. The same chain is connected to the wall of Dainichi Mikoshi below the tower, where the mechanism that changes the sun and moon is located. You have never felt so weak and powerless before. It’s like the energy in your body is being sucked out of you; every last bit of it is almost gone, along with your sanity. You tug at the chains weakly; you feel your hands trembling each time you pull at the chains.

“How do you feel?” Enjou asks, nudging you with the tip of his foot.

You let your hands fall to the ground and look up at Enjou blankly. “How do you think I feel? I feel like my life and sanity are being sucked out of me,” You spat.

Enjou looks over at the Abyss Herald and the Abyss Lector, motioning them to walk to where you and Enjou are at. The Abyss Herald and the Abyss Lector stand behind you and stare at Enjou, waiting for an order.

You smirk at Enjou. “Since these two listen to your orders, why don’t you become the new ruler of the Abyss instead?” You ask bitterly, glaring up at Enjoy through your lashes. “I’m just a weak, little mortal who doesn’t wield any elements. Surely I cannot rule the Abyss, or else I’ll lead you all into a catastrophic situation,” You said dramatically. You know your dramatic theatrical act wouldn’t get you out of the situation, but it was worth the try. Plus, since you’re going to die anyway, pissing the Abyss Lectors and Herald off is on your bucket list. The bucket list that you have created just now in your head.

“That won’t do,” Enjou says, crossing his arms over his chest. You can almost hear him roll his eyes if he has one. It’s hard to tell from the blood that is rolling down your face from how hard you have hit your head on the ground when thrashing around in the clutches of the Abyss Herald and Abyss Lector.

You growl and stand up, your legs beginning to shake. “I’m going to kill you myself if it’s the last thing I do!” You exclaim.

You run towards Enjou, only to be stopped halfway when the Abyss Herald grabs ahold of the chain and yanks you back. You jerk back and land on the dusty ground with a dull thud, the air knocking out of your lungs from the impact. You wheeze and struggle to get up from the ground, trying to catch your breath.

“Weak and pathetic,” Enjou scoffs, “Start the process now. I sense something in the air,” Enjou grumbles, turning around, and walking away.

Your head perks up. “Wait, where do you think you’re going?!” You try to get up from the ground, but the Abyss Herald grabs onto your shoulders to keep you in place. The Abyss Lector stands in front of you and places his hand over your head, his hand almost engulfing your entire head.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, wanting to reach up and grab at his hand, but your hands are still bound together behind your back with the cuffs.

The Abyss Lector stares down at you. “Stay still,” The Abyss Lector orders.

You stare at him in confusion, and before you can process a single thought, you feel sharp pains in your head and behind your eyes. You let out a bloodcurdling scream and begin to thrash around, trying to shake the Abyss Lector’s hand off your head, only to fail. The Abyss Herald standing behind you digs his nails into your shoulders to keep you still. Warm liquid trickles down your face and onto the pavement below you, staining it.

Your heart clenches in your chest painfully; your throat tightens, and your once bloodcurdling screams are hoarse and choked. The pain in your head increases so much that you almost lose consciousness from the immense pain you’re feeling. You feel your body slump, your head pressing further against the Abyss Lector’s grasp, your visions dotting, and the soft ringing in your ears getting louder and louder.

“So! This is Enkanomiya, huh,” Diluc murmurs, his eyes scanning around the ominous land that is plagued with monsters and devoid of human life.

Dainsleif looks around Enkanomiya and crosses his arms over his chest. “Where do you think the problem lies in Enkanomiya that is affecting Watasumi Island?” Dainsleif asks.

“It’s interesting how Enkanomiya is still part of Teyvat, and yet they’re disconnected from Teyvat by being beneath Watasumi Island,” Pantalone murmurs, tapping his index finger on his biceps.

“Trapped beneath Watasumi Island, artificial sunlight, and plagued with monsters….” Baizhu trails off, clenching his hands into tight fists.

Pierro looks at the men and sighs. “We need to hurry up and find the source of the problem for Watasumi Island. We shouldn’t let [Y/N] wait in the Abyss any longer just to solve another issue that doesn’t have anything to do with us or [Y/N],” Pierro sighs, pinching the space between his eyebrows.

Before the men can start walking around Enkanoiya to search for the cause of the darkening waters of Watasumi Island, Zhongli holds his arm out in front of the others, halting them from walking any further.

“Something wrong?” Ayato asks, raising his eyebrows at the retired Archon.

Zhongli slowly turns his head, deep in his thoughts. “Does anyone hear that?” Zhongli murmurs, turning to look at the men around him.

Dottore raises his eyebrows at Zhongli. “Hear what?” Dottore asks, cocking his eyebrows at Zhongli with his head tilting to the side.

“I hear a scream,” Zhongli states in a low voice.

Al Haitham closes his eyes and focuses on the sound around him, trying to listen for the sound of screaming that Zhongli claims to have heard. Al Haitham opens his eyes and shakes his head at Zhongli, who look around in confusion.

“I don’t hear any screaming at all. Perhaps the screams are from hilichurls in the distance,” Al Haitham suggests.

Venti pats Zhongli on the back. “Blockhead, you’re getting old. Maybe you’re hearing things and are mistaking these noises for screaming,” Venti comments.

Heizou grabs onto the end of Zhongli’s tailcoat; Heizou looks like he’s going to pass out at any moment after realizing something. “There are Abyss Lectors and Heralds here,” Heizou whispers. Heizou’s face is almost as white as paper, gulping the lump in his throat loudly.

Aether pats Heizou’s shoulders. “Enkanomiya has always been plagued with the Abyss here. I’ve been to Enkanomiya a few times in the past, and it was surprising to see them here in Enkanomiya at first,” said Aether.

“Hold on, so you’re telling me that the Abyss Lectors and Heralds occupy Enkanomiya like how hilichurls and mitachurls would hang around in all parts of Teyvat?” Itto asks, crossing his arms over his chest with an incredulous look on his face. “Yes, so be on the lookout for any Abyss Heralds or Lectors. It’s a huge possibility that they are the ones that are tainting the waters of Watasumi Island,” Gorou says, crossing his arms over his chest with a deep frown on his face.

About fifteen minutes into the search for the source of Watasumi Island’s problem, the men come to a halt when they notice the light tower in the distance turning off. Evernight has fallen over Enkanomiya, engulfing Enkanomiya in darkness.

“Did someone happen to switch it to Evernight by any chance?” Kazuha asks.

The men shake their heads at Kazuha’s question. Kazuha looks at their surroundings to find the device that switches from Whitenight to Evernight, only to find no device. It was strange. How is it Evernight when none of them are near the mechanisms? Before Childe can open his mouth to say something, a loud bloodcurdling scream echoes through Enkanomiya, causing the others to freeze in their spot.

“That scream….” Kaeya whispers, his eyes darting over to the central building of Enkanomiya. They are a couple of meters from the building, and yet they’re able to hear the bloodcurdling scream from a great distance.

“We need to get to that tower immediately,” Capitano orders.

Everyone runs to the central tower in the center of Enkanomiya; the screams get louder and louder the closer they approach the building. Below the tower is a small room tucked underneath the floor that has the mechanism. The room can be easily missed if people aren’t keen on searching around the structure on Dainichi Mikoshi.

The men rush into the room before stopping in their tracks when they see what is going on in the room. Blood is dripping down from your face, the whites of your eyes are pitch black, and a stream of blood runs down your mouth and nose. You’re holding onto a blade that was pierced through your abdomen, glaring at the Abyss Herald that stands before you.

“[Y/N]!” Childe screams, grabbing your, the Abyss Herald, and Abyss Lector’s attention.

You push the Abyss Herald back and yank the blade out from your abdomen. Blood immediately gushes out from the gaping wound in your stomach, yet you don’t flinch. If you did, you did really well at hiding it.

“Sorry I took a while to return from the Akademiya. I was…. Busy.” You murmur, tossing the blade to the ground and covering the gaping hole in your stomach. “I don’t feel so good,” You whisper, clutching onto your throbbing head.

“Are you still the [Y/N] that we know and love?” Thoma asks nervously, watching you lean on the wall and close your eyes; blood continues to trickle down your face as you let out a ragged breath.

You laugh bitterly and shake your head. “As much as I want to say yes, I can feel the last of my sanity slipping away from me before I go berserk,” You look up. “I need you to kill me,” You whisper.

Diluc’s eyes widen, and he does a double-take at your statement. “What?!”

“We refuse to kill you!” Xiao glares at you. His eyebrows soon smooth over, and he frowns at you, his hands beginning to tremble.

“Why should we kill you? There has to be another way to save you.” Albedo mutters as Baizhu walks over to where you stand, only to stop in his tracks when you shake your head at him.

“Please don’t come any closer. I don’t want either of you to see me like this,” You swallow a mouth full of blood and wince. “They’re trying to make me immortal, but I know it’s not working because my body is destroying itself.”

You hear a familiar chuckle and see Enjou walking into the room where everyone is standing. “Oh, it’s working. You’re assuming that it’s not working because of the symptoms you’re feeling. But worry not, the experiment is working, and you will be immortal in no time,” said Enjou. Enjou’s eyes land on Aether. “Oh? Well, if it isn’t the former Abyss Prince. What a surprise.”

You grit your teeth together and cough. “Fine, if none of you are going to kill me before I go berserk, then I’ll do it myself.” You spat.

“Uh, what do you mean by that?” Tighnari asks nervously.

You ignore Tighnari and push through the crowd of men and walk out of the room that you were confined in for who knows how long. Dainsleif catches up to you and grabs you by your arm, pulling you to his chest while you thrash in his arms, screaming and crying while covering the gaping wound in your abdomen that is stained crimson and black.

“You don’t have to do this; we can find a way to undo all of this mess,” Dainsleif says, tightening his grip around you.

“I don’t think there’s a way to reverse the damages that have been done,” Dottore comments, accessing the damage that has been done to your body.

You slump in Dainsleif’s arms and close your eyes, wincing every now and then when you feel your heart clench in your chest. “Just end my suffering already.” You grumble, your head lolling back onto Dainsleif’s shoulders.

Scaramouche scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic. We’ll find a way to revert you to a mortal,” Scaramouche says, walking up to you.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you lay there in Dainsleif’s arms, limp and unresponsive. Scaramouche furrows his eyebrows in confusion before lightly tapping you on the cheeks. You didn’t flinch or have any reaction from the sudden contact.

“Are they….” Baizhu trails off, rushing to you and Dainsleif. Baizhu presses his hand on your neck, searching for a pulse. Baizhu turns to look at the men that are surrounding you, Dainsleif, Scaramouche, and Baizhu. Before Baizhu can say anything, the Abyss Lectors and Herald lets out a maniacal laugh. Their laughter filled the once-silent air.

“[Y/N]!” Heizou screams, collapsing to the ground in tears.

Aether shakes his head, tears blurring his vision. “This can’t be real,” Aether whispers, shaking his head as tears cascade down his cheeks.

“[Y/N]!!” Diluc screams at the top of his lungs.

Diluc jolts up from his bed and looks around. He touches his cheeks and notices that his cheeks are wet from the tears that continuously roll down his cheeks. Was it all a dream? Diluc slowly gets out of bed and walks to the door, and opens it. Diluc notices that the others are coming out of their bedrooms, too, they all look distraught, and some even have tears running down their cheeks.

“Why are you guys crying?” Scaramouche asks, quickly wiping his tears away.

Al Haitham furrows his eyebrows. “Was it all just a dream?” Al Haitham asks.

Cyno raises his eyebrows and runs his fingers through his hair. “It seems like we all have the same dream,” Cyno mutters.

“How are we sure that it was a dream and not something that we relived in our dreams?” Diluc asks, pressing his hand against his chest while taking deep breaths to slow his racing heart.

Kaeya looks over at your closed bedroom door. “One way to find out,” said Kaeya as he slowly approached the door. Kaeya looks at the other men as if he’s asking them if they’re going to follow along or not.

Kaeya stands in front of your bedroom door and grabs the door handle, twists it, and slowly opens the door. The men crowd behind Kaeya and peek over each other. Your bedroom is almost pitch black; the only thing that is illuminating your bedroom is the small nightlight that is plugged into the wall beneath your desk.

Kaeya looks towards your bed and sees you facing the door, cuddling up against your body pillow, unharmed, asleep, safe, and sound. The men all collectively let out a quiet sigh of relief. Zhongli walks into your bedroom and sits down on your bed. He reaches towards you and tucks your hair behind your ears. Zhongli hovers his index finger in front of your nose, making sure that you’re breathing. When Zhongli feels your soft breaths on his finger, Zhongli visibly sighs in relief and lets his hands rest on his lap.

You suddenly move around on your bed and crack your eyes open. You rub your eyes sleepily and blink up at Zhongli and the others when you notice them crowding at your bedroom door. You lift your head to look at the clock and notice that it is only three in the morning. “Why are you guys awake so early? Go back to bed,” You grumble, letting your head fall down on your pillow and hugging the body pillow tightly.

“We were checking up to see if you’re asleep or not,” Gorou says, giving you a small smile.

You hum softly and close your eyes. “Well, I was asleep, but I am going back to sleep now. All of you should do the same thing,” you sigh.

“Can we sleep in here with you tonight?” Thoma asks, stepping into your room with a nervous smile on his face.

You slowly open your eyes and blink at Thoma owlishly. “All of you?” You ask.

The men nod their heads at your question.

“How are you guys going to sleep in my room? I don’t think I have space for twenty extra people,” You said softly.

Tighnari waves your comment off. “That’s okay. We’ll bring our blankets and pillows over and will sleep on the floor.” The men nod their heads at Tighnari’s reply.

“But I don’t want either of you to sleep on the ground. It’s uncomfortable.” You frown.

Childe smiles at you and leans on the door frame. “It’s okay! As long as we’re in the same room as you with our pillows and blankets, we don’t mind sleeping on the ground.”

You sigh in defeat and nod your head. “Alright, alright. You guys can sleep in the same room as me for tonight.”

The men cheer and quickly rush out of your bedroom to grab their pillows and blankets. You shake your head with a small smile and snuggle up against the body pillow. One by one, the men start to pile into your bedroom with their pillows and blankets. They all lay around you on the floor, all facing your direction. You were tempted to ask them why they suddenly wanted to sleep in the same room as you, but you decided not to ask after seeing how they were looking at you. You smile at each of them and close your eyes.

“Goodnight,” You said softly, letting out a small yawn before slowly drifting off to sleep.

“Goodnight, [Y/N].” The men whisper.

Before you fall asleep, you hear quiet shuffling in your bedroom. You feel something press against your forehead; you crack one eye open and see the men hovering above you, pressing goodnight kisses on your face before going back to where they laid their pillows and blankets out on the ground.

Once everyone has fallen asleep, Diluc slowly gets up from his spot and gets into your bed, nudging you to the side lightly. You move over to make space for Diluc and let him lay in your bed, his chest pressing up against your back, and he wraps his arms around your waist. Diluc tightens his grip around your waist and presses a small kiss on the back of your neck, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of your shampoo and conditioner. As long as you’re safe and sound, Diluc doesn’t care if he wakes up to twenty-plus other men who are peeved off by him sneaking into your bed while they are unconscious.

Note: Listen, I was thinking about making this an all angst fanfic, but I can't mentally or emotionally deal with angst right now 💀 The Abyss "request" wasn't a request, but I decided to make it into a request because I had ideas for it that are too long. So might as well turn it into a request. I do have some ideas for an angst fanfic, but the person requested it on AO3, and I'm debating on whether I should fulfill it or not ._. Either way, I hope you all like this fanfic! :'> It's almost 2:30 AM for me, and I need to go to bed soon! 💀 Anyway, to my new or returning readers, I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for "Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader" and my overall taglist: @xxkatsusjinsux, @huboi, @crazyrichdaughter, @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff, @patata52, @honeybedo, @thedivinepriestress, @pencil-of-ashes, @samarill, @bakuhve, @yukima, @chaosinanutshell, @emperatris-rinaka, @neilify, @ksjjkthpjm, @jaisithebird, @mouchie, @emerald-smile, @jixlem, @the-blob-fish, @jiminscarmex, @bananazzzen, @thelost-in-time, @kryloxen, @ayolk, @tomansimp, @lordbugs, @c-camellias, @chihawari, @lilliansstuff, @zhongloml, @sweethcnvy, @wolf-chan2134, @simp4-fictional-men, @dai-tsukki-desu, @trash-queen-af, @tamayakii, @stellaris999, @hispasian-otaku, @stygianoir, @crispynutduck (if you have not been tagged, it's because you have your settings turned off for people to tag you in posts)

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sorcerous-caress · 7 months

Text

to dance with you | Astarion

[ fluff, heavy angst, bad end, character death, trauma, nb!reader ]

[Before the events of bg3, Reader is one of Astarion's victims ]

I am very sorry.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness.

You couldn't escape it, no matter how much you tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for you back home at the end of the day.

And while you knew it was hopeless to attempt to rationalise your way out of it, to cling to some justifications that explain that lack of warmth in your life, that just maybe it somehow made you superior to endure, you knew deep down it was a waste of time.

There's no dignity in suffering. There's no prize for enduring agony.

Your drink was getting cold.

Lifting the cup to the edge of your lips, you swallowed down what you could of the lukewarm liquid. Barely registering the taste of it.

You're spiralling again. You always did around this time of year.

People say one must imagine sisyphus happy, and yet you've dragged your own corpse up this hill too many times to count. Clawed your way out of rot and into a resemblance of a functional adult.

Staring out the cafe window into the snow-covered city, you finished the rest of your now cold drink. It was barely night, and yet the sun has already said its goodnights.

The streets will fill out soon. The buzzing of the nightlife was just on the horizon.

You found it ironic in a way, for how much Lathander's followers loved to proclaim the sun as the symbol of absolute goodness, then how come people only felt like being their true selves at night.

It felt like a curtain being drawn at the end of the show, when the angels slept and the pressure to perform melted away.

You should take your leave soon.

Your eyes shifted to stare into the bottom of your empty cup, traces of the remains of your drink have dried up in various shapes.

"Good evening" a voice called out to you, someone standing in front of your table, next to the empty chair.

Looking up, you were met with ruby eyes. Silvery hair and curling around pointy ears, framing the pale face and.

"Would it be alright if I joined you, my dear?" The elf continued, voice gentle as if coaxing a rabbit out of its nest.

You don't know why, but at that moment you nodded.

He sat down on the opposite chair.

You weren't superficial. At least you didn't think so. People couldn't control their appearance, so what right do you have to judge them based on it?

Yet when you took in the man in front of you. His half lidded eyes made you the sole point of his focus, the subtle smile to his lips. You would've been blind to pretend that it didn't affect you in some way.

"Do you mind if I buy you a drink? Something to warm you up, maybe?" Clear concern in his voice, "it tends to get very cold quickly at night, and we don't want someone as lovely as you getting sick now, do we?"

He was…worried about your health? A stranger you've never met before?

You shook your head. "No, it's alright." He was probably just trying to be nice, "I wasn't aware I looked miserable enough to worry a stranger, I was just about to leave anyway."

His eyes widened, his smile dropping. "No wait…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend" he cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed by the misunderstanding he caused, "But where are my manners? You may call me Astarion."

You stared at the hand that he extended to you, he didn't seem phased by your hesitation to shake it. In fact, he patiently waited for you.

Not wanting to make this more awkward than it already is, you took his hand. He smiled again.

You told him your own name, and he said it suited you. His cold hands let go of yours after running his thumb across your hand.

"Please excuse my previous…failed attempt. I'm not used to approaching people." His eyes looked to the side, probably to mask his nervousness, you thought.

He seemed so bold and confident moments ago, yet the second you mentioned leaving, he immediately switched.

Huh, people really aren't what they seem like, you thought to yourself. Who knew behind his confident facade was just someone like you.

"It's alright, I'm sorry for my rushed assumptions." You felt bad. This person was just trying to be nice, and you were rude to him for no reason but your own paranoia.

"I noticed you since you walked in," he admitted, "you looked…simply breathtaking." His eyes drank you up, taking in every detail of your form.

You've barely noticed him. You've barely noticed anyone in the cafe. You were too occupied wallowing in your own misery to give the outside world more than a passing glance.

"I'm flattered, really." You admitted, "but I'm not sure if I will live up to your expectations…" as shameful as it was to admit, you thought it was better to warn him early on than to pretend to be someone you're not.

Astarion's hand reached over the table, holding your own in a loose reassuring grip. Giving you enough space to pull back if you wanted to.

"Oh no, trust me." He gave your hand a comforting squeeze, "you're simply perfect." His voice dripped with honey, warm and sweet sliding down your throat.

You held his hand back.

"Then let me make it up to you, how about I buy you a drink? To warm you up." There was a playful edge to your voice as you repeated his words, "well by how cold your hand is, you probably really need this drink."

Amusement filled his face as he chuckled. "You clever little thing." Your eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips, "I'm starting to like you already."

After a couple of drinks and some time, the two of you ended up leaving the establishment together. Light conversation flowed seamlessly and weaved into one another between you both.

To say he was easy to talk to would've been an underestimation. You felt like you're hanging out with a lifelong friend instead of a stranger you've met a couple of hours ago.

You really didn't pay much attention to time flying by, not when the night sky looked so mesmerising above you. Not when Astarion sat next to you on the garden bench.

And while your conversations didn't stay light for long, he didn't seem like he minded as he leant you his shoulder to lean on while you expressed your worries.

"I think you should tell them. They're your parents, after all." His arm kept you close to his body, "Isn't it their job to help you during rough times and all of that?"

"I don't know, I'm supposed to be an adult." You hid half your face in his shoulder, "I much rather suck it up until I find a new job, and then maybe I'll tell them."

Easier said than done. It's been a week since you've handed in your applications, and yet not a single letter was sent back to you.

"I just don't want to be a burden," you continued "sometimes I wish I didn't worry them so much. Maybe they'll do better without me holding them back."

Astarion didn't reply. His hold tightened around you.

"Sometimes…I wish I could just disappear." You buried your face in his neck, taking in his scent and closing your eyes.

Again, no reply, only the sound of the night breeze rustling the nearby bushes. The moon looming over the both of you and showering you in her light.

A waning moon.

"I ruined the mood, didn't i?" You let out a bitter laugh as you pulled away from him, "I'm sorry."

There was a somber expression on his face, his usually sharp eyes appearing soft and round.

"No, not at all." He said, "I was just thinking about your words. Wishing to disappear."

With a heavy sigh, he turned to you. "I could preach to you all night about how valuable a single mortal life is like they do all morning at those temples, but we both know that's bullshit." His voice sounded more natural, vastly different from the smooth sultry tone he had before. "Life will still move on, with or without that person."

You snorted, "What, not a fan of the church and gods?"

"More like they're not fans of mine. But I suppose we can't all have taste." Getting up from the bench, the moonlight illuminated the edges of his hair like a halo, completely facing you.

"I suppose they're missing out." Walking by his side, the two of you strolled through the garden at a slow pace. Hands occasionally brushing against each other.

"Definitely, who wouldn't want this face on their side. I'd probably get them more visitors than their clerics ever could." Leaning closer, Astarion stopped in his tracks as his hand held your face.

"Actually, something tells me you'd do very well at that job, helping others." You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

With a sarcastic laugh, he said "Please, me?"

"Yes, you." When you opened your eyes, you were met with his intense gaze, "you're really good at making people feel at ease, letting them speak their worries. Like you did to me."

"Darling, I did no such thing." He lowered his eyes to your lips, licking his own. Maybe he was using this as an excuse to avoid your gaze.

You gently lifted his chin to look at you again, "Sometimes the best way to help someone is to listen to them, truly listen."

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"I have been cold and rude to you, and yet you've treated me with warmth…that's a gift, you know. I won't ever forget it." Your own hands cupped his face, contrasting against his pale cold skin. "So yes, if you ever consider being a cleric or something one day, you'll definitely have my recommendation."

Closing the distance between the two of you, your lips gently pressed against his forehead. Wishing his safety and well being with a quick peck as you pulled away.

His own hands left you long ago, laying abandoned on his sides. His fingers twitched.

Taking a deep breath, you saw his usual easy going smile come back. You felt at ease again as he returned to what you knew as his normal self. "I can think of a way or two you could repay me then, something we would both enjoy greatly." he said.

You felt a subtle touch against your hips, his hands asking permission to hold you.

It was getting really late, you realised. Your dogs must be worried sick back home. Their anxious figures waiting in front of the doorstep, you remember kissing them goodbye before you left.

...

It will be alright, it's just one night. You always left them more food than normal just in case, so they'll be safe and happily fed until your arrival.

Maybe you can even introduce Astarion to them tomorrow. You have a feeling they'll absolutely love licking his face until his hair is a mess.

"Yeah." You pushed his hands to fully grip your hips, his smile grew. "That sounds good to me."

The time spent during the walk to his home flew by. He was very good at making you lose yourself in the moment.

Stepping inside, he kept a tight hold on you as he led you through the corridors.

Huge oil paintings adorned the crimson walls, a red carpet to match. You immediately noticed the lack of windows, and whatever ones you could spot had a thick layer of black curtains drawn closely shut over them.

He ignored any servants you passed by, and likewise, they seemed to pretend you didn't exist either, as if you were invisible like a ghost.

Astarion's demeanour shifted the second you stepped foot inside the palace, and his replies reduced to one word or less whenever you tried to start a conversation.

You had a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach, gnawing at your flesh and slowing down your steps.

"Is something wrong?" You asked him after he led you into a bedroom at the end of the hall. "You don't seem well."

His back was turned to you.

You took a step forward, placing a hand on his back. "Astarion?"

He flinched away from your hand the second you touched him, as if you burned the flesh on his back. A low hiss of pain escaped his lips.

Turning to face you after a few seconds, his expression was schooled back into the most charming smile.

"I just tend to get nervous when it comes to initiating intimacy." He told you, a nervous look in his eyes as he shifted slightly.

Oh, is that why he has been acting this way? You offered a comforting smile. "That's completely alright. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"... really? Even when you came the whole way here?" He said with a sceptical tone, "nonsense, my dear, I will get over it in time. I just…need a couple of minutes, yeah."

"I really mean it, Astarion, we don't have to do anything." You repeated yourself more firmly.

You thought your words might offer him some relief, yet the subtle frown to his lips only grew deeper.

"How about we just get comfortable on the bed and see where the night takes us?" He offered, unbuttoning the cuffs of his embroidered shirt and sitting on the lush bed.

You didn't like his total disregard for your offer. You could tell he wasn't believing you. But you didn't want to push him at the time, so you just let it go.

After making some adjustments to your clothes until you were in a comfortable state, you joined him on the bed. He immediately turned to face you. His body was so close to yours.

"Now…" he whispered so close to your ear. "Just how much I wanted to make you mine since the moment I saw you."

One thing led to another, a teasing touch there, a promising squeeze here, and the taste of his lips against yours.

He just knew how to take your breath away, how to get you to melt into the kiss. Wanting more, chasing after his tongue for another taste.

His hand going down your body, feeling your throat, your chest, your waist, and then your thighs. Heat collected between your legs. You could feel your body respond back to his expert touches, completely ignoring your brain and forming a mind of its own as it grinded against his hands.

Pleasure was overwhelming you. It was both too much and not enough at the same time. It was addicting and consuming.

Was he enjoying it, too? Did seeing you this needy and responsive to his touches make him burn with lust and desire for you?

You tried breaking the kiss to get a good look at him, but he wouldn't relent. Wouldn't give you a chance to even think about anything else but your own pleasure.

When you finally managed to pull away from his lips, you couldn't get more than a glance at his expression before he immediately went for your neck. Sucking and marking the flesh with vigour, teeth sending shivers down your spine.

You didn't realise how sharp his teeth were until you felt them graze your neck. They were almost alarmingly sharp, one wrong move, and they'd glide easily into your flesh.

"Astarion…" you called out to him. His lips left your neck and took it as an invitation to kiss you again, stealing your breath away. "Astarion no wait- " you mumbled between each kiss.

That got him to stop, his hands pulling away from your body.

"Yes my love?" He breathed against your lips.

Your eyes met his, you took in his dishevelled appearance, the flush to his cheeks and his wet glistening lips. His eyes looked like they held desire in them, inviting and tantalising.

But the more you stared into them, the less they seemed to look at you and instead look through you. Deep inside his eyes, he was a thousand miles away.

You couldn't even see a hint of desire in them if you took away the facade.

"I don't want this." You whispered.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No…I just don't want this."

He got off of you, giving you your space back.

Neither of you mentioned it, instead each of you stuck to their own side of the bed.

It was clear he didn't know how to proceed forward, a crease to his eyebrows while in deep thoughts, as you assumed.

The silence was uncomfortable, unbearable even. Your mind wandered back to your home, your comfortable safe haven.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you said, "one time, Luna cost me over 5000 golds."

Seemingly coming back to reality, it took Astarion some seconds to fully register your words, "Luna?"

"My dog," you said, "the sweetest shepherd you'll ever meet. I came home from work late one time and she wagged her tail so fast that she fractured it."

"She sounds charming." Astarion let out a soft laugh, "although, why Luna?"

"She's black and white, you know like the phases of the moon. I thought it was clever at the time." You admitted, "or are you more of a cat person?"

"I'm not an animal person at all, honestly."

"What, are they also not fans of you?"

That got another chuckle out of him. "They tend to be too smelly for my liking, but I'd take a cat over a horse any day."

He turned his body to face you again, you did the same.

"Really? Luna adores horses, she could teach you a thing or two."

"Are you really not only suggesting that the dog and I meet up, but that she'd also take me as her pupil?"

"I mean…well yeah, I was kinda hoping I'd take you to meet her tomorrow morning." You cleared your throat, "well that's if you want to.

His focus seemed to drift again, "...you don't happen to have cats, do you?" His tone was quieter than before, eyes not fully meeting yours.

"There's a stray that comes to visit Luna daily, he's not very friendly to other people but who knows." As corny as you thought your line sounded, you still proceeded to say it in hopes it will lift his mood up, "maybe he'll also fall victim to your charm like I did."

Instead of the reaction you expected, you were met with genuine scepticism.

"Ha" his laugh was bitter, "you don't have to spare my feelings darling, I know you don't see me that way."

You sat up on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at you, you felt like he was attempting to make himself smaller against the pillow.

"Oh I'm not holding a grudge or anything." He claimed, "I can admit it when I'm not someone's type or whatever."

Brushing a strand of his hair behind his pointy ear, you tried to coax him to meet your eyes again. "...Astarion, I am very attracted to you.

He leaned away from your hand. "Then why did you want to stop?"

The truth burned in your throat to admit. "I just…I didn't feel like you were enjoying it. Like you wanted it."

That look, the eyes staring through you.

Astarion seemed very conflicted, about what? You weren't sure. But you wanted to comfort him, to take away his pain and carry it yourself instead.

He never denied your words.

You pulled your hand away from his hair, still not laying down beside him as you watched his body curl under the covers.

"It's alright, you don't have to explain anything." You got up from the bed, "I can leave if it's-" just as you were about to pick up your clothes, his hand immediately grabbed your wrist in a desperate grip.

"No," he said with dread in his eyes, "you can't."

It was a complete switch from his previous state, you weren't sure what to even make of it.

"I can't?"

He seemed to catch himself, letting go of your wrist.

"stay with me, at least for tonight." His eyes were pleading, "we can just hold each other, isn't that what you want?"

He sat up from the bed, gently taking your hands in his as he led you back to the comfort of the sheets.

"It's what I want." He whispered, voice so inviting and beckoning you closer, "I swear."

You weren't strong enough to resist.

Following after him, your bodies pressed together under the soft sheets. You only felt your own heartbeat in your chest as he held you close. He was cold, so you shared your own body warmth to warm him up.

The candles in the room were burning out, a calming silence fell. Lulling you to rest and let the day end.

You could only hear your own heart beating.

This was nice, it felt nice and safe so it must be.

Just as sleep was about to steal you away, Astarion's voice nudged you back awake.

"What do you like about me?" His voice was raw, sincere.

You couldn't see his face, "you, of course."

He moved against you, "obviously, now be more specific."

You tried to think about it. It felt like one of these important questions that'd shape your future relationship with him, so you tried to give it all of your thoughts.

There were so many things to love about him, but many of them were things you'd still love him without.

Yet they were still parts of him, but how many parts were actually him.

"Your nature." Was the answer you gave, still not quite satisfied with it.

"Oh shit." His serious tone didn't last long before being replaced by a playful one, "I didn't invite a druid to my bed, did i?"

You snorted, "very funny, but I meant it."

Even without seeing his face, you felt his lips curl upwards against your skin. Claiming that small victory was enough for you.

"You know" you found yourself rambling, "my day was going absolutely horrible until you showed up. I don't usually really believe in gods or miracles, but…you were the closest thing to a guardian angel I've ever had."

A yawn escaped your lips, you continued.

"I was too inside my head. I forgot that a whole world outside existed. A world with people like you." Your eyelids fluttered, sleep lurked behind them. "As shitty as life can be, somehow I believe things will be okay."

Adjusting your position so you could face him in the dark, you felt his body stiffen against yours.

"Goodnight Astarion." you gave his forehead a small kiss, wishing for his safety and well being. "Rest well."

The deep hours of the night is when the Szarr palace fell the most silent. Merely an hour or two separating them from dawn.

A warm living breathing body laid next to him, just like many others before. And Astarion embraced them just like many others before.

But the waves of emotions swirling inside him like poison were definitely new.

He didn't get a hint of rest, he couldn't. As much as he wanted to just close his eyes for the remaining hours and ignore the waking world. After all they will definitely disappear in the morning, so what's a few hours of blissful ignorance?

But he just couldn't, the thought itself threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Disgust he has never felt in years lurching at his insides.

It's their fault, it's all their fault.

They should've made it easier for him. They should've just closed their eyes, spread their legs, and ignored his existence.

They shouldn't have mentioned their stupid moon dog. They shouldn't have made him leer inside at the idea of having parents to support you yet still choosing to suffer alone.

How dare they be so cruel? How dare they kiss his forehead so tenderly.

He was choking. His throat burned so much that every breath felt like needles being dragged against the inside of his neck.

Worst of all, he could still hear their heartbeat. Did his own sound like that before? Is this what it felt like to have a speck of evidence that you're alive?

A constant reminder of your mortal life, of your endless potential, of your stupid naivety and your pointless kindness.

His whole body was shaking.

Cazador will be here soon. Just like so many times before.

He needed to act fast. He needed to do something. Otherwise, he felt like he would go crazy.

They don't deserve whatever that monster did with all the others. They don't deserve a fate that cruel, not someone like them. Please God, anyone else but them.

He prayed, holding them closely as he begged and pleaded with each one of the Gods he could recall the name of in his state of panic.

If not for his miserable life then please do something for them, they're still a mortal, they're still one of your children. Please god just save them.

Like always, no answer came.

Astarion felt hopeless, useless and small.

He stared in horror at his own hands, still in the same praying position. He truly had nothing to offer.

Nothing except a dignified death.

Death would save them from Cazador, Death would save them from torture.

Death was what he should've picked that night almost two centuries ago.

Careful not to disturb their peaceful rest, Astarion grabbed a pillow.

He took one last good look at them in the dark, he engraved their face into his memory.

He wanted to lean over and give them one last kiss. He didn't feel like he deserved to.

The pillow pressed against their face, slowly cutting off their oxygen.

Astarion held tightly. He kept his hold firm even as they struggled.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the pillow, his tears falling and staining its white cover. A drop after another.

As their struggles died down, by that time, he had gotten his side of the pillow entirely wet. He still held firm, despite his shaking fingers, despite the blood slowly joining his tears onto the pillow from how hard his teeth dug into his lips.

At these hours, the Szarr palace was the most silent. He couldn't risk making a single sound.

Only when a heartbeat ceased to exist did he let go of his grip.

He got off the bed, closed their eyes and covered their face with the sheets. He sat on the floor, head next to their cold dead feet.

Despite his clean hands, he swore he felt their blood on them, seeping into his skin and marking him forever.

Not just their blood, but the blood of every innocent miserable person he lured back into this hell.

He just wanted to save them, to save this one person. Take a life in stride and carry the guilt to the end of his days.

It was just one life, one very precious person.

Was a very precious person.

But he forgot to account for the hundreds of lives he has taken indirectly before, it was easier to forget when it wasn't his own hands stopping their heartbeat.

His whole world felt like it stopped because of one life.

As he sat there on the cold floor, naked, shaking with tears streaming down his face, he heard the very familiar tapping of a staff against the floorboards.

All of his feelings vanished in an instant, as if he was drowning in a deep volcanic abyss before getting pulled into the freezing surface.

He could not feel his fingers, numbness spread throughout his whole body.

The tapping got closer. It was heading towards him.

Cazador was heading towards him.

There were no feelings left inside him, just pure numbness.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness.

He couldn't escape it, no matter how much he tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for him back home at the end of the day.

#♡Astarion #♡angst #astarion x reader #angst #angst with a bad ending #no comfort #bg3 angst #bg3 x reader #astarion #trauma #character death #nb!reader

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dark-night-hero · 6 months

Text

Imagine being the guardian of Mashle: Magic and Muscle characters ft. Ames brothers, Crown Siblings, and Abyss Razor.

Ames Brothers ; Rayne Ames, Finn Ames.

But no more worries, rest your head and go to sleep

Imagine the first time you happened to met the brothers was when you happened to take a short cut on one of the alleys. It was deep at night, with a little bit of magic you were able to see as you cast a small fire for light and warmth. It was almost winter season and it was already getting colder and colder at night.

Imagine how much of a coincident it was when you happened to stumble upon them. Not to far when you happened to walked passed an orphanage, you saw two kids sitting and trembling in the cold night, their worn-out blanket that barely covered the two of them.

Imagine happening to walked passed them at first, you were running late on your way home after all. But during that split moment were you happened to notice them, you made an eye contact. Your (eye color) iris met a pair of light colored ones.

Imagine you never really care. Heck normally you would not even bat an eye. But those were children. Stopping on your tracks an alley away from the children you had an eye contact with. You close your eyes, wondering what to do. You were no rich nor you were poor. You were just one of the normal people in this world trying to live all by yourself. But those were children. In the middle of the night. How long do they have to wait until someone from the orphanage notice them and took them in? In the morning?

Imagine the way you frown, rubbig your temple as you continue to contemplate of what to do. Then you took a deep breath and open your eyes. As you stood there a few second in silence, you sigh before facing the direction of the alley you just happened to passed by.

"Hey, kiddos. Are you alright?" Upon sitting down on the same level as them only then did you realise how much of a stupid question was that as you get to look at the current state they are in. With the help of your flame that went a little bit bigger in order to provide warmth for the two. "Shit."

Imagine the state they're currently in. They look like they haven't had a bath for a very long time. Dirty and torn up clothes. There was even dirt all over their skin. By the looks of it, they look like they haven't been properly taken care of. Plus, to make matters worse, the what it seems to you was the younger brother that have pass-out seems to be currently experiencing a fever as he try to snuggle up into his brothers arm that was currently holding into him with all his might.

"Come with me." You don't even know how or why those words came out of your mouth. But the moment your (eye color) iris met with those fierce yet asking for help light colored ones. "Come with me." This time it was much softer and pleasing tone you never knew you have. "I won't hurt you, I promise." This time you smiled at him, the older one. And for a moment, you saw him reach out a hand towards you only for it to get dropped down as he lost his consciousness nevertheless his the last moment he left was something warm. It was warm.

Imagine that night, after tending the two brothers, wiping them off with towel and making sure the younger one doesn't have any fever. After feeding your bunnies only, you once again step out of the house and went back into the agency and goes on to collect information about the two kids you picked up. Honestly you think it was unnecessary, you don't plan on taking them anyways, just letting them stay for the night before personality dropping them off at the orphanage the once both were all well. Still, you have this gut feeling that makes you do such troublesome things in the middle of the night.

Imagine the wicked laugh that echoed in the night as you hold on into the information about the two kids. The two kids had lost their parents for about a year now and although some relatives took care of them, they would eventually give them up giving the two for adoption, and the two have been in a cycle of transferring from one orphanage into another, all in fucking one year. "Ahhh God fucking damn. What should I do, I'm so fucking pissed." Fine, you've made up your mind.

Imagine Rayne walking up with a gasp half a day later on a very comfortable bed. At first he was on alert as he recalled what happened the previous night prior in which a stanger came lending them a hand before he lost his consciousness. "Fin- Finn-!" "Your brother is still asleep on the other room." Startled by the sudden voice, you quickly look around the room only to find you leaning on the door way with a water in hand.

Imagine the way he immediately glare at you as if he was ready to attack at any moment and you think he might actually do it, given his two marks, it would not be possible nevertheless you could only let out a chuckle of amusement before approaching him and handing him the water. "Your brother is doing fine by the way,the fever had dropped down so here is nothing you should worry about." Still despite your words, as soon as he finished that glass of water, he immediately went out of the bed to look for his brother only to realize there was in fact tons of room in this house that he could not figure out which one it is. "Right across your room is your brother's."

"What do you want?" Upon making sure that his brother was safe and sound as well as free from fever. He turn to face you with once again it seems to you is a look of distrust, his guard was once again up. "What could I possibly want?" You raise a brow. "What do you. Want?" You asked in return. "I just happened to stumble upon two kids looking for shelter so I took the two of you in out of my conscience. If you're to ask me what I want? I want nothing our of the two of you." You answered truthfully, in the first place this kid looks like he was the try of person to prefer straightforward and serious answers which also shows how much they've been through.

"Let me ask you this kid... Young man. What do you want?" You asked, this time once again kneeling down into the same position as them. "Im not confident in raising kids but I'm confident I could provide you everything you need and what you want as you long as you stay in this house-" "Are we allowed to stay here?" The older brother suddenly asked in which you immediately replied. "Of course." "You're not going to kick us out?" "I won't." "What makes you think we could easily trust you?" "Well, didn't you already?" You smile at him.

"I'm Rayne Ames. This is my brother Finn Ames." "I'm (First name)(Lastname), but you can call me (First name)." "..." "..." "Why isn't my brother waking up?" "He'll wake up soon enough. Want to help me feed my bunnies the mean time?" ".... Okay."

Imagine maybe it was just a coincidence that you happened to passed by the right alley at the right timing all because you were running late at home knowing you haven't feed your bunnies that afternoon that you happened to pick up two kids you never know you would treasure more than your live, giving them the love they never thought they deserve as well as a home that was once taken away from them.

Imagine is there was one thing Rayne Ames would never regret is the fact that he took the hand that was held out into him. Despite all the odds, despite all the bad memories of trying to trust someone coming back into him that very moment. He was glad that he took that hand, he was glad that during that moment were he decided to open up their heart for a possible another betrayal when they thought they have once again find a home. He was glad that this time, they have actually find a home.

Crown Siblings ; Lance Crown, Anna Crown.

Now hush little baby, don't you cry. Everything's gonna be alright.

Imagine the first time you met the two was on a rather peaceful day in yor clinic. Nowadays sick people were rare unless it was something lethal and deadly. After all, it was a world dominated by magic. So when a child in his teens barge into your clinic in tears carrying a sickly looking girl of what it seems was his little sister, you were quickly alerted. Only to see that her condition was by far worse than you have expected.

"It seems to me that you are fully aware of what condition your sister is in right now. Right?" "Can't you heal her? I'll do anything. Just please.. please please please help by sister-" "I believe that the other healers have made it clear to you." "So you can't save her?" "Well..."

Imagine the way you look to your side, there was his sister although breathing heavily. She has by far in a better condition than she was when she have arrived. As you look at his sister, he then follow your gaze and look at his sister too before he looks back at you only to find you already look at him.

"Although just like any other healer, there is nothing I can do to get rid of actual cause of what's causing her magic to disintegrate. I have my ways to keep her life longer, keep her from dying from this damn magic eating sh- ehem. Anyways! What I'm saying is that I have what it takes to keep her from dying and prolonging her life for years and years to come." "Then-!" "But why should I do it?" "Wha-?" "You're nothing but a runaway kids from the Crown family. What more do you have to offer than you and your close to nothing but a usless nuisance of a little sister?"

Imagine the look of absolute rage, horror, embarrassment and absolute bloodlust oozing out of him. But then you laugh, brushing back your (hair color) locks. "Sorry sorry. Just kidding." You laughed so hard that he was damn confused, you almost walk up his sister too. "Hey kiddo. What were you thinking running away with your sister?" No matter how much you look at it. It was a fucking dumb idea. They were both young, sure this punk was a double mark mage. Nevertheless a kid is a kid.

Imagine hearing him mumbling something, the way he clenched his teeth and fist. "What was that?" "I said they wanted to get rid of her as soon as her magic disappeared and I will not let that happen! I won't let that happen!" There was a moment of silence after that. "That's usually the case was it?" You spoke although this time you sound so serious it send shiver down his spine.

Imagine the way you slowly approach his sleeping sister that causes him to be alerted but the moment you place a hand on her forehead, her breathing ease up as if he wasn't having a bard time earlier. "I'll treat your sister for free. In return, you siblings will stay here until she gets well." "You said it was untreatable." "It is, but how knows. Maybe I'll pull it off." You shrug. "If you use my sister for experiments, I'll kill you." "Wow scary."

Imagine as you take up the siblings in your care, the more productive days you have. Living up to Lance expectations, you did nothing but to take care of his sister as well as teching him a few tricks on how to handle his magic better. With the two of them, nothing was boring as you were slowly being pulled away from the darkness of the days were you were alone and grieving.

"I know not many healers focused on his type of magic eating potion let alone try to cure them. Why are you trying so hard?" "Do you want your sister to get better?" "Of course!" Replied the young teen as he watches you prepare a meal for the three of you. "Then I wish the same, kiddo." "I have a name!" "Yeah yeah."

Imagine one night as you finally put the two kids into sleep. You went back into your lab where unlike doing experiments like usual, you use your wand and chant some spell to open the window and from there you stood not to far away from it and watch the stars from afar.

"They remind me so much of you and me sister." You chuckle. "But don't worry, I won't let them end up like us. I'll make sure with them, everything will be alright." There was a small genuine smile on your face. "I'll introduce them to you in sometime, but for now. I'll make sure they get the proper care and treatment they need." As you close the window behind you, a harsh gentle breeze passed you, making you chuckle.

Imagine as soon as you went out of the lab, you were greeted by the pair of siblings dragging their blanket with them causing you to chuckle. "Anna went looking for you." Lance spoke as he stand right beside his younger sister who was still lookling sleepy. "Hmmm. Let's go back to sleep shall we?" You smilw at the two as you take Anna into your arms as much as to Lance dismay but said nothing as you grab his tinny hand back to their bedroom.

"Here, have this." It was the night before he went to the academy. Raising his brows at you, he accepted that locket necklace given upon him. "You won't be seeing your sister for quite some time. Keep it with you all the time." You spoke before messing with his head. "I won't be able to take you to the academy so make sure to be careful. Good luck, Lance. Make sure to come back." You chuckle as you walk out of the door.

Imagine upon opening the locket, what greeted him was a picture of his lovely cutie little sister and their guardian for the last few years, years longer than their parent have taken care of them. And although he was quite pissed seeing you in there, he could only curse and shake his head before keeping it safe in his inner pocket.

Abyss Razor.

I can see it in your eyes, deep inside you wanna cry.

Imagine the first ime you have seen him was during a familt gathering. You really have no interest in it, the fact that you will have to socialize and please your relatives just make you feel sick but since you got nothing else to do, you decided to come and also to see what your relatives have been gossiping amongst themselves these days.

Imagine the way your veins on your temple, neck and hands starts to appear out of anger and in control not to just beat up all the people in here. Because why? You don't understand how they could treat a child like this. Even animals doesn't get such treatment.

"You fuck- what in world do you think you are doing to a child?! Your child?!" "Child? Child?! That child is no child of mine! That-! That monster! That devil!" "You know what. Fuck you. I'm taking this kid."

Imagine ignoring the way they screamed at you, deflecting magic attacks that is going on your way as you free the child bounded by chains and full of bruise and wounds. "Let's go." You spoke as you offer a hand only to pick him up once he was abot to grab it. And strange enough for him, you were holding him like he was a precious being.

Imagine letting him open up was hard. After all he was someone thought that his existence is something that should have never existed. To add up all the physical trauma on him. Your anger issues could never, maybe that was the reason why he was quite afraid of you. Or so you thought.

"What's your name?" "..." "My name is (First name)(Lastname)." "..." "Hey, it's alright. No one's going to hurt you here." You smile sweetly at him, trying your best to become approachable as you can. "Are..." As he finally utter his first word in a week after being in your care, your eyes widen as you tried to remain calm as he finishes his sentence. "Are you... not afraid of me?"

Imagine it was a question you have never thought would come out of his mouth. Quite dumbfounded, you replied with a "No? Why would I? Should I be afraid of you?" But then again, there was no reply, just staring a you with wide eyes in which you just smile in return. After all, there was nothing to be afraid of him.

"But mother... father always treat me like I'm some sort of monster... a devil." "But you're nothing like that." You spoke at him before grabing him gently by the shoulder, causing him to flich but soon relax on your touch as you kneel down at his level. "There is nothing wrong with you. That mother and father of yours was no mother and father of yours. They don't deserve you because they don't accept you for who you are."

Imagine the way he looks at you, and seeing that. You chuckle before flicking his forehead in a gentle matter. It doesn't hurt, he thought as he watch your chuckle turn into laugh. "It's okay to cry, you don't need to hold back." And as soon as you said that, for some reasons. Tears starts to fall as he throw himself at you in which you smile bitterly and pat him back.

"It.. it hurts when they hit me." He sobbed. "I was so scared... I was all alone..." He was nothing but a child, and it wasn't a sin to be born with such eye. "I know... I know... hush my child." You pat him gently in the back. "Everything gonna be alright. I'm here for you now, my dearest Abyss."

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2023°

: what the, the why the imagines kept gettig shorter and shorter lmao. Still, watching the anime and reading the manga of this one just makes me wanna punch the parents of these characters because everything is their fault and the system environment they live in.

#dark night hero #mashle #mashle imagine #platonic relationships #platonic #mashle fanfic #rayne ames #rayne ames imagine #rayne imagine #finn ames #abyss razor #abyss razor imagine #abyss imagine #lance crown #lance imagine #lance crown imagine #anna crown

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aestheticsarereal · 2 years

Text

Finders Keepers, Horny Losers- e.m

Part 1

a/n: THIS CAME TO ME ONE LATE NIGHT AFTER ONE TOO MANY BOWLS. Just pure filth, but enjoy at your disposal.

Summary: Eddie's long time best friend finds something interesting and decides to explore her curiosity.

Warnings: Pure porn. Use of sex toys, heavy mention of drugs, swearing, oral (m! receiving), fem!reader, slightly dom!reader, mention of creampie if you squint, pet names, I think that’s it?? MDNI–18+ ONLY!

wc: 3.5k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader best friend

Requests are open!

DO NOT PUBLISH MY WORK ANYWHERE

photo credit: N/A

You weren’t exactly looking for your best friend’s sex toy. Honest to God. Eddie had sent you on a mission to get your favorite bowl to smoke out of for the next session the curly haired boy started. It had been a blistering summer day in the middle of July. Peak heat was burning down on your sweat coated skin and neither of you could take the abuse of the rays any longer.

You had haphazardly thrown on some band shirt that Eddie had laying on the ground. An old Iron Maiden shirt that was starting to get holes in the collar and sleeves. You praised Eddie for always buying oversized shirts so he could share them with you, something he had picked up on early in your friendship.

It fell just a bit below where your ass and thighs connected. It had covered the black bikini bottoms that had been completely dry from sitting out in the Indiana heat. “Jesus Eddie, have you ever heard of a bookshelf? Or some sort of organization?” You rolled your eyes as you hung up his beloved denim vest on a hanger in his closet as you could hear him mumble some half-ass remark. No wonder Eddie lost everything, he never put anything away. You recalled the multitude of times that you had practically begged him to let you clean his room. His defense was that creative people had messy rooms and if anything had changed you would be “damaging” his creative genius.

Socks, shirts, and boxers had littered the floor and chair in his room. You were surprised he hadn’t discovered a new fungi species in this abyss. He was careless with his smoking equipment so you had figured it would be on the floor. Dropping to be on your hands and knees, you began rummaging under the bed that had been all too familiar. Textbooks from sophomore biology and barely worn pants were scattered all over. Shoving things to the side as it had been too dark to see under, your hand collided with something that you couldn’t make out. The base felt cylindrical and got wider at the top with some sort of spongy dome on the top.

Your arm retracted with the unknown object in your right arm until it saw the light of day. Your eyes went wide and your left hand smacked over your mouth hoping your gasp wasn’t loud enough for the boy in the next room to hear. You weren’t meant to see this because it was under his bed but your curiosity got the better of you anyway. It had been such a shock to discover your best friend’s personal pocket pussy. The thought of him actually having used it made something in your lower stomach burn.

You inspected the pink silicone toy with a decent anatomy on top. The flesh tone and outline of the clit and labia made your mind race with different situations in which Eddie would use it. You couldn’t help but take your finger and run the tip of it around the artificial slit. It felt clean and smelt of antibacterial soap. At least it was a bit comforting to know he properly washed this thing. ‘How long has he had this?’ ‘Where did he get it?’ ‘How often does he use this?’ All these questions were flooding into your brain with each second that passed.

It must have been why didn’t hear the creaking of his door opening. “Y/N–what are you doing?” You let out a small scream as you tried hiding the toy as if it were your secret and not his. “Eds I I didn’t mean to find it, I swear. My hand just grazed this thing and I grabbed it and pulled it out and if I had any idea of what it was I would never have pulled it out. You know it’s normal for guys to have things like this–”. “Y/N please stop talking.” He couldn’t move from his place in the doorway. Partially from being embarrassed that you had found his little toy but also from you being on your knees with his shirt riding up on your hips, revealing your thighs that had been sticking together all day due to the cruel heat.

Your eyes scanned over his body. His cheeks were turning bright red and you could make out the slight tips of his ears burning with embarrassment as well. His chest became flushed, which made for a fun juxtaposition with the black ink on his chest. It was a rare occasion that you had ever seen Eddie shirtless, but was it a pleasure. Traveling further south, small black hairs were scattered under his gray sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips. Your eyes averted their attention back to his face as you had this dumbfounded look on your face.

Still holding the fleshlight in your hands you brought it to your front and stood up so you had finally been at some sort of eye level with him. His eyes darted down to the sight of your small hands gripping the toy he often used after you would visit, which had been an often occurrence. “Eddie–” “Y/N–”. The two of you are rambling at the same time. He stopped talking and motioned for you to explain how you got yourself into this sticky situation. “Honest to God Eddie, this was a mistake. I never knew you even owned one a-and I am just so sorry.” Your small and delicate hands were squeezing the flesh silicon, in fear he wouldn’t notice how flustered you had been.

His eyes softened at your nerves and he chuckled through his own embarrassment that he had been struggling with. “Darling it’s okay. I am not mad at you and clearly I should have hid it away better. I know you weren’t looking for it.” He gently took baby steps to you as he noticed you were still tensing up. His hands met yours as he slowly pried it from your slightly shaky hands. In his left hand, he held the toy and in the right he was guiding you to sit down. Your back felt like it had been in flames with his hand on the mid of your back. It felt heavy with the extra weight of his bulky rings.

“Y/N, there is really no need to be upset over this. Trust me.” His hand was going up and down trying to sooth your nerves. You just groaned into your hands as you hunched over, shielding yourself from your best friend. “I know it’s just an intimate item and clearly your best friend isn’t supposed to see it. I mean it would be like you finding my vibra–”. You barely finished the sentence before you felt his hand stall. Sitting as stiff as a board you look to your left to see a wide eyed look and a shit eating grin slapped on the curly haired boy. “Oh so you have your own selection of toys I see?” “No! Ignore that comment.”

He started laughing as you stood up and snatched the fake pussy from his hands. “C’mon Y/n, you know I am just messing with you. Masturbation is completely normal and healthy and–”. “Stop it Eddie. You sound just like my mother, Jesus.” He could see you examining the fleshlight in your hand as you inspected the curves and grooves that were supposed to be the lips and clit. “Stick your fingers inside.” Your head shot straight up to meet his eyes in disbelief. “That’s gross. You’ve stuck your dick in this. I am not doing that. Plus you must forget I know what a vagina feels like. I don’t need to feel a fake one.” He snorted out a laugh at your blatant disgust as you still kept looking at it.

It was a standard one that you could get from any sex shop. A black plastic cylindrical holder with the silicone toy stuffed inside for maximum pleasure. “Yet you still seem to be intrigued by it even if my dick has been inside it.” You rolled your eyes at the cocky comment, but your cheeks betrayed in revealing the blush that it sent to your face. “I dunno. I’ve heard of them before. I just have never seen one, let alone held one.” You were going to ask your next question but hesitated. He could sense this and leaned back on his elbows looking at you. “Go ahead, ask whatever you want.”

You took a deep breath and swallowed your nerves. “What does it feel like when you use it?” His left eyebrow sort of shot up, not in disbelief or shock but just surprised that you had the balls to say it out loud. “Well, it does its job at feeling like a pussy sometimes. I use lube and obviously it feels very wet. The silicone part is pushed in there pretty tight so it feels very snug when I use it.” You slightly nodded, not sure of what answer you had been expecting. Your next question came out in a bit of a croak. “Does it feel good?” His laugh echoed through the room as he held his stomach. It was kind of cute how innocent you looked. Your eyes darted from him to the toy. “Yes–it does feel good. But it isn’t the real thing, ya know?”

You mentally scolded yourself as you were sure it felt good to him. “Do you use it a lot?” You wanted to sew your mouth shut so you could stop from the self-inflicted torture. “You are curious today dalin’. Uh, yea. To answer your question, I do use it pretty often.” The two of you sat in silence. You couldn’t help it. You wanted more answers but dare not ask the questions. That’s why Eddie was so good. He could practically hear the question in his head as he was spilling out an answer. “Y/n, to answer a question I know you have. I may use it a lot. I use it just about every time you come over to visit. Obviously I don’t use it when you’re here or when you spend the night but yea…”

You couldn’t bear to look him in his eyes. It felt like your heart could leap out of your chest at any given moment. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Eddie scoot down to the foot of the bed. He pulled your legs closer to him, making you shuffle your feet in between his legs. It always drove you crazy when he would manspread. His hands glided over yours. “Hey I’m sorry if that was too much. I don’t want to scare you off or anything. I just wanted to be open with you.” You shook your head and chuckled a bit. “I’m not upset. Just a little surprised.” “What, you don’t think I don’t see how you look at me darlin’?” You turned your head to the right so you couldn’t make eye contact. “I had hoped you wouldn’t.”

“Too late now. I guess the pussy is out of the bag.” You couldn’t help but laugh which had you looking him in the eyes as he was clearly proud of that one. Your laughter died down and your smile dropped. “Were you–were you going to use it after I left today?” This definitely took him by surprise and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed your question. His right hand came up and scratched the back of his head as he let out an almost shameful ‘yes’.

You took in his answer and immediately followed up with another question. This time all bets were off the table. “Can I use it on you?” he had no choice but to meet your eyes. “What?” “I said–.” “No, I heard what you said.” “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just figured I would save you the time later by doing it for you.” For some reason, those words went straight to his cock. He thought it was incredibly hot that you were being this bold. “Do you want to do this angel?” “I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t.” He chuckled at your sassy reply. There was his girl.

“I mean if you really want to, be my guest.” This was all you needed as you sank to your knees, maintaining eye contact. You made yourself extremely close to him as you set down the toy to his left thigh. Your hands creeped their way up to his low waist band. You could see his stomach contract and his muscles tensing as your fingers skimmed the fabric over his pelvic bone. “Don’t be a tease baby.” This led you to pay more attention to the very obvious tent that had been growing in his sweats. “So big,” you mumbled more to yourself. You had always heard the rumors but now you had your own confirmation.

“It’s all your baby. All for you.” He knew what to say and it immediately went down to your soaked bikini bottoms. Taking no time, your hands pulled down his sweats to the middle of his thighs, allowing his erection to spring up. It bobbed slightly against his stomach as he was still holding himself up. It curved slightly upward and there had been a prominent vein that ran on the underside of the shaft. It led right up to the cut red tip. Smaller dark curls littered the bottom yet they looked trimmed. The sight alone made you go feral. Admiring it like it had been a sculpture in an art museum. “Touch it sweetheart.” His words snapped you out of your daze.

Your left hand reached out to gently hold it in your hand. It was slightly heavy and had a velvet sort of touch to it. You gently squeezed his cock in your hand and he slightly hissed through his teeth. Just then a dribble of precum emerged from his slit. Without thinking your tongue captured the slightly salty mixture. He gasped at the feeling of your tongue as he hadn’t been expecting it. His right arm reached out to pet your hair and your tongue swirled around his tip. He scooped up as much hair as he could while being gentle with you. Your lips wrapped themselves around his head as your tongue started to trace over the vein. This caused him to grasp your hair harder causing a slight groan to be muffled. “Do you like that sweetheart? Like it when I pull your hair with your pretty lips wrapped around my fucking cock?”

Your eyes said it all. His head just pulled back as you went further down his shaft as your cheeks hollowed out. Painfully going slow to tease him. Paying extra attention to his head. You pulled up right as you could tell he had been enjoying it. A small ‘pop’ echoed in his room. Some more precum leaked out as it slightly fell down his member. “See what you do to me darlin’?” You laughed dryly as you reached for his toy, completely forgetting why you were in this position. Hovering over him, eyes locked, you spit on his cock.

That was an image he would engrain in his memory. His sweet girl on her knees spitting on his cock like a little whore. “Fuck baby.” He moaned at the sight and closed his eyes. He had been so hard, it was easy to gently push the fleshlight over the tip. He let out a loud gasp as he felt it glide over his head with ease. “That’s it baby, make me feel good.” His eyes were screwed shut as you brought the imitation pussy over the tip slowly. Barely pushing down and teasing the fuck out of him. For a few more moments you continued your pattern of just fucking his tip but wanted to see him more fucked out. That’s when you sunk it down completely on him. Bringing it to the base and bottoming out of the toy.

A long and strained moan escaped from his throat as his arm gave out from under him. He reached for the ragged quilt around him, trying to grasp onto something. It felt good to be the one controlling his pleasure. He had always been so cocky and confident and yet here you were fucking with cock with a toy. He lifted his head to make eye contact with you and you couldn’t help but smile slightly. Seeing that fucked out look in his eyes as they glossed over with lust. He looked beautiful like this. You brought it up and brought it down with force this time. He never knew that getting this toy in hopes of helping his thoughts of fucking you come true would lead to this.

Your torture on his cock quickened with your pace. “Does that feel good Eddie?” Your voice was so quiet, not too loud than a whisper. You were still trying to be innocent and it was driving him up the walls. “You have no idea how good it feels darlin’.” Your hand slightly squeezed the plastic holder as your pace quickened more. Your spit was mixing with his precum and it had been lubbing him up quickly, letting out an almost squelching sound. “I always imagine fucking your pussy when I pound it this–this thing.” He rushed out his confession as you continued your assault on his rock hard cock. You didn’t say anything as you just watched the fleshlight swallow his cock every time you pushed it down and pulled it up.

You couldn’t help but think this is what it would look like if you were riding him instead of using his own toy on him. “Y/n, sweetheart, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last. You just feel so fucking good.” That made your eyes meet his as you bit your lip and continued your fast movements of going up and down on his member. “Yeah? Are you going to cum thinking about how this could be my pussy instead Eddie?” His eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull at the sound of your question. “God yes. Please baby, make me cum in that tight pussy of yours.” His pleas were like hymns.

You knew it wouldn’t take too much to make him cum so quickly while you were still pumping his cock into his toy, your head darted down to his balls. Excitedly taking one into your mouth, you rolled it around while gently sucking on it. This caused his hips to fuck up into your hand at a distorted rhythm. “That’s it baby. That’s it.” He was so close and he didn’t want this to end, but he needed to cum. You continued to tongue at him as you kept pumping him when you felt his hips still and you could feel his cock twitch. “That’s it Eddie, cum.” His hips rutted up slightly as moans of your name fell from his lips. You could make out a slightly sheer coat of sweat on his forehead as he sat himself back up.

You didn’t take the toy off immediately. You slightly pumped his overstimulated cock to see how sensitive he got. He gasped and tried to move away. You lightly laughed as you carefully brought the toy up and off of him. His cum quickly followed and dripped all over his stomach and pelvis. It truly did look like he just came inside a pussy and that made something in your lower stomach churn. “That was fucking incredible.” He was slightly out of breath as he sat up fully. He reached over and took off the distressed Iron Maiden shirt. He used it to whip the cum off of him and the toy, as much as he could.

“Do you do that with all your shirts?” “That’s what you're concerned about right now?” “Well, I do wear them often so yes.” He couldn’t believe you and just laughed as he tucked himself back into his sweats. Tossing you an old Sabbath shirt, he made his way to the headboard, gesturing for you to join him. You crawled up to him and slotted yourself under his left arm. “I think we should do that more often, but maybe not with any sex toys,” you shyly said. “Yea? I would love to do that too.”

You both sat in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. You spotted something on his nightstand to the right of him. Sitting on top of an issue of Heavy Metal was the glass pipe that had gotten you into all of this. “Fuck me,” you muttered as you reached across his torso to grasp the delicate item. “Can you pack a bowl while I get some snacks?”

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x you #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things au #joseph quinn smut #smut #eddie munson x best friend

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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year

Text

Darling, You're The One I Want

Characters: Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: Remus adores his best friend, but that’s totally normal, right?

Word Count: 1999 words

Prompt: Fluff. Best friends. A fierce kiss. Falling asleep on them. Holding hands when stressed.

A/N: @the-abyss-gazed-back requested this little bit of Remus for my follower milestone celebration, and I am DEEP in a Hogwarts hole right now, and this one got away from me a little. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and if you do then please reblog!

“Remus, come on!”

Turning his head, a smile pulled at his lips as he spotted you sprinting down the hall towards him, Sirius and James right behind. It took him a moment to register that you were being pursued by at least six fifth year Slytherin students and his smile dropped as his eyes widened. It wasn’t until he felt your hand grabbing his as you passed by, that his body caught up to the situation and he found himself running by your side as your friends laughed behind him.

“Why are we running?” He asked in confusion, unsure quite how he was now part of this situation.

“Sirius.” That was all the explanation you offered, and it was all that he needed to know. Probably had something to do with Snape, but details could wait.

As you rounded a corner, he tugged you into an alcove hidden behind an intricate tapestry. Watching as you leaned back against the wall, trying to catch your breath, he couldn’t help admire the way your lips parted, a smile playing on them as you desperately attempted to stay quiet. It was moments like this he thought about how the two of you had become such close friends in the first place.

“I don’t think this stuff is working.” Peter frowned as he blew out a plume of smoke thoughtfully.

“I think it’s working just fine.” Sirius grinned, reaching over and plucking the joint from Peter’s fingers and taking another long drag. “This, my man, is the good shit.”

“You do know we will be in trouble if we’re caught here.” Peter frowned, glancing over to the side of the bridge, hoping a gargoyle wasn’t about to alert the prefects or staff to their presence.

“Yeah, it will be the location we get in trouble for, not the smoking pot.” James chuckled, taking the joint from Sirius as he leaned against the wooden frame.

“It is rather a long way down.” Remus hummed thoughtfully as he peered over the edge and immediately wished he hadn’t. Scrambling a little further back, he gave his friends a sheepish smile.

“You’re not supposed to be out here.” An unfamiliar voice stated, a hint of amusement clear in their tone, followed by a giggle as the four boys frantically looked around for the speaker.

“You gonna grass on us?” Peter asked indignantly, trying to hide his panic.

“Well, if I did that, then I’d have to admit I was out here too. Mutually assured destruction. Not sure I’m up for that tonight.” You appeared floating by the bridge having been out for a sneaky late-night flight.

“Ah, then we can be confident in your silence.” Sirius shot you a dashing smile, leaning a little further out on the side of the bridge.

“I won’t tell, if you don’t.” You returned his smile. “Goodnight, gentlemen. Don’t stay out here too long, they are due to walk the grounds in twenty minutes.” And with that you were gone.

The boys all leaned out over the side to try and catch a glimpse of where you’d disappeared to with varying degrees of curiosity.

“Who was that?” Remus asked in awe, his eyes squinting as he fought to spot you in the shadows.

“Not a clue, mate, but they’re cool. Come on, let’s finish this and get inside before we get in real trouble.”

After that encounter, Remus had spent weeks trying to track you down, catching glimpses of you in the corridors or across the gardens, but never catching up with you. He had started to feel a little like he was stalking you, but he was just so intrigued. This game of cat and mouse went on for a month, and then he literally bumped into you in the library and that had been it, you’d been best friends ever since. It was rare for one of you to be seen without the other, joined at the hip, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Well, part of him would like it another way, but he would never acknowledge that because then everything would be ruined. Like right now, you had both been reading in the common room, in front of the fire, and he had slowly felt you leaning against him more. The weight of your head against his shoulder made his heart race, and he stole glances when he was certain you had fallen asleep. Remus would happily forego sleep if it meant he could just sit and watch you breathing with that peaceful look on your face.

Carefully, he shifted position on the sofa, laying down with your head resting on his chest. He reasoned that this was a more comfortable position for you, it definitely had nothing to do with wanting to hold you close at all. As the fire crackled, Remus brushed the hair from your face, allowing his fingertips to ghost lightly over your cheek. You were the most beautiful person he had ever met, and it was such a privilege to have you this close, especially knowing what he was. You never judged, never looked at him with pity. He adored you, that was why you were his best friend.

“You can not be serious.” Remus looked at his friends with a weariness that failed to hide his amusement.

“Come on, Mooney. Or are you scared?” James grinned, knowing that you would all end up joining in on this stupidity.

“It’s going to be bloody freezing.”

“There could be rocks.” Peter’s brow furrowed slightly as he gazed down into the water.

“Only one way to find out.” Sirius took off towards the top of the ledge, letting out a whoop as he leapt. The four of you rushed to the edge and heard the ‘splash’ when he hit the water. Holding your breath, you waited for him to emerge, laughing when he finally did.

“COME ON THEN!” He yelled up as he tread water, trying not to let on how cold the lake was.

Before anyone could say anything, James sprinted past and leapt.

“Bloody hell.” Peter grumbled, knowing he would never live it down if he didn’t do it now. Taking a few steps back, he began to run before launching himself off into the air, screaming all the way down to the water.

You took up position for a run up and Remus shook his head.

“You too?” He had hoped, rather vainly, that you would be the perfect excuse for him not to jump into the Black Lake in the middle of February, but now you were going to be the only reason he would do this.

“See you down there.” You grinned before heading to the ledge.

“Shit.” He sighed, chuckling to himself when he heard the chorus of ‘Remus! Remus! Remus!’ coming from the water below. “I am going to regret this.” He mumbled before taking the leap to join his friends.

As much as Remus felt you pushed him to be braver, you also prevented him from dying of stupidity. He knew this lesson would be tense, hated knowing that the whole class was about to learn how much of a monster he truly was, even if they didn’t realise it. His body was a ball of anxiety as soon as he opened his book to the page indicated. Werewolves. He was aware of glances from Sirius and James, very aware of Peter looking anywhere but at him. Heat began to creep up his neck and he stared at the page in front of him, wondering if anyone had stared words off a page before.

The lesson seemed to last an eternity, going into detail about how monstrous these creatures were, how sly and duplicitous. The idea that such a demon could hide in plain sight until the full moon sent a ripple of murmurs through the class and Remus ground his teeth, his jaw set as he forced himself to remain calm. Nothing good would come from him losing it right now. Gripping his thigh tightly, he dug his nails in to feel something other than the total humiliation and shame of knowing this lesson was about him.

It took him a moment to realise there was a warm pressure against the back of his hand. Glancing down, a little surprised, he saw your hand resting on his own. Turning his head a little, he looked at you from the corner of his eye and frowned slightly as you seemed to be watching the Professor rather passively. Twisting his hand, he felt your palm rest in his as your fingers interlaced with his own, giving it a light squeeze, and it felt like he could breathe. That simple contact made him feel less alone, like he was redeemable in some way because if someone like you was unafraid to hold his hand then he couldn’t be all that bad, right?

Your hand remained resolutely in his throughout the rest of the lesson, and he didn’t care that Sirius spotted it and smirked while raising his eyebrow suggestively. This had been a hard lesson, and knowing you were there for him made it lighter somehow. That was when he knew he was done for. He wanted more of these moments with you, more reassurance, more feeling safe. Remus wanted all the complicated moments and all the mundane moments to be shared with you, as more than just his best friend.

The lesson finished, but Remus kept hold of your hand.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He said earnestly, knowing he had to tell you while he still had the courage to.

“Okay. We can talk.” You gave him a reassuring smile and he quickly turned and shoved everything in his bag before taking your hand again and dragging you through the castle, looking for a quiet corner where nobody would bother you.

He didn’t stop until he got to a fourth floor corridor and pulled you into a small storage room, and then all his courage seemed to dissipate, leaving him running his hands through his hair and pacing.

“Remus? Come on, you can talk to me about anything. What’s going on?” You moved a little closer, tentatively reaching out for his hand once more.

This contact made him still as he looked at your hand in his. Suddenly it was all so simple. He didn’t have the vocabulary to even begin to tell you how he felt, but perhaps he could show you.

Without a word, he cupped your cheek and moved into your personal space so quickly you didn’t have time to register what was happening until your back was pressed firmly against a wall and Remus’ lips were devouring yours in such a heated, passionate kiss it stole your breath. As you gasped, he took full advantage and deepened the kiss, leaving your head spinning. This kiss was claiming and hopeful and desperate all at once. You weren’t entirely sure how long the two of you were kissing but when he did eventually pull back, he looked wrecked, his hair disheveled, his lips swollen as he panted for breath.

“Bloody hell, Remmy.” You puffed, breathy giggles falling from you.

“I-I’m sorry.” He began to back away, but you pulled him close again.

“For what? For kissing me so thoroughly that you’ve ruined me for all other men for the rest of my life?”

“I was going to apologise for over stepping, but your reason sounds so much better.” He gave you a shy smile, not entirely sure he was reading the situation right.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to be the only person who kisses me from now on, just to prevent me being disappointed.” A smile grew on your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Darling, I would hate for you to be disappointed.” He hummed as he nuzzled your nose, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he leaned in for another kiss.

#Remus Lupin #Remus Lupin x reader #gndw fic

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bruh-anator3000 · 10 months

Text

CAT-astrophic

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A/n: *pushes rock I live under over and peeks out of the black abyss* Hey, have you guys seen a Car Wash Miguel fic anywhere? I don't know what happened to it but it's no longer here. Might've escaped... anyways, watch this cat for me while I look? Thanks. And don't mind the hot homeless dude who talks to him, they're bonding. *returns into the depths of the void*

Summary: A hot dude won't stop talking to your cat, it's kind of freaking you out.

WC: 1.7k, edited by google docs...

Pairing: Miguel x GN!Reader

Warnings: crack fic, Spider-cat's real name is Sir Jeffords bc i said so, clueless reader, pro outdoor cat (i'm not actually, keep ur cats safe pls), future-ish?, accidentally snuck in some world building, in Lyla we trust 🙏, Miguel in tight clothing bc I also said so, and wait wtf are you doing with a dead rat miguel, AND WTF IS THIS WHITE STUFF DUDE?!

Also no Spanish bc I've done some research and those who do speak it have asked non-native speaker to avoid it, to prevent bad google translations and maintain respect!

Okay, enjoy~

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You were about to head in for the night when you were not tripped by your cat for his dinner. After a quick search around your apartment, you sighed upon realizing he was still outside. Shrugging on a coat, mismatched slippers, and grabbing a flashlight, you went out to look for him.

Plenty of people told you to keep your cat inside. That it was vital to their health to keep them safe indoors. There were plenty of articles stating the cons of letting a domesticated cat roam freely outside with no supervision. They were also written 80 years ago. The world has changed since then, drastically.

Sure, it would still be smart to keep Sir Jeffords inside. Less late night searches for him, no more worrying if that scratch on his right paw was from running too fast along pavement or something worse. But he came from the life of an alley cat, and no matter what you tried, he had to be out there for a few hours a day. Last time you tried to stop him, he went under your radar for three days. You had a panic attack, worried he didn't love you anymore, but he did eventually come back. Chipper and eager, and he made sure you left his cat door unlocked.

The streets were cleaner than 80 years ago. The people were kinder. The city more accommodating to everyone, even stray animals. Sir Jeffords was mirco chipped, and even if it didn't work for tracking half the time, the shelter folks could scan his neck and drop him back home.

There were no pounds or pest controls anymore, just volunteers who helped poor animals stay warm. And find whoever left them in the streets. It was a crime to leave them now, resulting in 6 months of detention if caught dumping your animal friend into the alleys.

Jeffords was a smart cat. He knew what he was doing. You trusted him. In the event of something bad happening, you made him swore he would come find you right away. Though he couldn't speak, his tail wrapping around your pinky seemed solid enough.

You called out his name, followed by a few 'pspspsps's to really seal the deal. Your flashlight shining in the darker corners of the streets he may be hiding in. Cats and their dark, unreachable corners, Sir Jeffords fell victim to any cozy spot he could barely tuck himself into.

It wasn't until a few blocks away, a little past the bank, when you heard a meow. Very similar to his, you quietly sped your pace, wanting to grab your kitty and go home. The closer you got, it seemed more like he was responding to someone else more than you.

"-and your service is always appreciated." You heard a deep voice whisper. Their voice a grumble echoing through the alley they hid in. "You're one of our best." Your brows pinching together, you turned the corner of the bank, flashlight illuminating your fluffy orange cat. Who was rubbing up against the shin of a random man.

He looked up at you, eyes darkened as he blocked your flashlight with his large hand. They almost seemed red as he stayed squatted, Sir Jeffords head butting his knee. His face pure sharp angles, with a scowl permanently in place. His black shirt a tight, compressing fit. Clinging to each muscle and vein in his arm, stopping halfway down his bicep. His calves just as impressive. His shorts doing nothing but making him look even hotter.

Wait, no. This was a random man, he wasn't hot.

You lowered the light and gave an awkward smile. Seemingly unimpressed, his hardened gaze turned back to your cat. "He's yours?" He asked, voice rumbling low in his chest. With a nod, he added, "He's... cute."

Okay, maybe he was a little hot.

"Right?" Your smile smoothed into something more natural. "He's the cutest cat to ever exist." You lowered yourself down onto your knees with a soft baby call. Sir Jeffords trotting into your lap happily, orange fur swaying with his steps.

Your hand ran through his silky fur. Tension easing from you as you held him close again. Though his three day disappearance had yet to happen again, you still worried. He was your precious baby, after all. The one you shared everything with, and he never once judged.

Your fingers caught on something sticky, stopping short of his lower back. Pulling your hand away, strings of white followed, sticking to your fingertips. The feeling moist and far too clingy for comfort. A disgusted shiver ran up your spine at the horrible sensory.

The man stood then, tossing a tissue at you as he did. His gaze stayed on your cat, never faltering. He pushed his dark hair away from his face, still scowling.

Glancing between your hand and the man that now towered over you, you almost gagged. This wasn't... his, right?

"It was the rat." Like he read your mind, the mysterious stranger held out his other hand. A dead rat laid in his palm.

"That... doesn't make me feel much better." You suppressed another full body shake, quickly wiping your hand off. This guy may be extremely attractive to look at but the longer you stayed there, the more uncomfortable you got. "How would a mouse... And what is this?" You felt yourself getting sick as you held the tissue out, the white stuff now sticking to the paper instead

"Webs. And, it's a rat." He stated with a straight face. More angry at your confusion than anything. "Chased him through some spider webs."

You let out a soft 'oh.' But that didn't explain why he was holding onto the dead rat.

And he let it stay that way. Instead of reading your mind like he had been this entire time, he just... walked off. With a dead animal in his grasp. Without a word.

Your confused gaze turned to your cat, knees beginning to ache from the pressure of concrete beneath. Sir Jeffords purred into your stomach loudly.

"You're not allowed to hang out with that guy, ever again."

...

"Christ!" Miguel tossed the rat at the wall, hearing him curse. The small animal glitched into a grown adult, body morphing sickly. "That..." The villain panted, rubbing at his neck. Bruises from how tightly he was held already forming there. "... was not what I was expecting."

Miguel squatted back down, balancing on his toes as the hologram of regular clothes shifted back into his suit. "You chose to become a rat, in a world whose Spider-Man is a cat." He slammed down a disk, red netting encasing the fool. "That was your own fault."

"It was the only way I could get into the bank!" The villain squeaked. Miguel tuned out almost immediately, eyes turning to his watch. Setting the portal to his universe, and making sure he wasn't needed elsewhere. He entertained the villain in a tacky grey suit with distant hums and 'oh, yeah, uh-huh's. It was best to just let them get it out of their system then try to shut them up.

"And I would've gotten away with it, too! If it weren't for you and your cat!" The shape shifter writhed in the nets.

"Sound like a damn Scooby-Doo villain." Miguel stood up with a huff. He would never admit it, but Hobie used the term so often, he had to look up what he was referencing. Only to end up watching the first few seasons. He had to stop around the third season, a sick sense of deja vu hitting him with a bat. The cartoons reminded him too much of the daughter he never really had.

With a sigh, "Lyla," He called.

The AI appeared before him, wearing a shit eating smirk. He opened his mouth to command something else when she beat him to it. "You should've asked for their number."

"What?" Miguel's head snapped up, eyes wide.

"They were cute, should've asked them on a date." She glitched to his side with a teasing laugh.

"Lyla, I... no." He grumbled, flicking at his watch.

"Oh, you know?" Miguel tried to smack her away, only for her to reappear on his left shoulder. "You should go back, then."

Miguel glared at her, ignoring how the tips of his ears began to burn. "I can't, its-"

"Not a canon event." They said at the same time. Lyla rolling her eyes behind her heart-shaped glasses, Miguel focusing on creating a portal. "You're such a loser, you know that?" She huffed and puffed, spawning with her back turned to him.

He tried to reach out with a heavy breath, but she moved further away. This time sitting with her arms crossed and pouting.

"They were cute." The villain nodded from his fetal position on the ground. Earning a glare from the two. Shrinking further into himself, the shape-shifter apologized.

Miguel thrust his forearms forward, his mantis blades catching on the fabric of time. Ripping them apart with a grunt. Orange and purple twisted in front of him, and he grabbed a hold of the red netting the anomaly was in.

"Meet me back at HQ," He spoke to his AI with a nod. Foot already in the portal, he turned to cast a menacing glance at Lyla. "And do not try anything."

She held up her hands in defense, watching the portal close behind him. It wasn't like she even had to do anything - not anymore. She already slipped his multiversal number into the collar of Spider-Cat. All that needed to happen was you either found it, or it fell out. Lyla just had to wait to see which option would be canon.

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Check out my Masterlist!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel x reader #spiderman atsv #miguel o'hara fanfiction #bruh writes #spiderverse fanfic #x you

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ophelian-darling · 1 year

Note

OMG YOU WRITE FOR MONSTER NOW!? The first post i read from you was about what type of darling giorno likes and oh my lord was it amazing. The way you wrote it and the sophistication of that post matched giorno so well and the dialogue "Please stay my innocent amore forever" was just 💕❤️ (i will absolutely steal that lmao)

anyways can i ask for general headcannons for yandere johan liebert? Anything you want to write about him is perfectly fine!

Link of Giorno's post

TW: Obsession, emotional abuse, Murder threat.

enjoy ♡

The paradox of an existence is what paints Johan in a perfect light : the calm, comely curve of his lips masks all of the convulsing twistification under his pale skin. Similarly to an ocean, His comportment appears lovely to the eye, even a bit of depth under his eyes unfolds a picturesque image of a midnight chasm and a visible wisdom. However, the beauty and curiosity of exploring more discolors into a monstrosity and terror with each dive; showing an endless abyss of Nietzschean horrors. The lovely smile of his becomes a twist of depravity and never been a man so sane yet so insane all at once.

Shadows danced within his head, casting a distorted light with every move they made. It would sound unbelievable; but he really filled his imagination with paintings of you: sometimes shapeless, at other times blurry, But there was one detail that remained.

Your lips; the wonder of them. Johan never had the capacity to think of someone in a particular manner -Other than connecting directly to his demise- yet he thought of your features more than he should. Every little detail was mesmerizing in his eyes; the blood drops in your lips, the contour of them and how they form to your emotions so lively. Unlike him, you were able to taste glimmering joys and dim sorrows, savor life as it is, not drowning in some of an anarchic pit of despair and conflict; and that made him crave some of the warmth you had.

Johan is completely calm around you, His posture plays perfectly and complies to his acting, acting that role of a good man around others and a good friend of yours (although these words of friendship or romance meant nothing to him, 'friend' wasn't correct, more like a sculptor and his muse) and coffining the monster away from others- you specifically. He doesn't want his Obsession and maladive affinity to surface and scare you away- at least not yet, not in a time when you could run away from him easily.

Dreaming of being embraced and melted into you, or even having each other belong together and as one -like a Shadow and an Anima- dwelled in him so many nights. Maybe he can regain his sentiment again? experience normality or maybe… take your own name? It didn't matter how, what was important that you were his salvation from the cruelty of everything.

He has a way with words: not like a formal sparker or a reckless lover, but of a poet. Johan flows his speech as sweetly as honey and as softly as a rose petal, tugging at anyone's heartstrings with a warm feeling. When in flirtation, his words come out Cloudy; a thin string between Coquetry and Courtesy. However, When you receive that small billet-doux on your door, your heart is immediately pierced.

You've never seen someone in a romantic light (minus some short-lived fixations) and you were almost sure that no one was willing to make a move on you -at least that's what you concluded from all of your acquaintances friendly behavior- and here you were, re-reading the small note over and over again, absorbing the beautifully written words and inhaling its fragrant Aroma of flowers. you held the paper like a bundle of nerves, very gingerly and benignly. There was a tickling skip of your heartbeat; a sudden flow of feelings rushing out as the echo of the words calmed, never been so fluttered before.

"Beloved, Of Thy Smile I adore,

As Pure as a Seraph, As Beautiful as a long Dream

Of what darling Bud you've flourished? Of what Angel you've been carved?

A Memory filled with hues of a divine Beauty, a heart with a wound so sore

Draws Thee in the pale moon, Kisses Thee under the warm Gleam

Thorns Hurt yet don't pain,

Take them As the sweetest antidote

All Oblations for Thou never in Vain

For All joy and love on you I dote."

-Your Wounded Cupid, Johan.

You Are blessed. Never in a blue moon you've thought about your Capacity to lure someone else, let alone Johan Liebert himself. You'd burn the last candles of thought and wonder, only to end up with no answer: Why me of all the loveliest, savviest or highest people that he chose me? The questions would die down soon to be replaced with another blissful feeling, feeling that was alive and meant to die…

'Emotions' are just a set of false faces. He can wear and crawl under any role of a normal human effortlessly. Johan loves your smile as much as he counts your tears; creating a path to your heart by offering you the mimicry of warm affection and a color of what Love appears as. You smile back- and that's a hope for a monster like him.

What is the meaning of a family? or a loved one? He asks you silently. He can't overlook that look of joy on your face whenever you spoke to a close person of yours, and it tugs something at his soul. Was Heaven the other people? He wants to ask as well; and wanting to hold your hand and go into the unknown, solaced that you'll be with him. The more he fixes his sight on your life, the more he comes to the realization that he can be your salvation as much as you're his. there is no need for others when you have him.

The peaceful world inside your mind crumbles apart, or better to say: reforms. Johan wouldn't say that everyone around you was evil out loud, he has just to expose the wickedness of others around you, how much they used you to their benefit, or twist their words and create the worst scenarios in your head… He didn't corrupt you for his enjoyment, he was just keeping the Lily of a human in Heaven.

The Sweet fall of an Angel. He's now delighted, even more delighted. The sheer happiness you used to show faded into the clouds of despair; a crack through the rose-colored glasses broke its way through and through. Gorgeously Weak and beauteously Shattered, you're now left easy to be munched, chomped, gobbled and gulped; as to become one with him.

What affection meant to him: the absolute control and submission between two; dominion of the flesh and spirit in order to achieve the perfect union, and so he did. He's always been obsecure as Chaos, If never in a cruel way.

He was everything alluring and gruesome; a chiaroscuro painting of an Angel and a Devil, cruel to be kind, and kind to be cruel. Everytime you thought you catched a thread to pull in his persona, more tangles would unwrap. In other words, he wasn't one to be understood.

Johan Contradicts his honeyed words in cruel actions: He can simply Call you the prettiest thing as he aims a bullet at you, taking delight at the sight of your cascading tears or the sound of your incisioning sobs, at other times, He plants warm kisses on your hands and face, lacing his lips with venomous letters and twisting sayings, wanting to see the broken look on your face yet again, or maybe a pearl of a tear from your eye. He doesn't -would never- hate you, it's just that you were pretty when you cried.

You've lost all of your weapons and winning Cards from the beginning. There wasn't luck or skill enough to defeat him, and you ought to be the most knowledgeable of the reality through his eyes: there was no one in the world except of you two, no heaven or hell except when you're together, and no force that shall banish you from him.

"Suffer with me"

"I know not of a meaning except of your love"

"We belong together"

"Ich bin du, und du bist ich"

#glad you liked them ♡#when someone compliments my writing: 💓↗️💓↗️💓↗️💓↗️#feel free to quote anything i write!#yandere johan liebert #yandere johan #johan liebert #johan x reader #johan liebert x reader #monster is such a masterpiece why almost no one gives content about it???#naoki urasawa's monster #he's really hard to write sorry if it's ooc #it's the first time i write a poem lol

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factorialsotherfandoms · 4 months

Text

*siiiiiigh*

Look I promise today's prompt was going to be cute, I swear to high hell it was. And no, this isn't going to be anything like canon, and yes, I don't care fix is for silly ideas and aus and dreaming.

So anyway today, instead of nosebleed, I'm writing alt prompt: begging. Spoilers for 22/12/23 streams~

TW: temporary major character death, possession, grief, suicidal thinking as a result of said grief, self harm

(Read all the way to the end for a happy ending still)

"Please!" Philza screams. "Please, give him back!"

The others at Spawn look nervously between them. Their weapons are still raised, their tempers sharp, unable to quite process that whatever is controlling Forever will not use his totems.

Philza pays them no Mind, gives no quarter to their words. Ugly sobs tear through his voice, tears dropping onto the moss and cobble that makes up Spawn. He cradles Forever's head in his lap, shields him with his body even as he runs fingers through white hair and begs a miracle from the sky.

Forever - the parasite within Forever - laughs, his whole body shaking as black blood spills from his lips and from the gaping wound in his chest.

"How quaint," the monster laughs. "Even now you still can't accept what's been done."

"Fuck off!" Philza turns down to look at the monster corrupting his dear friend's skin, snarling even as tears continue to pour. "Fuck the fuck off and give me my fucking friend back!"

"Ah but little bird," Forever's chest strains in a cough and corrupted blood splatters over Philza's cheeks. "Can't you see he's already dead?"

Philza leans further down, pulling his hands from white hair to press against the wound. There's only more gasping, cackling laughter as he bows his head and let's a few sobs pass. "No, no..."

"Let him go, Phil," a gentle hand hovers near his shoulder. "He might respawn yet - just let him go."

If Forever wasn't allowed to use a totem, Philza doubts he'll be allowed to respawn; he slaps the hand away and turns his eyes back to the heavens.

"Rose!" He screams. "Rose! Help me! Please!"

She's only promised to aid him and his children, though - Philza knows this, knows that so far across the worlds she must be weak.

"Please," he sobs again, quieter now. "Please, I can't loose him... I can't..."

The tears are no longer sobs, now just silent torrents dripping from his face. The hand comes back, resting on his shoulder as he cradles Forever's possessed, dying form, and rocks himself.

Someone strokes Philza's wings, and he almost - almost relaxes. But then there's hands on Forever- hands trying to pull him away - and he screams again; he throws himself forwards, clawing at whatever would try steal his friend.

The monster in Forever's skin laughs, but laughs as though it can no longer breathe.

"She'll help!" He begs the people around him to understand. "She- She promised... She'll help..."

Because no matter what, if he loses Forever, Philza doesn't think there'll be anything left of himself for Rose to save.

---leave off here for ambigious ending. Continue for things getting worse, and then better---

The laughter beneath Philza's chest ceases, Forever's corrupted body falling still. The form that had been taunting him goes slack, tension against pain falling limp.

Philza is intimately familiar with what that means.

Philza knows death in all its forms.

Philza turns to the heavens, and screams.

It is not the screams of before, not a begging, not a plea, not a blind hope within the world. It is a scream born of anguish, of a splintering mind, of something once great and terrible carved open and laid bare. The abyss yawns before him, the void open and wide. Once he'd skim its surface, dancing and laughing and free - now he seeks only it's embrace, the oblivion which it promises as a final, lonely embrace.

The spectators turn away, or watch, Philza doesn't know - he just screams and screams and screams, helpless to what is happening, helpless against the shattering of an already fractured mind. He thinks he might see Rose's frowning in the grass around his knees - too late, too late, too late, and he would curse them if he had the throat left to form words at all.

But he doesn't, and so he screams.

The darkness fades from Forever's body only now, only too late. It trickles into the earth, corrupting instead the concrete beneath Forever.

The moss beneath the pair of them remains pristine.

Someone tries to pull Philza away - he hears Etoiles say something about an explosion - but he refuses. He refuses, he refuses, you will carve him from Forever or you will not seperate them at all. Bury him in the grave beside his confident, burn him on the pyre with his friend, leave their bodies entangled and deep and dark their remains.

Tubbo and Fit will look after his children - they don't need a broken husk for a father, after all.

He bends all the way down, now, pressing his face to Forever's chest. The blood there is red, red, red - still trickling from his back, but only as gravity pulls it away. Philza pays it no heed as he presses himself as close as he can.

Distantly he is aware of people being shepherded away, of whispers around him - it's a curse, it's a curse that even now his mind notices the movements, the threats, keeps plotting to keep him alive.

He doesn't want to live, not in a world without the sun.

He doesn't want to live, but his chest keeps on heaving anyway.

He doesn't want to live, but suspects he might be forced to anyway; hands peel him from Forever and force him against a solid chest, and this time he is powerless to stop them.

They let him keep Forever in his lap, at least, now cropped blonde hair bloody and draped across his thighs. His own black hair is stroked, and what can he do but continue his sobbing against Fit's chest as the world caves in?

The world remains suspended in time, a frozen mess only beating by Philza's sobs and tears. It drags and it shifts, and he is too far gone to recognise the vines which reach up, entwining around his limbs.

It's only when he hears the waystone that he looks up.

Blue eyes meet brown, and Philza throws himself at Forever.

Even after a respawn fuck only knows where Forever is weak, so weak. They both tumble to the floor, Philza's quick twist putting himself below the only thing saving Forever's head from the grown.

"You bastard!" His throat is too raw to scream, his sobbing back with full force and distorting everything he says. "You fucking dumbass! You- You- You fucking idiot why did you tell me you were okay?!"

"Hi Philza," Forever's words are rote and his smile is confused.

There's footsteps, heavy footsteps, and a potato canon pointed at the pair.

Philza twists again, shoving Forever behind himself, protecting him come what may.

"Sorry, Forever, but just need to check. Clothes off, and we need to see you bleed."

"Fit!" Forever struggles the full laughter or fake scandal, seemingly too weak to do more than lean against Philza's back. "I didn't know you were into that!"

Philza hates the option, he hates it so much, but Fit's right, Fit's absolutely right - they need to know.

"It's okay," Philza keeps his body between his friends, tears still quietly pouring as he cups Forever's cheek again. "I'll help you."

The "and all I needed to do was die" isn't nearly as obnoxious as either of them want it to be.

Gently Philza helps Forever strip. It's cold, and he shivers, and there's ugly burns on one shoulder and and ugly death-scar on his chest, but not a hint of the black infection from before.

The buttons on Forever's clothes are too complicated to easily redress him. Philza slips off his haori, and wraps it gently around him. Tucks the belt in an approximation of tied, and pulls Forever properly into his arms.

"Blood too," Fit says. "I'm sorry, but..."

"No, no, I understand," Forever whispers, even as Philza hisses.

He scrapes his hand through filthy gravel, tearing the skin in an absolute mess; Forever bleeds red, and Philza grabs his hand, already pouring a splash potion on it and picking out the gravel.

He can do this, he can do this, even if it's all he can do.

Behind them, Fit takes photos, a d relaxes.

"I'll let the others know," he promises. "Why don't you two get somewhere warm, eh?"

"I don't-" Forever begins.

"Let me show you somewhere special," Philza says. "I think you'll like it."

Even in the depths of hating himself for things he cannot help, Forever has never been able to say no to that.

The children are asleep in Rose's Garden. Philza won't wake them now, and especially not with Forever in tow. Now yet - reintroductions... they'll get there, they'll get there, just not today.

But the children are in Rose's Garden, and so the nest is free.

It's a little exposed, but the hay is warm and the blankets and pillows and clothes that make it up... And it's so far away from anywhere, so far from anyone who might panic and hurt Forever before there's been time to spread the news.

It's also home.

Philza will have to put Forever back on the bunker's allow lists, but in his heart he knows Forever will always be welcome in his home.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp Philza #qsmp Forever #qsmp sugarduo #Okay so for those wondering...#In this verse respawning is a choice #And one which must be made between fatal injury and actual death #Because @v@ is in control for that entire time period Forever should be unable to respawn #After which it has no use for a corpse everyone knows is dead and so slinks off damage done #Rose however did catch Philza's screams #She isn't powerful enough to kick @v@ out of Forever #But she could catch him as he died #She basically made the choice to respawn for him but had to wait until she was completely sure @v@ had fucked off before letting it happen #The vines around Philza are her trying to get his attention and get him to calm down #It doesn't go so well #Rose is not a death god but she /is/ a life god and so she can do a little respawn schenanigans. As a treat. For me.

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thedepthsoffandomminds · 2 months

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Maze Runner chapter seventeen

Previous chapter

Masterlist

Jorge and Brenda led you to two zip wires and started sending you all down. He had a large crate that he normally would use for supplies that he told you to put Mai Mai in. You watch as Newt takes his turn. Brenda says something to Thomas and she runs off.

“Y/n go! I'll be right behind you.” He says before following Brenda. Unsure what you should do, you turn to Mai Mai and close the crate.

“Look after Newt and the boys.” You said before pushing the crate off the ledge. You turn on your heel and dart after Thomas and Brenda. She is scrambling through her room, pulling draws out and rummaging through the papers on the desk. A small silver box caught her and she grabbed it, holding it above her head.

“Got it!” She cried. A soldier appeared in the doorway.

“Run!” Thomas shouted pulling you along with him.

“This way!” Brenda climbs over a short walk onto a thin beam.

“What the hell?” You say.

“We don't have much time!” She shouts at you both. Thomas helped you over and you started stepping carefully onwards, he followed you.

A guard started shooting at you and you stumbled almost falling but Brenda was able to grab your hand at the last moment and pull you over to her.

“Stop there!” A soldier shouts.

“Brenda, where are we going?” Thomas calls to her.

“Come on the song is almost over.”

Thomas took a few more steps toward you when you heard the music stop and several small explosions began going off. Thomas trips with the force of the fire behind him and falls into you. Brenda helps you to pull him over the side and you start running again. God did you want to be somewhere running wasn't needed.

Brenda leads you to an elevator shaft and without thinking you all leap in and grab the thick metal ropes, sliding down. It burns your hands slightly. The building has one final explosion and it tumbles to the ground sending rubble down the shaft. You manage to fall out just in time. There was no time to think about what happened to the soldiers.

Brenda grabs a light from her coat and shines it around.

“No, no how are we going to get back to the others?” Thomas feels panic starting to grow inside him.

“Relax, I'm going to get us out of here.” Brenda explains.

“Why are you helping us?” You stand up from the dust ground.

“Trust me, it's not my idea. Jorge seems to think you guys are our ticket to the safe haven.” She says moving over to grelate on the floor.

“The what?” Your male companion asks.

“You know, paradise. Safe from the sun, free of infection. Supposedly, the Right Arm's been taking kids there for years. Immunes, anyway.” She continues.

“And you know where that is?” You step a little closer to Thomas.

“No. But Jorge knows a guy. Marcus. He used to smuggle kids up into the mountains. If Jorge made it out, that's where he'll be taking your friends.”

“If he made it out?” Thomas's mouth ran dry.

“You two ask a lot of questions. Can you just come over here and help me with this? Please.” She gestures to the grait and you both rush over to help her pulling it up and dropping back against the floor. You all look down into the dark abyss. There is a screeching in the distance.

“Well, that doesn't sound good.” Thomas remarked

“Yeah. Down here they'll be full term.”

“Excellent, sounds like a party.” You say and jump down into the tunnel. Brenda follows, then Thomas. It's dark and there is gravity all over the walls. Brenda leads you through them, explaining about the people who lived down there and how Jorge is as close to a father as he could be until you come upon a split in the paths

“Damn” she sighed

Thomas started walking down the right tunnel and you follow him seeing what looks like an opening not too far away

“Brenda? Brenda?” She was no longer behind you but standing around the corner her light trained on the wall.

“Loom at this.” She says. You both follow her eyeline at the red vines that were growing over the walls. They were damp, or sticky, you didn't want to touch them and find out. You can see bodies wrapped up in the overgrowing plant. A rat jumps from a smaller tunnel and runs over to Brenda's foot. She kicks it away and it squeaks a few times before running further into the tunnel. Just as you think it's safe to go, a hand flies out of the vines and grabs the rat. It bites the rats head off noisily, waking more and more.of the creatures.

“Time to go!” Thomas shouts and you all start running, the creatures following close behind. You get to the outside and feel the heat of the sun on you once more, but there is little time to be grateful. You slide to a stop on the edge of an extremely high drop.

“Shit “ you breathe out.

“Come on this way!” Brenda grabs at Thomas as she starts climbing the rocky wall. Thomas waited for you to go first before he followed. It's a hard climb but with the cranks climbing behind you there was no way to stop. Parts of the building loosen and fall asleep you climb. Up and up you go the three of you trying to climb the upside down staircase.

Brenda reaches up, grabbing a metal pole to pull herself up but it breaks and she falls through the door. She lands on a window, the glass below her starts to crack as she tries to stand.

“Brenda! Y/n stay here.” He tells you and he slides down the wall grabbing what may have once been a pillar.

Looking around yourself you remember the rope in your bag. With cranks still hot on your heels you push yourself into the room and crouch to one side. You pull the rope from your bag as a crank comes tumbling in. It fights against Brenda and Thomas drops down, planting his feet on the metal beams around the window. Brenda reaches for him and Thomas breaks the glass. Brenda and the crank fall through but he holds her tight.

Having tied the rope to the metal poles in part of the exposed wall you dropped it down to them.

“Here grab this!” You call down to them. Thomas gives the rope to Brenda and then pulls her up to him. Once she is stable on the metal beams he tied it around her waist and she's able to swing over to a more stable part of the building. She then throws it back to Thomas who copies her. Once on the other side he tied it off and you slide down. Thomas grabs you and pulls you into him. You flinch a little when his hand grazes your hurt arm.

“Thank you.” Brenda breathes out to you both.

“Yeah, no problem.” You nod and step around them.

At last you reach quieter places and Brenda drops to the ground pulling her trousers leg up.

“Brenda.” Thomas breathes out, seeing the deep cuts and teeth marks.

“yeah, yeah I know.” She wraps it up with a cloths and gets up, “let's just go find Marcus.”

The two of them start walking but you're rooted to the spot. Her wound already looked dark, the skin blackening as Winston's had, but yours hadn't. I'm fact the last time.you checked it had begun scabbing over nicely.

“Hey y/n come on.” Thomas called you and you ran to catch up with them.

The city was crowded, at least this part of.it was. People were scattered around the streets in various states of poverty. Brenda leads you through them to a large white building that had red banners hanging on the walls.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Thomas asked Brenda.

“Are you here for the party?” A blonde woman appeared behind you making you jump.

“We're looking for Marcus, this is the place isn't it?” Brenda asked.

“This is my place.” a man in a ragged burgundy suit jacket says, taking a shot from the small bar.

“At eyou Marcus?” Thomas guides you closer to him.

“Marcus doesn't live here anymore.” The man fiddled with the oversized rings on his fingers as he spoke.

“Look, has anyone else been here, looking for him? A groups of kids around our age, they had a girl with them with brown hair and a tiger.”

“A tiger? My goodness the man laughed, and he pulled a crystal cut bottle from his jacket. “you know I think they might be inside. here, drink this.” He holds it out to us.

“What is it?” Thomas asks.

“The price of admition.” He grins at you all. Brenda snatches the bottle and takes a large swing. Nervously Thomas copies her and hands you the bottle with a shrug. You sip it and feel the green liquid burn down your throat.

“Alright, enjoy the party.” The man pushes you all inside.

The music is instantly too loud and the crowd jostles you. Your eyes begin to blur and see things that aren't there. Winston standing in front of you, the black goo dripping from his mouth. Then you see Alby, Chuck, Gally, Jeff, Ben, everyone you had lost along the way, all of them turned into a crank. Spinning round to look away from them and instead see Brenda kissing Thomas. He pushes her back gently.

“You aren't her.” He whispers.

Someone knocks into you, there is laughter and you drop to the floor. You hear a growl and a blurred body rushes to you, calling your name.

“Y/n?”

Next chapter

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @afalls14universe @akilaporu001

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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 2 years

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They don’t care about you.

Quick summary: She gets the call, and she’s back to work. The reader faces a crisis of morality on her first job back.

Word count: 17.8K (quite tame)

Warnings: Depictions of violence and injury; themes of assassination (yes, we are the assassin here); the IMF being manipulative and disgusting; lots of longing with Ethan that will be frustrating for you; some allusions to smut 😩😩; lots of swearing, but you know that’s a given by now 🫶.

A/N: Yayyyy, another chapter. You think this is gonna be a happier one? Think again. Yes, they do fuck a little, but I’m greatly sorry for the angst I am going to put them through. Side note: I am fucking beyond excited for autumn, oh, my God. Time to binge Gilmore Girls WOO!!

Chapters: Part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten.

***

We would have a place in some other country – not the US. Some other country, where the predominant language isn’t English and where no-one we know or care about lives. When I imagine it, of course, there are things that I want – I let myself imagine the things that I want. Hardwood floors. Photographs of us. A mid-century modern feel to the interior decoration. Stuff I want. But honestly, I don’t really care about any of it. I’d probably be happy living in a dumpster with him. As long as—the dumpster was—away from everything.

It’s a midnight thought. Not spoken out loud—ever. Definitely not communicated to him. It’s just for myself to have at midnight, sometimes just to entertain myself, sometimes to calm myself down, but mostly just to get myself to sleep. It’s nice. I used to do it when I was a kid: replay a good memory over and over, one perfect one, until I fell into a black sleep. Useful technique. A little bit slow, but useful for good dreams. The only part I can never get rid of is all of the—logistics.

It’s midnight, vaguely, and I think of our place that’s not in the US, with hardwood floors and pictures of us and a mid-century modern feel to the interior decoration. But then I realise that our place is quite small, because, even between us, we don’t have enough money to get anything bigger than a two bedroom. Which is enough, technically. Or would be. I imagine. We’re both able to compartmentalise our entire personal lives into a small square. But the entire point of our place is that we don’t have to do that – our personal lives will be ours. I don’t know what Ethan wants, but I’d like a cat. I miss my cat. He seems like a dog person, but I know he’s good with animals in general. Green flag. I don’t know what Ethan wants, but I want a garden, a place to plant flowers and trim hedges and do all these mundane things that I always watched retired people do in movies. I have so many things I’ve wanted to try, to do, that I didn’t. I used to like crosswords. I used to like running. I used to like drawing. Now, it seems like the only thing I have time to like is work. And I can’t even like that properly anymore.

The place is small, and it also has a stash, weapons and passports and money. Even when speculating, my mind considers logistics. IMF field agents don’t have a long life expectancy. Excusing survival rates, nobody retires at a normal age anyway. It’s either early, or they work themselves old. I have a feeling which one Ethan is. I don’t know which one I am anymore. Nobody retires at the normal age. If we got out, we wouldn’t be really out. Both specialists. With Ethan’s reputation, he’d certainly be called back at some point. He’d be worked till he dropped dead. In a way, I’m luckier than him. If he didn’t die, we’d live in a constant state of paralysis, like living on a thin sheet of ice balancing on the surface of a dark, horrible abyss below. We’ve been in plenty of abysses together before, but I wouldn’t want to be in anymore. We’d live in paralysis, anticipating, and we’d have a stash. A planned route of escape. Ready to go. Probably new identities, new lives. Even if IMF field agents survive and manage to retire, someone usually comes for them. Could be from the agency, could be a past wrongdoing. Actually, I don’t think it’s humane to call people wrongdoings.

But when have I ever stopped to think about what was humane? Never when it mattered.

Horrible—how quickly I latch onto things. The IMF, I guess, is one of them. Benji, Almada. My cat. Books, now. Jo. A cluster of rings I bought at a flea market a few months ago and now wear religiously, even when I’m not going out anywhere. And Ethan. I hate how readily I’m letting myself accept that he’s the centre of my thoughts these days. It makes me feel a lot of things. Ashamed, embarrassed. A lot of bad things, which isn’t to say it’s his fault, because it’s not. He’s always thinking things are his fault when they’re just not. Between us, things are usually my fault. I push him away, I snap at him, I use him, I purposefully don’t call him, I purposefully ignore him. Usually my fault. He always tries to fix things, which is infuriating. Shameful and embarrassing to see him do. He tries to string me back together even though he’s barely hanging on himself. I have no idea if I have the same effect on him as I do. When I touch his shoulder or squeeze his hand, does he feel good? Does he know that I want to help him? I’m not sure how to show him.

It’s midnight, and it’s been several midnights since I’ve last seen him. I recently got a nightlight so that I wouldn’t have to lie in complete darkness – it’s Scooby Doo. Literally. Scooby Doo glows at the foot of my bed, his blue collar shining all over the wall.

I don’t know what’s happening to him. It’s a horrible feeling, because he contractually cannot tell me anything about it, and I will never force him to, and it’s horrible. Like a weight pressing constantly down on my chest, crushing my lungs. If I think about it too hard, think about all the ways I’ve killed people that could kill him, it turns to a stabbing pain, right along my sternum. Stabbing. A knife twisting deeper and carving flesh and bone with it. Not phantom pain, because I’ve never been injured there before. If I had been, I’d be dead. Could be heartburn—if heartburn is related to pining dreadfully for someone who is far too ready to bargain their own life for something futile.

Also, I don’t sleep much. Could be heartburn.

I don’t even know where he is. I know he’s abroad, but I don’t know where. It’s—horrible. A month-long mission probably means he’s bringing a team along with him. Benji’s there, if I had to guess. Almada—well, I don’t know what’s happening with Almada. I could’ve been with Ethan if I agreed to be with him when he asked me when we got back from six months of running. Would I like it? No – seeing him throw himself across buildings is not something that’s beneficial for my nerves.

Anyway. My quality as a field agent is decreasing – I probably wouldn’t be classed as fit to work with him. My eyesight is deteriorating. My psych, nine times out of ten, would come back shaky. Endurance training isn’t something I’ve been compelled to do over the past year, so I’ll be behind. I can trust my reflexes, though. Aside from panic attacks and the occasional tremors and spasms that take over my hands, I can control what my body does and when, and sometimes it knows before I do. If I was called in today to pass a physical, I could probably do it out of memory. Out of necessity.

It’s not something I enjoy: sitting around in this one city like I’m supposed to be out—but I know that, any second, I’ll be back. Even if I’m never called back, Ethan’s already gone. Benji’s gone. Almada’s gone. They’re all back. The people I care about are back there, and I’m stuck behind to worry about them constantly. It’s not something I enjoy.

I’d go back in an instant. If I was asked now, I would go back just like that. When Ethan came to me and told me he’d accepted, I struggled to get my head around it. For him, it’s been twenty-so years of working himself to the bone—literally, sometimes—and being cast aside and marginalised and painted as expendable and all these terrible, unjust things. And he accepted right there, right then in that phone booth. Didn’t understand it. As much as I hate to admit, I do now. When it comes to myself, I can always make the harder decision, the wrong decision. It’s a million times easier to hurt myself than to let Ethan hurt himself.

The IMF provides—security. Not physically, because, no matter how many countermeasures and mitigation efforts are implemented, agents still die even when they’re off jobs. Emotional security. It’s a secret language that only we speak. It’s access to a world that nobody else understands. In the beginning, it makes you feel special. In the middle, it makes you feel gravely important. I think I’m well past the gravely important stage – I am replaceable, and it’s a hard truth everybody has to come to terms with in this business. I’m not twitching for grave importance now. Not anymore. This is more of a quiet desperation. A need. I don’t know why my hands crave to hold a gun in a mission setting. I don’t know why I want to feel the rippling sensation down my body when I lay a good punch against an enemy. Security, maybe. Security in the sense that it’s familiar.

I’d go back, accept, no questions asked.

***

“He’s back in the field,” I state simply. Even at the mention of his name, I have to bring it up. I can’t talk to Jo about it, and Brandt’s not exactly a friend, but he’s the next best thing.

“Yes,” he replies, equally as plain. “Why are you asking about it?”

I fight the urge to scoff, roll my eyes, curl my lip. “I didn’t ask about it. I stated something. I stated a statement. Acknowledgement.”

“So, you don’t want me to tell you how he’s doing.” I’ve only met the smug bastard twice, but I can just tell he’s doing that flat thing with his face, raising his eyebrow condescendingly and everything, dripping with sarcasm. Prick. Brandt knows exactly how much I care about him, somehow.

My mind instantly arrives at the memory of Ethan’s body tangled with mine, in my bed, in my apartment, and I heat up furiously. I still remember what he smells like. I still remember the way something shifted in him when we were together like that. We’re close in a way that I don’t know how to define anymore. Nothing simple—reaches what it feels like. I am not going to attempt to reach a description for Brandt if that’s what he’s looking for.

It’s like he can sense my panic through the phone. “You don’t have to tell me about your relationship with him – I know he cares about you; I know you care about him.”

I don’t say anything to that.

Brandt sighs. “He’s perfectly fine, intact, no lost limbs, no fatal injuries. No death-defying stunts—that I know about. I can’t tell you what he’s doing. You happy with that?”

“Who’s with him?”

“Luther and Benji.”

Luther and Benji. Could have guessed as much, but it’s nice to have a confirmation. They’ll take care of him as best as they can, but Ethan always seems to ignore people’s efforts for him and does stupid shit anyway as an effort for them instead. He’s such a pain in the ass. It’s probably a good thing I never took his offer to be a part of his team. I’d probably have to watch him get killed over one of us.

I clear my throat. “How’s Almada?”

“Good.”

“He’s working?”

“Yes.”

Exasperation tears through my body like a wildfire. “Brandt,” I say sharply, “stop giving me these one-word answers. I don’t want it clipped down. I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t give you what you want, kid,” he shoots back, just as pointed. “Word of advice: don’t want anything, don’t get disappointed.” I quietly seethe. “Glad to hear you’re alright.”

The call ends.

***

Jo is unwaveringly dedicated to her family. I don’t see why. She seems to think that her blood tie to them is an obligation. She never speaks ill of them, never complains about what she does for them, is always humble about her efforts. It’s like she disappears into a spiral whenever they’re brought up, and I watch her eyes glaze over as she rambled about how her mother is very dedicated and loving but just can’t afford to talk to her much because she’s such a tentative nurse to her father.

“You know, she used to be a receptionist before. She used to work at the school me and all my siblings attended, and we used to see her when we got in trouble or needed to sign out. Stuff like that.” I observe the way her lips quirk up in a reminiscent smile. She seems to be doing better, now, thankfully. I spend a ridiculous amount worrying over her. She’s stupid in the way Ethan’s stupid, except she’s entirely more acute with it than he is. Jo is so—conditional. I’ll tell you if. I’ll come with you if. I’ll accept help from you if. I have a feeling the only “if” that’s keeping her around me is that I let her talk to me about her family, about herself. She came here to the museum with me today—not because she really enjoys my company, but because she enjoys how I listen. I don’t mind. I don’t think she’s had anyone listen to her in a while. I let her talk. “I used to ignore her when she tried to talk to me about home stuff at school. Everyone knew she was my mother, but I was still embarrassed to speak with her. When I got home, though, I’d speak with her for hours.”

My eyes drift away from her and to the painting in the corner of this room where Ethan found me again. The girl and the boy with the flowing cloth and the wall of honeysuckle.

Jo notices. “What are you thinking about?” Her voice, even though it’s lowered, echoes lightly through the expansive room.

“Nothing.” The answer is instinctive. Unless I’m required to think of one, I don’t bother. Usually, people get the idea from the finality in my voice. But Jo doesn’t settle for final. She’s frustrating like Ethan in that aspect. So, when I catch her glaring sceptically at the side of my head, I think of him again. Twitchingly, disgustingly insistent. Twitchingly, disgustingly compassionate.

“What are you thinking about?”

I look over again to the painting. “I think I’m gonna go back to work soon.”

Jo furrows her brow and recoils a little. “You haven’t been working? I thought you came here to work.”

Every time the subject of work gets brought up with her, I run from it. One-word answers. How’s work? Good. What do you do? Sales. What do you do in sales? Sell stuff. Okay, maybe two-word answers from time to time. I tell her, “I did.” There you go: two words.

Jo’s mouth hardens. “Would a croissant make you tell me?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s a no, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She must think I’m excruciating. I can feel the irritation radiating off of her. To think I thought she was a soft, sweet girl with no faults at first. I suppose she is: soft and sweet. Then the layers fold back to something rougher and older that she doesn’t like to show people. But once it’s out, it’s out. She doesn’t try to mask her expressions with a charming smile and warm eyes. Jo is charming and warm when she is, not before and not after, only in the moment. I’ve seen a low point of hers, and she recognises that there’s no point trying to cover it anymore. She doesn’t mask it. The irritation shows on her face—clearly.

Jo tilts her chin ever so slightly upwards. “Ethan’s working, isn’t he?”

Alarm sparks up like flint and flame. I start walking towards the painting, my boots clicking neatly against the floor. I used to hate it when boots clicked. Now, it’s soothing. Like a metronome, to keep time, to keep pace. Jo drifts close behind.

“Yeah,” I mumble, anger already biting at my gut. I always want to talk about him. It’s getting annoying. “Real estate and—stuff.”

Real estate. That’s what he told Jo.

“Is that why you want to go back to work?”

My hands start to shake a little – I stick them deep into my trouser pockets and grasp at the fabric there. “Not want, necessarily.” The painting towers above the two of us. The pearl at the base of my throat suddenly grows heavy, constricting my breath, narrowing it all. “When they call me, I’ll go.”

***

Tension eases its grip on my muscles like it’s finally as tired as I am. My body melts into the contours of my armchair at the drawl of his voice. He’s exhausted – I can tell. His voice, it scrapes along his throat like it’s raw, and his words slow from time to time, until he takes a break at my prompt and lets us sit in quiet for a few seconds. “You don’t know how much I miss you,” he tells me, soft, delicate. My spine quivers all the way up.

“You sound tired,” I state.

“So do you.”

I’d rest better if I could see him. “What time is it where you are?”

He hesitates. Jesus. I knew this mission was under wraps, but how many “wraps” are really wrapped around it? After a few moments, he replies, “It’s early.”

“You suck.”

“Of course.”

I feel like crying, suddenly. There are no tears in my eyes, and I don’t feel short of breath, but there’s a hollowness in my chest. “You should sleep.” All those sleepless nights together in precarious, potentially unsafe safe houses – I know how he is. Borderline insomniac. He won’t sleep, but I try to tell him he should. Useless, but perhaps he’ll understand how much I want him to take care of himself. Hell, what am I doing? Ethan’s perfectly capable of reading in between the lines, and he chooses to ignore things on purpose. He's clever. He ignores the need to take care of himself on purpose. I tell him outright: “I need you to take care of yourself, Ethan. Actually, properly take care of yourself.”

There’s a laugh in his words as he tells me, “I’m doing just fine, sweetheart.”

“Please don’t call me sweetheart when I’m saying this to you.” I slip my forefinger’s nail under the one of my thumb and dig down into the sensitive skin there.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

He’s quieter – it hurts to hear him retract like that.

“You don’t have to apologise,” I rush quickly – whatever I do, I’m not going to make him fucking sad anymore because that’s just—not nice. I feel like I’ve made him sad—a lot in the time that I’ve known him. Angry, frustrated. Sometimes, I feel like—the bad outweighs the good. I don’t want there to be any more bad. Determined, I cross my legs up onto the armchair and tuck myself close, leaning in towards the yellow light of the table lamp that illuminates the entire apartment. Determine, I push my glasses up my nose. Determined, I say firmly to him, urgent, “I need you to take care of yourself. Eat regularly, shower, sleep, all that stuff. Come back in one piece.” Short, to the point – that’s all I can manage. Nothing elaborate like my midnight thoughts.

I can hear his smile even through the phone. “I will.”

Okay. The smile seems less endearing than it does amused. He’s amused at me telling him to put himself first for once. Doesn’t even have to be first – just not last. “Ethan,” I say sternly.

He echoes my own name back to me with that similar serious quality.

Hot with aggravation, I twist the thick, gold ring on my right forefinger. I dug it up from underneath my mattress when I was cleaning this morning, a little trinket to remember my wintertime depression.

I push: “I want you to come back in one piece.”

“I will,” he repeats, but he’s still got that awful hitch to his voice like he’s internally laughing at my words. My words are a plea. Me begging. I just—refuse to sound pathetic when I’m begging right now. If I were to start crying and pleading with him and pleading with him, he wouldn’t be internally laughing then, would he? Just because I’m not going to that degree—crying, that is—it doesn’t mean I care any less. I just have a better sort of idea where to channel it, is all. But for once, he hasn’t got it all figured out – only halfway. “Why don’t you believe me?” he asks.

There’s no genuine curiosity to back his question – it’s more accusatory than anything. Why is he accusing me? “Dick,” I grumble lowly, wishing I could just punch his arm right about now.

He snorts, then replies in a saccharine voice: “Honey.”

I can’t help it – I smile. I smile, and that smile blossoms slowly into a grin. I stop fidgeting with my ring and raise a hand to cover my face, even though there’s no-one around to see me beaming like an idiot.

He called me honey.

Twisted bedsheets and his breath on my skin – it rushes through my mind like a wildfire. I know he’s thinking about it, too. I shift in my chair, trying to remove the pressure between my legs before it starts to affect my voice, the way I’m talking to him. We haven’t spoken about it. There’s just an understanding that—it happened. That I know what his fingers feel like on my skin, that I know how his eyes rolled back just slightly when he pushed into me. That he knows what it’s like to kiss me, that he knows what I look like on my knees for him. An understanding. It felt necessary in the moment. Now, it just—makes me crave him again, in a selfish way.

I ask him, “You care about me, right?” before sense can tap back into my mind. My heel presses right where I want his hand to be. I rock slightly into it at the sound of his voice.

“I care about you.”

He’s lovely. “Then take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Ethan promises, and I believe him this time. “And you? You care about me?”

More than anything. “I care about you.”

***

It happens.

I get the call.

It doesn’t happen under the same—I don’t know, extent?—it doesn’t happen under the same extent that Ethan’s return did. There’s no elaborate trail of phones ringing behind me as I walk down the street unassuming until I take the time to walk into the phone booth and see what the fuck is going on. No, there’s nothing like that. My call is simple. My call is Brandt.

“I need you back in the States as soon as possible,” he tells me unceremoniously, the stingy, little bastard.

Even at the mention of it, of America, makes my shoulders clench and tighten up instantly. After a second of collecting myself up again, processing his words, I ask, “Why?” because, even after all this thought of, yes, I would go back to work in a heartbeat, I’m not so sure about going back to the States yet. I just—wouldn’t trust it. Not after being shoved aside like that.

“Brassel wants you back in the field. Important job. I’m your handler, now.”

Alright, now I properly freeze. Handler. Brandt is my handler. I—don’t want another handler. My last handler cared jackshite about me, and it was—horrible. Knowing that even if I survived a dangerous mission, all I would come home to is an indifferent face, someone who was entirely preoccupied with other matters, whether it be his coffee or the fact that Rihanna needs to release another album. When I did things right—fine, that’s what you’re supposed to do anyway. When I did things wrong—fuck off, you’re useless, how am I supposed to work with this? And Brandt’s been nothing but nice—and fairly assholish (on occasion)—to me. Handler. Handlers aren’t all that nice. I don’t want to have known him like this and then slowly see how he transitions into something else. Every frustration I cause him, every disappointment, could make him different. And then he won’t want to look out for me anymore.

I swallow all my fears down, attempting to subtly cure my rapidly drying mouth and throat, and ask him with as much of my old spunk as possible: “What’s—what’s the job?” The hesitation in my sentence doesn’t do me any favours with Brandt.

“Not-so-simple hit,” he replies dryly.

“Quick?”

“I’ll tell you more once we have you in person.”

So, it’s complicated. Probably involves a third party somewhere. Whether they’re going to disclose that to me or not, I don’t know. I tell him, “Okay.” Now—what I do know is that the mark is dangerous, capable, and possible intelligence or former intelligence. Not-so-simple hit. They never describe a hit unless they’re former intelligence. And I’ve done a fair share of those—jobs. Even when the mark is an arms dealer or whatever, the initial job description is reduced to “hit”. If they elaborate further, it’s done on paper.

“So, you’re in?” Well, yeah, I suppose so. This is what I’ve wanted. I open my mouth to confirm, but, before the words can leave me, Brandt is wedging in with, “Don’t say yes right away,” his voice sharp and carrying a certain urgency. I furrow my brows. “I know you were about to. Think it through.”

I smile at his words. What a trick. “Aren’t you supposed to be convincing me to stay with the IMF?”

There’s a short pause – he’s thinking. Then, “I know you’re tired.”

Oh.

Brandt and I aren’t friends. Now that he’s my handler, I don’t think we’ll ever really go there. What do I know about him? He’s high up. Brassel trusts him. He was a field agent, an analyst, a field agent again. He’s Ethan’s superior. He’s relatively—a middle man. I have no idea what he’s like when he’s not in this diplomatic, indifferent sort of mode. But he’s smart and he’s sensible and respectable, and, most importantly, Ethan and Benji trust him. They’ve been through some shit, and they trust him.

I flick under my nails. His first name curls oddly under my tongue: “Will—”

“Yes?”

I sigh. “You’ll—make sure it’s—better there?”

“At the agency?”

Think about it. “Yeah.”

The agency that made everything miserable. The agency that pushed me down a route I didn’t want to go down, where I’m stuck now. Not-so-simple hit – that’s all I’m good for at the IMF. I don’t know—when my morals got erased, but they did, somehow, along the way. There’s no good and bad there. It can get scary when that melds into your life away from it. You can’t have a life away from it. But I’m beating with want for it: a life. A normal job. If I can’t have those things, I at least expect something better. If they want me back, I must have some kind of value to them. Is it wrong for me to want to exercise that value? To ask for boundaries? I don’t want to be alone there. I don’t want to be the only one taking care of me. It’s exhausting and lonely and dark and cold and painful. Nobody cares. Nobody notices. I don’t want that. Now, I don’t want to be famous at the IMF anymore. No, I’ve seen what Ethan’s like, and it isn’t any better. He’s lonely in a different way, but it’s all the same. I just want a few people to really look out for me. Make sure I don’t get lost. And I can help them in the same way. If they get buried in everything, I’ll dedicate myself to digging them back out again. I want that. I want someone to make sure it’s better there.

Brandt tells me, his voice resolute, “I’ll take care of you. You won’t be alone.” Please mean it. Please mean it. He’ll try his best. “They’re not gonna throw you around.”

“And you won’t throw me around either?”

He snorts. “Depends how much of a prick you are, I dunno.”

I shrug. “Hard to beat you in that category, I guess.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. I’m crying with laughter,” he quips back flatly, and a smile flutters up onto my face. “You’ve got a flight first thing tomorrow. I’ll send you the details.”

“Thanks, Brandt.”

He says my name softly. “Think it through. You don’t have to go back.”

Jesus. Stop telling me that. If he keeps telling me to stay away, what am I supposed to do with myself? It’s either the IMF again, or spending time with myself like this for the rest of my life. I don’t know which is worse. When he promises that it won’t be the same, I don’t doubt he’ll try to follow through – I just—don’t think he’ll succeed. I’m bracing myself for it again. If he keeps telling me to stay away, I actually might. I’ve already made up my mind: “I am going back,” I tell him firmly.

***

“Back to work?”

My eyes dart around her face, charting her reaction. “Yeah.”

Jo screws her mouth up bitterly and leans back in her chair abruptly, forcing a short screech along the tile. A few of the other customers out here turn to glare at the horrible noise, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care – she stares me down with a burning intensity in her dark eyes. “Who am I gonna talk to all day?”

I laugh airily – she sounds like a goddamn toddler. After my amusement bubbles down to a gentle hiccup in my lungs, I reach down and take another sip from my coffee, smiling into the drink as my peering eyes catch Jo rolling her eyes at me over the rim of my cup. I snicker again, and hot coffee nearly shoots right up my nose. “Make some friends your own age,” I tell her, sputtering and coughing through a smile. Where’s the polite girl who recommended me Emma all those months ago, hmm?

“But you’re funnier,” she protests.

I tilt my head in thought. “I guess I am pretty heroic like that.”

“It’s not a long trip, right?”

The quiet tremble in her voice makes my eyes snap back strong to her. Of course, it’s occurred to me that I’m essentially her closest friend here. Jo is unreasonably busy all the time, doing all these things under the reasoning that she has to be exceptional all the time, all day, everywhere, all at once. I’m pretty sure she’s working on about five software projects at once when she doesn’t even need to. And when she’s not doing her school stuff, she’s waitressing. If I leave, she only has those things left. The realisation leaves a pang throbbing through my chest, leaves me feeling infected. She’s one of the only steady, normal aspects of my life, and I’m the same for her.

I pick a crusted layer of pastry off of my croissant, watching. “I don’t know. Depends.”

She seems to settle for that: “Okay.” Good.

“Ethan’ll be back soon.” Only three days, four days more – I’ve been paying attention. I’m less upset than I thought I’d be over the fact I won’t be there to greet him when he gets back. What happened with us before he went?—that was good. If he comes back and I say the wrong thing, that good thing doesn’t mean anything. Oh, well. Jo’s friendly with him, I think. He’s always fussing over her, buying any book she so much as looks at, paying her rent while she gets back on her feet. I smile, tell her, “He can keep you company.”

She groans playfully, grinning. “I know, but he’s such a nerd.”

I bark out a laugh. “He is, isn’t he? No more nerd than you, though, Computer Science major.”

After pushing her wild hair as best she can behind her ears, her shoulders, she tugs my plate over between her arms and promptly shoves the rest of my croissant in her mouth. “He’s nice,” she says through a mouthful of flaky pastry. Her eyes glint brightly.

“Yeah,” I agree, side-eyeing her suspiciously, and not just because she’s eating my goddamn croissant. Why is she looking at me like that? I’m careful not to buffer in front of her.

“Can we all go for a dinner when you get back?”

I nod. “Uh, yeah. Any occasion?”

“I just like spending time with you.”

My heart swells to my throat. I clear it, taking another sip of coffee. “Who doesn’t?” She likes spending time with me. But the elation quickly trickles back to earth when I stick my hands back into my pockets to stop their trembling and one clenches around a slip of paper. Right. Right, I forgot. I retrieve the crumpled paper and slide it on over the table to Jo. She raises a quizzical brow. “You call this number if you need anything,” I tell her. “Make sure it’s important. Technically, I’m not supposed to be in contact with anyone outside work during this.”

She wipes off her hands and takes the slip, black numbers scrawled neatly there on the white – one of my burner phones. “If I just want to talk to you?”

I roll my jaw slightly. “Don’t. It needs to be important.”

“So, life or death?” she asks with a smile.

I’m not smiling. “Let’s hope not.” Dread knots in my stomach. Maybe it’s a good thing she took my croissant. “If it’s life or death, Ethan’ll deal with it.”

***

They must’ve updated this room. Last I saw it, it was a neutral grey, bridging right between cool and warm so you could never really decide whether your eyes were bad or not. I’ve put in contacts for today, and I know they’ll put that on my updated file, and I know that my value will go down. I can’t tell whether the new interior is good or bad: bright, white, wide. They’ve painted the walls—white. An asylum sort of white. A little distracting but also so stark that it might actually do well for my aim when it comes down to that. If anything, it’s white so that they can adjust the light intensity to see how well I fare in the dark with a gun.

Numerous people are here to oversee my evaluation, with clipboards and charts and kits and all, but the only two I recognise are Brandt and Brassel. The first is watching me closely with steely blue eyes, face tough-set and refusing to give away anything. Now, I’ve only met the guy a few times in person, but they were fairly excruciating times – all in all, those lines on his forehead give away everything. Forever on edge. I can see the slight sunken quality of grief in his eyes: he’s sad to watch me enter. Brassel, on the hand, is smiling faintly. He’ll do everything to get me back in the field, and Brandt will try to keep me out. I can’t decide who I side with. Both of their attentions prickle down my spine like a ghost has just walked through me, cold, sickly, rotten. I don’t like Brandt looking at me like I’m already dead. I don’t like Brassel looking at me like I’m a shiny coin.

I approach them both with a neutral expression, more tired than anything. The flight was long, I’m jet-lagged as hell, and now I have to do this. My eyes heavy, my skin stuffy with oil and sweat, I stand respectfully in front of them both. The Secretary—and my handler. What a pair.

Searching my mind for something to say, I realise I don’t have anything at all. Nothing smart or polite or funny. I let Brassel say the first words:

“It’s good to have you here, agent,” he states in a way that’s hollow with fake genuineness. I nod nonetheless. “I trust you had a safe journey.”

“I did.”

Brandt stirs next to him, raising his brow and adjusting his grey suit jacket as he gestures over to the equipment in the room. “We’ll start with basic fitness and move on to your skill set, alright?” His mouth is set in a hard line.

“Fine by me.” My limbs ache.

The Secretary clears his throat, and I look over at him again. Despite his appearance, there’s nothing soft in the way he is. Nothing soft about how he speaks, he stares, he carries himself. It’s all sharp edges and calculated moves. Frigid bitch.

He tells me, “The psych evaluation is last.”

I nod.

“It’s not one or the other – it’s both. You’re not going in unless you pass—”

“Both,” I finish for him, nodding sporadically, itching to just get everything over and done with. “Gotta pass both. No problem, bossman, just hook me up and let’s go.” I glance over my shoulder at the treadmill and the ECG. Ethan went through this just a month ago.

The physical test is okay. Emphasis on okay – there’s nothing exceptional nor horrifying about any of the checks I’m put through. Endurance training is easy enough. At first, of course, all the equipment they attach to you is off-putting, and going through months of not running consistently at all has an effect on your performance—but then I focus my mind on the making of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I’m fine. If I just keep thinking about the costume design and production, I can run. And so, I run and run and run and just fantasise about Eowyn’s white dress. My body feels light and nothing feels real anymore, and it’s alright. In my peripheral vision, some of the observers scribble down notes or results on their little clipboards. Brassel has left somewhere. Brandt is watching me with the same anxious air about him. Eowyn’s dress, Eowyn’s dress. I wonder how they made Arwen’s coronation headdress. I used to want to be her so bad.

The running is up before too long. When they increase the speed, increase the humidity in this room, I don’t really realise it. But then everything is up and finished and I’m doing sit-ups and press-ups and pull-ups and planking until I’m struggling to breathe. I’m passing this test. Breathing is optional compared to that goal.

My skin is drenched with sweat, running slickly down my back and soaking my sports bra and my leggings. This sucks. This sucks. I’m careful to keep my mouth shut, though – none of those sharp quips or flurries of curses that always escape me when training with Ethan. Just a perfect silence, interjected only by regular breath control and responding to any stupid questions the observers throw my way.

“Struggling?” asks Brandt as I sit up after a five-minute plank, my lungs quivering.

I glare at him. “What’s next?”

A gun is offered to me – it slides into my hand like home, and my mind eases instantly. It’s a comfort and also—incredibly discerning. How the thoughts in my head go quiet. How the muscles release tension. How my eyes seem to focus a little better.

Aim is no trouble. Each shot I fire hits the target, and everything is accurate to anatomy, even though what I’m shooting at is a man-shaped shadow with nothing else to it. Sternum. Head, between the eyes. Quick deaths.

It’s no trouble.

After, they direct me to a separate room that looks like those interrogation rooms you see in cop shows. I’ve never been in one of these rooms. When I need to interrogate someone, it’s not done as politely. When someone is interrogating me, it’s not as clean. The neatest it gets for me is with the IMF – someone will invite you to dinner and poke harder and harder where it hurts with pointed questions and cold stares until you end up slipping something you didn’t mean to, and then they call for the bill and smile and tell you good night. Oh, well. That’s only when you do something wrong.

Doctor Lawlor is very polite. Curt, clipped, neat. Everything from the way her black hair is slicked back into a bun, the sharpness of her nails, to the way she smiles at me when I sit down in the chair opposite her.

She asks me how I feel about being called back.

“So excited,” I answer, nestling back into my chair and shooting her a grin.

Truth is, I’ve never felt more boxed in. I feel like a trinket, all foggy and scratched, at the bottom of a box. Every once in a while, someone will reach inside and turn me over, and, when I don’t gleam and smile, they put me back. I think I want back in. I don’t even know anymore. All I know is I don’t want to stay at home anymore. I need something different. Whenever I think of being forced to live what I’m living like now, I grow heavy and tired and sick of myself. At least this is different.

Lawlor glances at some kind of checklist on her lap. When she catches me looking too, she tilts it back and hides it from view. “Shall we start with some simple word associations, then?”

There’s no grin on my face now. “Yeah, sure.”

That familiar tiredness returns to my muscles, dragging, pulling. Slump. Can’t do that right now. Later. Right now, right here, this is work. Yeah, sure, the way she clears her throat makes me want to gouge my ears out of my head, but this is work. You’re not—supposed—to like it. It—drags you down. Puts you in a slump.

I meet Lawlor’s analytical stare with dead eyes.

It begins: “Cigarette.”

Miller. “Smoke.”

Brassel will be watching behind the “mirror” here. Lawlor keeps a neutral expression, which I’m thankful for – I can base my own off of hers.

“Boy,” she reads out.

“Corrupted.”

“Almada.”

My body hardens – what? I blink at her for her heartbeat, then glance over at my reflection in the mirror over my shoulder, and I make it quietly clear I’m angry. They shouldn’t’ve brought him up. What has Brandt told the IMF about our calls? Was his friendly nature over the phone all tailored? I seal off. I swallow it down before answering neatly, the same: “Corrupted.”

Lawlor writes something down before resuming. “Girl.”

“Woman.”

“Day.”

I grin. “Tired.” The skin on my arms prickles from the cold.

Lawlor doesn’t grin, and the smile soon falls from my face. “Ocean,” she says simply.

“Lost.”

“Hunt.”

Ethan, I think instantly. I don’t make any notion of looking angry or glancing over at the mirror. “Prey,” I answer solemnly. I would rather me die than they ever know the extent I would go to for him, that I would literally burn everything down so that nothing would happen to him. Of course, things are happening to him, have happened, will happen, and I’m a bit useless in that sector. Strongest thing I could do is leave. But I’m returning to this—room. This agency. Brassel.

I’m not left enough time to finish my thought. “Glass,” the doctor prompts.

“Shatter.”

“Order.”

“Subjective.”

“Colour.”

I smile. “Pink.”

***

It’s almost like I’m living an entirely different life. It’s not even that it’s—cut down the middle. Everything has formed separately: two worlds that never, ever cross and never, ever overlap. Usually. Being out of it—that side is like being in a pot of warm water and the temperature slowly increasing, until you don’t even realise you’re getting boiled alive. And then there’s this, being in it, where everything is on fire all the time.

I feel like a goddamn video game character. Wearing this khaki utility suit, carrying all these weapons, Brandt’s voice in my ear, in the middle of goddamn nowhere – I feel fake. Like I’m in a book or a movie.

I’ve never been to Portugal before. I won’t be seeing any of the major cities, or any cities, in fact, or towns or villages or whatever other places, landmarks and shit, because what I’m supposed to have my sights on is that house right over there: that lonely, white house nestled comfortably near the cliff’s edge. If you take a look at it from where the tourists are permitted, it’s small and far away and yet just defined enough for you to probably think to yourself that you’d love to live somewhere like that. Pretty spot, away from view. Nice weather—mostly. As of now, grey clouds crowd overhead, snuffing out any chance of sunlight. That’s okay – less distracting for me. It does make everything just a little uglier, though. The grass is more grey and yellow than green, and the sea is grey as well, and, well, I guess it’s sort of like one of those old noir films about murder and stalking or whatever noir films are about. Isolated, moody. That’s super noir, right? I dunno. That’s what Jo would probably tell me if she could see this. It’s beautiful—in a dangerous-looking sort of way. Crashing waves bring back crashing memories of the ferry in Ukraine. A storm’s rolling in.

“You’re in place?” says Brandt through my ear. After so long of not hearing anything through my right ear, to now have my earpiece shoved in there is more than a little strange. Bordering overstimulation, because I seem to be a little sensitive there, still recovering, but not to the point where I break down in tears, choke on my snot, et cetera, et cetera.

I take a look up at the tree beside me, the spindly, dry, little thing, and tell him, “Yup, I’m in place.” He could tell for himself anyway – I’m wearing a body cam – but whatever. If he wants to be pissy like that, I’ll let him.

“Stand by.”

I’ve been “standing by” for thirty bloody minutes.

“She is alone, yes?” I ask, because, sometimes (a lot of the time), they’re not clear about these things, not transparent, and then I’m made to do more than I’m actually paid for. Kill two—or three, four, five—birds with one stone, as they say.

Brandt responds flatly, “She’s alone.”

So much for taking care of each other at the agency. But I can’t blame him – he’s probably living two entirely different lives as well; they can’t overlap. I just—can’t believe the shift sometimes. No jokes, no quips, no jokingly condescending “kid”; just straight, simple information, orders for me to follow. And the fact that he probably approved Lawlor’s list of prompts at the beginning of that painstaking, forty-three-minute psych eval. She brought up Almada. Brandt approved Almada.

He’s fluent in Portuguese, Almada is.

I’ll probably never be allowed to see him again. I’m too afraid to ask.

“Start heading down, keep in the grass.” I obey, starting down the hill and leaving behind that spindly tree. Due to the sudden bout of consistent rain down here, the coarse, rat-hair grass has grown thicker and longer, almost brushing my stomach. It won’t cover me completely, but I’ll be able to duck down if she takes a look around. “This is a very important mark, agent.”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand.”

“Good.”

She is ex-intelligence, just like I guessed. No-one takes the extra time to describe a mark unless it’s ex-intelligence, from what I’ve experienced. Maybe it’s guilt, that they got out and now someone is being sent to kill them. Or maybe it’s spite – they left, they deserve it. I try convincing myself that this woman, Georgia Fitzgerald, is heinous. Despicable. A menace. Love that word: menace. Fitzgerald was IMF. Like me. Oh, well. Retirement isn’t really retirement ever, is it? If I left, what if they sent somebody to kill me, too? I don’t ever know why I’m killing her. All I know is her name, her address, and that she is a hostile ex-IMF agent. I’m being taken advantage of – I know that, I’m totally aware of it, and Brassel should be ashamed of himself, but I’m also completely allowing it because I need to—to get back into the groove anyway. I roll my shoulders because I forgot how upright this holster makes your back.

Thankfully, I’m encased all the way up to my neck – this grass would probably give me sores all over my skin if I wasn’t wearing this. It sways and pulls erratically around me as the wind worsens and thunder crackles overhead. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.

Couldn’t use a sniper here. If the wind was lighter, if Fitzgerald actually ever dared to walk outside every now and then, or even past a window, then maybe. She’s cautious—as she should be, I suppose.

I try not to humanise her.

She’s a bad, bad woman who’s done horrible things, and I try my best not to humanise her.

My braid stabs at my scalp in a couple places that make it very painful to move my head, so I reach up a hand and try to loosen it a little.

First job back, and it’s a solo mission. First job back, and it’s a hit. I’m right where I started.

I wonder what Ethan’s doing.

“Yo, Brandt,” I start, dutifully continuing on through the long, so-far dry grass, “who else is there with you?”

“Hmm?”

“Who else is with you? In the little control room.”

If this is an important mark, Brassel must care a lot. The implicit gravity of this mission is starting to set in my body ever so slightly. I perform well under pressure—from what I can remember—but, then again, it’s been more than a year. I haven’t been like this in a year. No hits, no marks, no weight on my shoulders. Something I should have enjoyed existing as but obviously couldn’t quite take well.

Brandt clears his throat. “Focus on the task at hand, please, or I’ll have to call radio silence.”

“No more questions?”

“No.” His forehead’s probably gone all wrinkly.

I enter through the sunroom at the side of the house, gliding my gloved hands over the glass and studying the wide variety of plants all cooped up inside, green and vivid and bright compared to everything else about this place. I pick the lock, and, to my surprise, there’s not even an alarm system. Nothing goes off, nothing blares in my ears. There was no alarm system according to the file, but missions never go the way you planned. I step up from the patio into Fitzgerald’s home.

For a second, it really does just feel like visiting a friend’s house. Early memories, normal ones, of going over for Thanksgiving, of entering a house you’ve never entered before and being absolutely intrigued and slightly intimidated by everything around you. It’s a nice house. The sunroom is, at least. It’s humid and packed with potted plants along the floor, and plants hanging from the ceiling, mounted on the wall, a small, curated forest of thick leaves and thin leaves and small, blooming flowers. A strange Thanksgiving home, but I don’t really class this as—dangerous. I just—stand there and admire the room a little longer.

“Agent,” comes the voice in my head.

I don’t say anything, but I perk up immediately. Right. Right, we’re not normal anymore; we’re a government agent literally on a job to assassinate somebody.

“Proceed with caution.”

It’s then I realise that this room absolutely sucks when it comes to stealth: the humidity settles real quick under my suit, thick and warm but also stifling and horrible; the plants on the floor crowd wherever I go to step, and, if Fitzgerald were to just waltz in, she’d be able to kill me just like that. Suppose I could camp out here. No—she might have cameras, be watching me right now, be packing a bag, grabbing her stash, right now. I have to find her quick. I have to kill her quick. And then I can forget this ever happened and pretend I don’t do work like this and imagine I just went to my friend’s house for Thanksgiving and convince myself that this was all some weird, vivid dream. And then I guess I’ll—have these weird, vivid dreams over and over again because—because I went back. I chose this. I chose this again, even after everything. I think of Brandt on the other side of this camera, of my earpiece. He told me to think about it, that maybe I shouldn’t come back. And I did anyway. Maybe he thinks I’m lost, beyond salvation, beyond his help, and he’s closing himself off because he thinks I’m going to die eventually, so what’s the point? Why try to be friends with anyone when they’re gonna end up dead? “Pick up the pace, agent,” he orders, and I smile. What a guy. I hop deftly over plants and sidle on through the French doors into a different room, cringing at the noise they make.

“Melia!”

My body clenches. That’s not Brandt. Brandt is in my ear, and that’s not Brandt. Distinctly feminine, a little rough, a little deeper than average—that’s Fitzgerald. I think. Georgia Fitzgerald. Not—

“Amelia!”

It doesn’t seem to carry any urgency to it—the cry. But it also means there is more than one person in this house. It means that the IMF’s data either wasn’t correct or that they redacted information from what was probably necessary for me to know. I stand in the shadowed room and listen carefully, my hand moving at a snail’s pace as I retrieve my handgun out of its holster.

A voice calls back: “Ma?”

My face drops at its pitch.

That’s a kid. Squeaky, high pitched, that’s a kid. My eyes harden in horror and nausea slides in my stomach. What are they having me do? What do they want me to do? Two birds with one stone? Is this—are these the two birds? My hands twitch to grab at something, but I’m in the middle of the room, so I have to settle on grasping my gun.

“Continue with the mission, please.” That’s Brassel. “Fitzgerald is the only one that’s necessary. You can forget about the third party.”

Third party? That’s hardly a third party. She sounds—Amelia sounds—really young. When I looked at Fitzgerald’s file, when I looked at her face, I don’t—she had a hollowness to her that I thought could never harbour anything gentle or mundane. And I’m listening to her tell—her daughter—to clean up her room.

Oh, Jesus. Please let this not be real. Please let this be fake.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pray. Please, please, please, please—

Footsteps. There are footsteps on the hardwood floor, just a room away. I try not to breathe; I try not to cry. Jesus. “You’ve got till the end of the day, baby. I’ve been telling you for weeks, and I’m serious this time: I want it clean. I am not stepping on any more o’ your Legos.”

Legos. Jesus Christ.

This is fake, this is fake, this is Thanksgiving, this is fake.

“‘kay, Ma!” the little voice cries back. Amelia.

Up above, there’s a clammering as the little girl runs around up there. She sounds—really young. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. What am I fucking doing here? I’m holding a fucking gun, I’m in her fucking house, and I’m supposed to fucking kill her. And Brassel and Brandt and God knows who else is watching it all over a camera.

No. I don’t want to do this.

I make to turn around, stumbling back the way I came, but there’s a fucking side table and it knocks hard against the wall, and, as I try to make a run for it back to the door, there are the stupid potted plants. Jesus Christ – the crash it makes is legendary.

I watch as Georgia Fitzgerald peers into the room. I watch as her face falls, as fear consumes her eyes, and a part of me deadens. She dashes away around the wall, and I hear the clatter of things most likely from the kitchen, that metallic cluster of spoons and forks and—knives. I hasten my dash, uncaring for these fucking flowers, try to run outside.

“What are you doing?” Brassel presses. Oh, my God.

I think for a second, shoving my way outside and fumbling off the patio and back into the long-grass. The rain has yet to fall. Everything is so loud – the thunder, the wind, the lashing of the grass, the waves. I want to scream.

Fitzgerald comes hurtling out of the sunroom with a small kitchen knife in her hand, crazed, her dark skin a stark contrast to the white of the house. She almost fits perfectly into the greyscale of the place.

“Agent, what are you doing?”

Right. “I’m not doing it in the house,” I tell him, praying that that’ll settle him. If I let myself fall while running, just the right way, I could smuggle off my body cam and smash it clean, and my earpiece, and then I could be free of them. If I did it just the right way, I could fake my own death. If I let Fitzgerald catch up to me, I could be gone from the IMF.

Not that that’s an issue for her. The catching up part, I mean. Because she is a fully trained IMF field agent, just like me, better, even, if the agency cares so much whether she lives or dies. She’s killed people, she’s hurt people, she’s trained. And she’s storming towards me.

I’m perfectly frozen – she can see this, she knows this, she’s using this.

Before I know it, I’m raising my gun, sort of praying she kills me. Faking your death requires intricacies I haven’t prepared for yet – being killed is much more efficient.

And when she grabs the barrel of my gun and yanks it to the side, no shots go off because I don’t fire in the first place, and I’m sort of praying she kills me. Ethan—Ethan can move on. He’s flexible like that. Even if—it would hurt him a little. That I didn’t even try.

With her other hand, Fitzgerald swipes the knife around, and I’m fully accepting that it’s going to slash my neck and that I am going to die.

But my body has been through a lot. I’ve trained with knives a lot. I’ve fought with knives a lot. It’s not a choice when I dart my head back and narrowly miss the singing blade as it wipes past me – it’s an instinct. Practice.

I grab her armed side with a frightening grip, nearly crushing her wrist with the force, and promptly thrust my forehead right over at her face, as hard as I can. As she’s reeling from her nose being crushed, I beat the knife out of her hands with the hilt of my gun, again and again and again.

The knife is lost in the grass.

Crying out with a rawness I haven’t ever heard in my life, Fitzgerald whips her elbow back into my face, snaps a punch under my chin. She has something to fight for. But I don’t even want any of this. I want to leave, want to leave her alone and all of this shit. This was a mistake, I realise as I cough wildly, vomit rising in my throat. She knees me in my stomach, then punches there, and another, and another, and then I’m shoving her away, spinning around and retching up onto the grass.

Christ. Wonder what control thinks, seeing this.

Fitzgerald claws into my back and yanks me right back, curling an arm around my neck and squeezing me tight in a lock. “Why are you at my house?” she growls, deadly. I respond with a squeak and a wheeze, my mouth and tongue bitter. “Won’t fucking leave me alone. Where’s your transmitter?” She shoves me to the ground, hard, and I fall into grass smattered with my own sick. Fat raindrops start to hail around me, matting my hair down as Fitzgerald’s knee presses between my shoulder blades. She yanks my head up, and this time I’m sure she’s going to kill me, snap my neck.

She doesn’t. One hand gripping my hair, the other tears out my earpiece as she screams, “Fuck off!” into it and tosses it far, far away. I cry out with pain as she twists my hair meanly, sobbing and blubbering as the air around me turns to water. She roughly flips me over, jamming my shoulder into the ground. Erratic, she searches for my body cam, her knees pinning my legs down, her eyes frantically scanning my body. When she finds it she yanks it off, crushes it into the grass. I cry and whimper up at the sky.

“Jesus Christ, shut up,” Fitzgerald snarls at me, hitting me across the face.

This blows.

Say I don’t want to die. Say I want to go home and spend time with Jo and listen to her complain about her coursework. Say I want to eat take-out with Ethan and practice our Japanese.

Okay. Okay, maybe I don’t want to die.

I hit Fitzgerald back—really, really hard, right in the jaw. I roll her over, pin her down, and I hit her really hard over and over. I want to go home. I want this to be fake, but it’s not fake, it’s real, and I’m just gonna have to fucking deal with it. Fucking sucks. When Fitzgerald reels her legs up and kicks me back in the stomach, I get back up, ready, drenched, dripping, struggling to breathe in this goddamn weather. When she takes advantage of my misplaced punch and crunches my arm right down on her knee, it hurts like hell, sure, but I also couldn’t give a shit. I beat to her knees in a combination of blind panic and blind rage, completely forgetting all that guilt I felt earlier. I want to go home and I want this to be over. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t give a shit how I get there.

Her face is blurred through the onslaught of rain. I can barely hear anything over the sound of it all, the crashing, the lashing, the roaring. All of it.

“They don’t care about you,” Fitzgerald rasps, voice grating painfully against her throat. Her nose is broken, and blood is smeared all over her bitter face. She’s not in the position to lecture me, not with the gun I have pressed against her forehead. “You’re just a cog in their machine,” she goes on, accepting her fate. “And once you’re not useful to them anymore, you’re gone.”

“Okay,” I say.

And then I pull the trigger.

Her body falls flat, her limbs flopping right down over my shoes – I kick them off of me, and I walk away from the edge of the cliff.

Job done. Messy, sure, but it’s over. I want to go home.

In the doorway of the sunroom, a little shadow stands, watching from afar. For a second there, I actually think about waving to little Amelia. Maybe the disconnect between work and personal life is—a little more worrying that I let on.

In the end, I just kind of stand there, watching right back, just a few paces away from her mother’s shadowy slump of a corpse. I have no idea whether she has anyone else in life or not. Georgia Fitzgerald retired only to get killed. She settled down only to get killed, to be parted from her family. I guess it was inevitable – I was only a catalyst. That’s me being polite to myself: catalyst. Catalyst, my ass. I killed her so that I could go home. I killed her so that I could go play big sister with Jo. I killed so that I could see Ethan again. Worst part is, I don’t really feel guilty about it anymore. I feel reassured – I am going back, I am allowed to see them. In order to do that, I just had to—take away Fitzgerald’s ability to do all that stuff herself. Her or me. That’s it – it was her or me.

Little Amelia’s shadow edges out little by little into the rain as I start to walk away from the scene of it, start to make my way back up the hill. Once I’m far enough away, she strolls on over to where her mother is sleeping, crouches down by her body. I don’t look back anymore after that. I couldn’t take care of her, so I don’t know why that thought enters my mind. I killed her mother. I can’t cancel that out. Ever. So, I leave, my boots muddied, my socks soaked through, my scalp sodden with water.

I disappear into the grey rain.

***

The small motel room I’ve been instructed to go to is resoundingly similar to the one I shared with the others in Brazil, except it’s colder and somehow shittier and the walls are painted an atrocious shade of orange-red in a weak attempt to hide the many imperfections in the plaster. I don’t bother with looking, around, though, because I’ll only be using this space for an hour or two – transport’s already ready, and all I have to do is get there in one piece.

Oh, the shower – the place where I’ve had some of my lowest moments ever in life. It’s hard not to step foot in any bathroom and instantly become aware of the aching in my chest. It’s the same here. Skin clammy from rainwater and blood and sweat, pain throbbing up from underneath like something’s living there, eating me from the inside.

As I peel the suit from my body, my eyes well up with involuntary tears, and I whimper up at the bulbous, flickering, yellow light up on the ceiling, almost biting right through my lip. A pained whimper leaves me, a low, shuddering moan, as I delicately remove the dense fabric from my right arm. Thank God I’m ambidextrous – they drill it into you at the academy. But for now, everything burns. Everything burns with a bright pain, leaving my body quaking and writhing with it as I cradle the crooked limb. Ew. Gross. It’s—disgusting to look at. Not so much worrying, because I’m not a stranger to broken bones and gashes and cuts and bruises and so on. I know how to take care of it—for now. It’s just—disgusting. Swollen, jagged. I prod and squeeze gingerly at my upper arm, curling myself up on the floor with my back against the bathtub. Humerus fracture. I don’t know how severe, but, when she did it, it felt like she snapped it clean.

I cry up at the light again. Fat tears roll down my dirt-streaked face, and I swallow my sorrow.

She really put up a fight. My body is littered with cloudy bruises and ugly welts. My muscles are sore with effort. This is horrible. Why did I put myself through this again?

I cradle my arm gently, making sure my upper arm hangs straight down. I have to shower with this. I’m gonna have to take the rest of my clothes off and then shower with this. And then I’ll have to make it to transport, injuries and all, and then get on a plane back to America, and then sit through a fucking debrief, let Brassel yell at me for compromising the job. I hate him. I hate Brassel so much it hurts.

It’ll be so long before I’m home in Tokyo. I don’t even know if they’ll let me go back right away, or if they’ll throw me around like they do with Almada. One more job, one more hit – we all know how that story goes.

***

“What are you doing here?”

As he swivels around in a panic, I find myself transfixed. He’s what I fought for. He’s why I wanted to stay alive.

And just look at him: he’s so nice. Ethan looks at me the way he did after I broke into de Melo’s house and lost contact, like I’m not real, like I’m some ghost, like I should be dead. His cheeks are flushed slightly from the cold, and his breath leaves him in delicate, little, white wisps. His green eyes glitter, and I meet them, slightly ashamed. He’s been waiting on my doorstep. I went to go get groceries instead of calling him, and he’s waiting on my doorstep. I say nothing else, because I’m still deciding whether I should apologise or drop to my knees and ask him to run away with me, and neither does he.

My left hand is straining with the effort of two, very full bags, my shoulders jarred to one side. “Let me take those,” Ethan offers, and he relieves me of their weight.

His voice almost sets me off into hysterics right then and there, but, lo and behold, I manage to hold on.

Both back from a mission. Both different. I try to decipher whether things are the same between us or if they’re entirely changed, but I—don’t know. There are too many factors. Everything is changing, so fast, so quickly, and I don’t seem to have a say in it, and it’s driving me insane. Everything is changing, but I just hope that Ethan and I can stay constant. I don’t care about anything else.

“You left,” he says, seemingly unable to look away from me, even despite the chaotic traffic blaring up in a series of police sirens and honking cars and rumbling tires.

The back of my neck prickles. “Yeah—?”

“You went back.”

I narrow my eyes. Is he angry with me? I went back, sure, but so did he. Suppressing a frown, I sidle past him and open up the door. “Help me with the bags?” I mutter, extending an invitation for him to come up. He hums his agreement and follows me inside. As I hold the door open for him, I see his eyes catch the white of my cast as my sleeve rides up.

He can’t be angry with me. No more than I’m angry at him, I guess. He went back to a lifetime of suffering. I did, too, but I at least understand a little bit of why – it’s all I’m good at, good for. I couldn’t be—good anywhere else. But Ethan’s good at a lot of things, but, most specifically, he’s good at people. He’d survive if he were to just go into civilian life forever. I—couldn’t. Not anymore. So, I understand why I went back, even if I also understand that it’s bad for me (I can understand two conflicting things at once, alright?), but I don’t think Ethan should’ve done it. He’s better than all of it, than the whole IMF put together. I’m pretty sure he's just better than everyone everywhere who’s ever lived – he’s at the very top of my list.

Ethan rambles quietly to me that it’s not good for me to go back to the agency, that I should stay here in Tokyo and try to be normal from now on, that literally anywhere else would be better.

As we climb the stairs, he remains in the corner of my eye. He’s so cute when he rambles. Doesn’t happen often, but I like to watch and smile and just listen whenever he does.

When he catches me staring, he tells me, “Don’t go in next time. Please. Just tell Will that you don’t want to go back and then just don’t.”

I pause my ascent, coming to a stop on the next step and looking curiously down at him. He slows as well, just below me, eyes up wide and puzzled. Quickly, I press my left hand to the side of his face and kiss him, my nose pressing into his cheek. He’s warm. If I could, I’d wrap both of my arms around him, but I can’t (damn cast).

Ethan crumples just a little. His hands are occupied with the bags.

When I pull away, he leaves his previous thought and says, “I was waiting for you to do that,” and drops the shopping carefully on a step before gently wrapping his arms around me and kissing me again.

Nothing really comes close to it, to the feeling of him wanting to be near me like this. It feels nice. It feels warm, like nothing could ever go wrong. Present. The smell of his dry-cleaning, his light laundry detergent, his shampoo. Nothing discernible, but it’s so him, and it wreathes all around me, and there’s nothing better. His hands are rough like mine, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Callouses, some from his farm-boy days as a kid, most from handling weapons as an adult, grate softly against my skin as he kisses me deeper, closer, sighing like he’s content. I like it when he’s close. We should do this—all the time. We should do this more often.

I feel myself being backed up slowly against a wall, hear the faint rustle of something tumbling out of one of the bags and the clunk of it falling on down the stairs, but I don’t really linger too long on any of that. As one of his hands remains laced in my hair, the other slides into my coat, under my sweater, and the iciness of his palm makes me violently jolt up with a sharp yelp, grinning, laughing.

He laughs, too. God, I could recognise his laugh anywhere, in a swarm of voices, in a crowded room.

I pull him back into me by the lapels of his coat, coaxing back into a slow, leisurely kiss, because I feel like it’s been so long, and I want to learn this inch by inch, just in case. You know. Just in case we don’t end up being able to—to do this more often.

I have no idea what this is anymore, what we are. Calling it what I want to call it seems too brash. Calling it what I want to call it seems idealistic, starry-eyed, and I don’t really think I can afford to be those things with the way my life is going. We’re not just friends. Neither of us want to be just friends. But it’s too naïve to call it what I want to call it, because we’re not exactly innocent. Our lives aren’t pretty. This is—pretty good, though, I think to myself as Ethan presses his body against mine and places a kiss under my jaw. I can feel his eyelashes fluttering against my skin. Yeah. Yeah, we’re not just friends.

“Don’t go in next time,” he mumbles against me. “Promise me.”

Who does he think he’s kidding? We can’t keep promises. Can’t afford to make them, and we sure as hell can’t follow through with them.

Choosing to brush over it, I tell him, “I need your help taking my clothes off,” and tug his arm to indicate that I want him to come up to my place again.

Quickly collecting up the bags and the fallen items, he shuffles alongside me up the flight of stairs, laying kisses on my shoulder, his chest right by my back. Antsy, I fiddle with my keys, irritated that the one I need just seems to keep fucking slipping away, for God’s fuckin’ sake.

Ethan reaches over my shoulder and kisses my cheek, repeating, “I’m serious, sweetheart. I don’t want you going back there.” Jesus, he’s lucky I like him so much. He’s lucky he’s gorgeous because, wow, he’s not really doing well at the whole “welcome back, I missed you, and, also, I want to profess my undying love for you and run away and buy a house with hardwood floors where no-one will find us/kill us, and we’ll be happy and normal” thing. He can’t tell me to be careful with myself when he doesn’t give a shit about what happens to him. It’s wrong and it’s horrid and I hate it. But right now, I just grit my teeth down and try to ignore it, shuffling up to my door and shoving my key into the lock.

The door opens, and the two of us rush inside, the groceries quickly forgotten. His hands immediately situate themselves on tugging my scarf a little looser, allowing him to duck down and press his nose, his lips, to my neck. My breath hitches, and I wrap my good arm around his neck.

“D’you have any idea how worried I was about you? You coulda left me a message, anything,” Ethan mutters, carefully helping me out of my jacket. As he lifts his head up to kiss me, his eyes are snagged steadfast on my cast.

I slide his own scarf off, rushing an absent-minded reply: “I know.” It’s with the intent of easing his mind, but you know—of course, it doesn’t.

Irritation ripples through his body – I can feel it. His expression stiffens.

Something shifts slightly: Ethan kisses me again, and it’s so sudden and powerful that our teeth clash right together, that my nose is flattened against him to the point where it’s hard to breathe right. What a dick. What an absolute prick he is. It’s a part of him that becomes easy to overlook sometimes, during these times, when we’re living regular lives, between jobs and all, because this switch in him, this domestic switch, just flicks on and seems to overtake all of that. Those good qualities that just go a little too far sometimes. Fierce loyalty. Stubbornness. Selflessness. Oh, I fucking hate that he’s selfless. Why can’t he just bloody want to look after himself? My hand knots a little too tight in the mess of his brown hair, pulling sharply, and Ethan whimpers into my cheek. “Baby, please,” he begs me softly, but I don’t know what he’s asking for anymore. Me to stay, me to touch him, me to run away with him to our midnight house with hardwood floors – I don’t know. It’s all confusing, it’s all weird, and I don’t know how we ended up in this mess again. I just don’t want him to ask me to leave to a place where he won’t let himself follow.

Abruptly, Ethan grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me off of him. A jolt of pain bites at my right arm – I shake him away from me, glaring daggers.

The heady haze fades away to the narrow foyer of my small, quiet apartment.

My eyes fix on his shoes. I am not looking at his face right now. What a dick. I don’t want to see the fucking pity in his eyes. I don’t want to see regret, worry, pain, any of it. What a dick.

After my racing heartbeat settles to a dangerous rhythm, thrumming with my anger, he tells me, his voice hardly more than a whisper, “I had to find out from Jo.”

Something in my chest goes bitter with a sting.

“Is she okay?” I manage.

If he nods, I wouldn’t know. “She doesn’t know,” he states, but there’s the tiniest hint of a question in his words.

My eyes snap up at his face, burning with a fire he knows all too well. There shouldn’t be a question in his words. I’m a capable agent, just like him, and I’m bound to the government by a contract, just like him, and there shouldn’t be a question. I’m not going to break everything just for a civilian. And definitely not Jo. I’d die before I roped her into this mess. God willing, it’ll never, never, never happen.

So, I glower at him, at his little, imploring gaze, and answer scathingly, “She doesn’t know.”

The tension in his forehead eases slightly. Why? I don’t even fucking know what’s going on in his head anymore. Every time I’m with him, I like to convince myself that I know him like the back of my hand – bla, bla, bla, tick in his jaw, you know what that means – but everything about him is always buried under five fucking thousand layers of half-truths and half-lies. How do you get to know someone who hardly knows himself? Maybe he isn’t serious about me. We haven’t talked about it, sure, but I think about living with the guy, waking up next to him, cooking him breakfast, getting a dog. I want him so badly to be my future, but I don’t know if he’s serious about me. Fucks me before a mission, runs off across the globe, comes back, fucks me—or, at least, that’s where this is going. Am I an outlet? Stress-reliever? Is that what I am to him?

Jesus, what am I talking about? I made this weird. Make up for it, quickly, make up for it. I like him, and, if this continues the way it is, he’s going to leave.

I reach for him, hooking my cold thumb in the hem of his shirt and gliding it up over his stomach.

“No, just—stop,” he presses, waving me away. I lower my hand back. “I thought you—” he looks away, blinking rapidly, “—I thought something happened to you.” I frown. “I didn’t—”

“Nothing happened to me—”

“I know, but I thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong, Hunt. Look—” I flip my arm up as if to show him, offering a peace offering to him in the form of a grin, “—I’m perfectly fine.” Please just let this be forgotten with.

Ethan makes a face at me, laughing disbelievingly, “You’ve got a broken arm!” His face shifts momentarily to something broken, something he then quickly hides with the sleeve of his jacket, his hand scratching at his eye while he fixes it.

He’s not angry; he’s just worried.

“Okay, not perfectly fine,” I admit, rolling my eyes, “but I’m fine generally. How’s that?”

I catch a glimpse of his smile beneath his hand. “You’re impossible.”

“Good thing that’s your specialty, huh?” I tease, eyes glinting, gently resting my hand on his arm and bringing it back down. There he is – there’s that pretty face. His green eyes are warm but tired.

“That—that was actually pretty good,” he whispers as I kiss the inner corner of his eye, slumping his back against the wall.

“Thanks, honey.”

“Don’t.”

My heart tugs. “Why not?” I protest, coming close to him and feeling his body heat slowly illuminate me.

“Because I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Good talk,” I mumble against his lips. I don’t want to be mad at him right now. By the looks of it, by the way he melts into my kisses, he doesn’t want to either, but he’s still hanging on for some reason.

He looks at me forlornly. “I thought you were gone—”

“I’m not gone.”

“I was scared.”

I pause. “I’m back.” I press my palm to his face, my thumb pressing into his cheekbone, my fingers threading into his hair, over his ear. The cold from my skin must be jarring to him, but, if it is, I don’t see it on his face. “See?” He leans into my touch, placing his hand over my own and burying himself into me, looking at me like we’re in some tragedy. My body aches. “I’m back.” I survived that mission because of him.

Ethan sighs a bodily sigh, and the lines of his face deepen as the winter light filtering through my windows quickly disappears behind a thick blanket of clouds.

He rests his forehead against mine. “You didn’t have to go back,” he whispers fiercely.

The corner of my mouth turns down. “And you did?”

He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s hurting. “Don’t do that. You know how I feel about you. You know I don’t want you back there.”

“I didn’t want you back there either.”

His eyes flash. “I asked you—”

“I lied.”

“Then, let’s not lie anymore, please.” Not possible, but the desperation in his voice almost convinces me to pursue a hopeless journey.

There goes my midnight thought of settling down. It seems silly now. It’s all—not the way I want things to be. He wants me—but not enough. Well, that sounds a little selfish – I should be grateful at all that Ethan puts up with me at all. Spends time with me, I mean. We can’t buy a house in a different country, and I can’t have my garden of colourful flowers, and he won’t ever leave this life behind. I’ll settle for sex, for strategic touches to elicit pleasure, because at least they’re not touches to inspire pain. I don’t hate it. It’s just a bit sad. Knowing that there is a set boundary neither of us will cross: yada, yada, yada, let’s fuck each other’s brains out, yada, yada, yada, woah there, don’t go saying you love me because there’s paperwork for that kinda stuff and, before you know it, you’ll be on one of my long-lost enemies’ hitlist. Not love; like. Didn’t mean to say love. Because I don’t love this. I hate this. I hate where we’re being forced. I hate that he’s looking at me like I’m dead. I hate that I want him so much. Not love. Love’s out of the question. Always has been—always will be.

I stare right back at Ethan, challenging the sorrow in his eyes with a strong defiance. He has—really pretty eyes. I don’t know the terms and conditions for what’s going on right now, right here, between us, but I have a pretty good idea. I’d do anything for him, and just sleeping with him isn’t exactly an all-terrible verdict. It’s better than a lot of things.

I tell him firmly, “You’d have gone even if I told you to stay.” I tell him the truth. He looks forlornly at me. “If I asked you to leave with me now, you wouldn’t.” Ethan has nothing to say for a few moments, and I can tell he wants to say that I’m wrong, that he’s entirely capable of doing something like that, of throwing it all away for the sake of one person. Maybe he was in the past – we both remember Julia. But not anymore. No more lies, he said. Defiance still pulses, glowing, through my veins. “You wouldn’t,” I repeat, no attempts to be soft.

Let’s not lie anymore.

“Not now,” comes his anticipated answer. Quiet, honest. I can feel his breath on my cheek, and I’ve never felt so far away from him.

There’s little solace in knowing I’m right. “And why is that again?” I press, hardening.

“Don’t do—”

Urgency sparks up violently in me. “We could leave,” I find myself begging, “and—and go—”

“I don’t want to,” he snaps, and I flinch at the sudden volume, at the brief glimpse of rage that flashes across his face.

It’s like hitting the ground in a dream. Yup – yup, there goes the midnight house. I don’t know what I thought.

He reaches his hands up to my face again, but I bat them away. “Yet,” Ethan adds. I jump forwards and kiss him like my life depends on it, breathing hard. Don’t get me wrong – I know my place now. I’ll be fine with it eventually. When we pull apart for a breath, he rushes, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” A sudden bout of possessiveness flares up in me. The jagged bridge of his nose, the lines around his eyes, the way his head is angled down towards me, still ready, asking. I have his whole image, his whole person, committed to memory by now, but I’m not sure if that person is even genuine. Strategic bouts of happiness and pleasure – what if that’s all this is? Jesus, aren’t we a goddamn pair? I look right into his eyes, searching. Why can’t he just run away with me? Why does everything have to be all wrong? “You’re mine, right?” I ask, gritted, completely immersed in a tunnel.

His eyes meet mine with equal intensity. “Yes.” He means it.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

I kiss him again with bruising force, my body crushing against his, as I unbuckle his belt furiously with a strong, quick hand. My fingers snake into his underwear and wrap around him so that he lets out a strained hiss, gasping and whining pathetically against my neck.

I show him just how mine I want him to be.

***

She and Ethan seem to have gotten closer in my absence. I don’t look, because I haven’t looked at her face directly since we arrived, but I can hear her going off about all of the amazing intricacies of the painting, the colour symbolism, the flower symbolism, all of this stuff, and Ethan is just “really?” and “oh”-ing his way through with a laugh in his voice. What happened to Jo rambling about confusing stuff to me? I’m gone a couple days and suddenly she and Ethan are best friends? Bullshit.

Jo sounds so much younger when she’s talking to Ethan, like she’s a little girl again. It makes me uncomfortable to know she probably sees him as a father figure, because what does that make me? Ethan—Ethan is sort of good at it. Helps her with her coursework because he’s picked a few things up from computer-whiz Benji over the years, ruffles her hair when she teases him, tells her how exactly to fix the broken sink that’s been plaguing her flat for these past few weeks. He’s good at it. I don’t know how he feels about, but, from the look in his eye, it’s nice to play pretend for a couple hours. I don’t even want to try, though. I’m only noticing it now—how so much of how we spend time together could be misinterpreted—and it’s—it’s not good for either of us. Not for Jo, not for me. Me eating the chicken skin off her plate because I know she hates it; me helping her out financially; me glaring at any guy who looks at her funny; telling her to tie her hair up because, if not, she’s gonna irritate her skin and break out. The way we walk on the street – me slightly ahead, placed thoughtfully so I’m on the side that takes the brunt of the winter wind, her following just behind. I dunno. Small things. Not good for us. Don’t want her—getting the wrong idea. Just because her parents are still both in Germany, doesn’t mean—Ethan and I should be seen as substitute parents for her here. Doesn’t work like that.

“You’re really smart, you know?” Ethan says to Jo, nudging her with his shoulder. “You ever think about doing something creative?”

I hear her snort, like the idea is rubbish. “No.”

“Why?”

“It’s hard to get money.”

I glance over at Ethan, who’s placed between the two of us like a barricade. I can only see the back of his head, though, and, behind him, the outline of Jo’s curls. “Money isn’t everything,” he tells her.

I pick furiously under my nails. Don’t go giving her advice, I want to say to him. I don’t want her to remember us. This life isn’t permanent, and I don’t want her to look back on this period and think “huh, I kind of miss those guys”. I don’t want her to remember us, this, at all. So, I burn a hole in Ethan’s back and hope he feels it.

The two of them begin to wander away to the doorway to another room, and I trail behind the pair with a deep scowl on my face.

“And what emotional satisfaction do you receive from real estate, Ethan?” she probes with her faux-philosophical voice. I glare at the back of her hair. She needs to tie it back; she’ll irritate her skin.

I watch as Ethan pats her on the back and reaches up to muss her hair. “That’s just something to keep me busy.”

“So, no emotional satisfaction?”

A pause. “I’ve got my sources.”

I don’t know if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but, as I’m glowering at his dirty suede jacket, I think he takes a glance back at me.

Ethan and his fucking glances. In what world does he think he can glance at me like that? No matter how much I want to connect with him, it’s just not possible. His dedication to work overtakes any dedication I think he has to me. I should be the same. I used to be the same. I used to have it all fucking figured out, perfectly deluded. God, I’d give anything to be deluded again. Reality sucks. The IMF has us killing people, killing mothers and daughters of mothers, and now I can’t fucking look at Jo. I can’t look at her. How can Ethan look at her? How can he lead her on with the promise of a connection he’ll never complete? It’s mean. It’s not good for any of us. How can he want a job like that more than me?

Whatever. I’m not bitter or anything. If I was bitter, would I have slept with him?

Momentarily, my head dives right back to it. Everything was harsher, rougher, sharper. The first time, everything was soft, with rounded edges, a burst of desperation. I don’t know what he was desperate for, but all I wanted was him. And—the other day, I wanted him so much that I got angry over it. I pushed myself so hard I could barely breathe.

As we enter the next room, I find myself grinning at the memory: I rode him like I wanted to kill him. Jesus, it’s quite funny, you have to admit. He was squirming and moaning and grinning underneath me, and, with every breathy laugh of pleasure, with every one of his pleas, I fucked him right down into my fucking mattress. What a dick. I like him so much. He deserves to be happy, and I know this job doesn’t make him happy. I kept thinking that, that he'd rather stay at a job that hates him than be with me, someone—who really, really likes him. When he came, I was glaring at him.

I catch Ethan’s eye as he glances back at me again with a smile, and my face heats up. Sinful thoughts, public place, Jo – not a great combo. He narrows his eyes at me slyly before turning back.

Jo snatches my hand up in hers and wraps her arm around mine in a flash. “You’re weirdly quiet,” she remarks, pressing into me and then dragging me over to the first, small painting in the corner of the room, a portrait of a white guy with a pointy chin and a pointy hat.

Stunned, I go along with it, keeping my attention straight ahead. “Just a little tired,” I grumble as an excuse. Silent, Ethan puts his hand on the small of my back. Encased between the two of them, I’m—not sure how to feel.

“I wanted to call you so many times, but, hey-ho, I held out, didn’t I?”

The corduroy material of her jacket presses even through my own jacket – that’s how firmly her arm is curled around me. Which reminds me: I lent her my blue leather jacket last month, and she hasn’t given it back yet. I don’t want her to have—a memento of me. It tugs my heart that—she wanted to call me, that she didn’t because I told her not to, that she listened to me, that she probably gives a lot more than a damn about what I think. I’ve had people depend on me before, and it wasn’t pretty. Almada’s just one piece of evidence of that. The wall’s up, and I realise now that it may not ever come down. My words are dry and cynical as I reply, “Congratulations, I should have your medal here somewhere.”

She snorts – she’s used to me being a little cynical anyways, and she’s a fair amount herself. “You still haven’t told me how you broke your arm,” she prods, leaning down and squinting at the small plaque beneath the painting, mumbling to herself as she reads the name of the artist.

“Oh, it’s not broken – I just wanted a new accessory.”

“Sure.” Smart girl. “How was it?”

“How was what?” And out of the corner of my eye, I see Ethan take a step back away to lean against the wall and look at us. I get that uncomfortable writhing feeling in my gut again—not the good kind. This isn’t my life. Shouldn’t be.

“Work. You know, you went back and everything? Made a big deal over the no contact rule?”

“It was—”

“Yeah?” she says eagerly, a smile in her voice. If I could look at her right now, her eyes would be big and brown and shiny, and then I’d get sad all over again and compare her to Almada. They have nothing do with each other, and yet everything. Almada looked at me just like she did, like I was the best thing in the world at that moment in time. I loved it when he looked at me like that. Well, what good are looks and feeling proud about yourself when you can’t do anything to save your friend from a lifetime of suffering and loneliness? Ha-ha, am I right? I didn’t save Almada. What good are looks? I shouldn’t let Jo need saving. I shouldn’t let her need me. What good are looks?

“—tiring.”

A brief silence. I keep my eyes on the guy in the painting. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.”

“Do I look abhorring or something?”

“No—”

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” she exclaims, shoving me slightly. Ethan pushes himself off the wall and tries to guide me behind him – where in any other situation I would’ve fought it, I let him win this time, and let him try and calm Jo down.

I stay silent.

Ethan tells her, “She’s just a little tired,” and Jo is safely slotted out of my view again.

“Yeah, I heard,” she remarks. “Tired.” I really am. If I’d had a better night’s sleep, if I woke up happier, I would’ve been more affected by this, I’m sure – annoyed, upset, regretful, something along those lines. But I’ve been simmering all day, and I’ll continue to simmer for a while after this, not going down, not coming up. She must be trying to catch my eye or something – I can feel her eyes on me. I edge further behind Ethan. “Okay. You know, someone who didn’t know any better might’ve thought she was tired of us, too.” And then she leaves, claiming to go searching for the bathroom.

I think about pressing my forehead to Ethan’s back, but I don’t. He turns around in his own time, harbouring a frown similar to mine. “I’m not tired of her,” I clarify, searching his face for the disappointment I know he feels in me.

He flexes his jaw. “Hope not.”

Dick. “I’m not. I’m just—”

“Yeah,” he cuts in, his eyes cutting me, too. “I know.” But, unlike Jo, he really does know. He softens the blow, but he lands it nonetheless. I watch as his eyes shift somewhere far behind me, probably to where Jo’s disappearing into a doorway. Only now do I feel guilt start to gnaw. Not hard, but certainly there. Still simmering. Steady, growing. It was wrong, but it was necessary. In the long run, she’d be better for it. I wouldn’t want her becoming fond of me. Things get dangerous when you care about someone. I think about pressing myself into Ethan again. But I don’t. Instead, I listen to him as he huffs, “She’s a really nice kid. You could try being a little more empathetic.”

“I’m plenty empathetic,” I snort, desperate to fill the space between us. My stomach goes floozy with guilt.

Ethan hardens his gaze. “She misses you.”

“Yeah, well, she shouldn’t. We’re not that close.”

He recoils like he’s been burned. “Don’t say that about her.”

The floozy guilt turns to an explosive anger: who is he to tell me that? Who is he to defend her? Jo would be better off if both of us were gone from her life. Ethan doesn’t belong there any more than I do, and he should know that better than anyone. He doesn’t get to scold me. He doesn’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t say. I scold him right back: “Stop trying to be her dad,” I say scathingly. “You’re not her dad.”

“Well, you’re not her mom!” he combats, laughing. God, I’m just about to shove him when an elderly couple saunters right through the doors and sit themselves down on a bench just by us.

Curling a hand around his arm, I yank him over to the other side of the room, my grip tight. “I’m not trying to be,” I tell him. I mean it. I won’t ever try to be anyone’s mother. The concept is wrong. Always was, and it’s even more wrong now. I think of Fitzgerald, of that little shadow staring from the sunroom as I rose over her dead body. I think of all the people I’ve killed who were parents. I think of all the people I’ve killed who were children who came from parents, who could’ve been parents. No. Someone who takes lives shouldn’t ever raise them. It’s wrong. I won’t ever try to be anyone’s mother. I never want to be Jo’s mother, and I never want to be anyone’s mother.

My fingertips are pressing so tight into Ethan that I realise I may give him bruises; I snatch my hand back away and stuff it into my pocket, grabbing a painful fistful of my keys in there, gritting my teeth down as the metal cuts into the flesh of my palm.

There’s a small pause of understanding as we reach the other end. He knows. I bet he’s gone through the exact same thing. Fertility in men is mad, though – there are seventy-year-olds popping ‘em out like nothing, so, hypothetically, Ethan still has it in for the long run. If he someday manages to find peace, he could hypothetically have that. Probably not with me, though. Even if I wanted to, my body doesn’t work like that. I don’t even know if I can still have kids after everything I’ve put myself through. I don’t know what would work or what wouldn’t work. Ethan, too, I guess. I can’t say that for him.

When I glance at him again, he’s got this horrible look of pity in his eyes, drenching me, and his voice is horribly soft as he holds me gently at the shoulders and says meaningfully, “She looks up to you.”

Immediately, I bark out a laugh so sharp that it echoes through this large room. “She shouldn’t. I suck! Everything in my life sucks, and she shouldn’t look up to me!”

His expression sours. “Everything in your life sucks?”

“It was a hyperbole, okay?” God, the stuff he says sometimes. I’m not a good role model by any means necessary. “Jeez, someone failed English Language.”

“I actually got a 5 in AP Lang,” he retorts flatly.

“O-kay, hotshot, good for you.”

He grips my good hand tightly, rough skin sliding into mine. He squeezes. “Be nice to Jo.”

I have to take a second to make sure my mouth doesn’t. quiver, that my face doesn’t crumble in the way I can feel it twitching to. Be nice to Jo. I love Jo. I think she’s great. But I think she’s much better alive than dead. I think she’s much better when she’s around the version of me that isn’t involved with the IMF, happier. But of course, I can’t really keep up my side of that anymore. I don’t want to have to see her get sadder and more disappointed with every lunch I can’t come to, with every walk around town I can’t take, with every call I miss. I don’t want to have to see her drift away with all these secrets I have to keep.

Groaning quietly, I press my face into Ethan’s shoulder. His arm comes up to curl around my back, and his hand strokes comfortably over my shoulders, the base of my neck, my hair. “I shouldn’t be around her,” I say into him, like it’s a confession. “I shouldn’t be around her.”

He holds me close. I could recognise him just by smell, I swear to God. “What happened on your mission?”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

I feel him swallow, his throat bobbing atop my head from where I’m nestled into his neck. “Okay.”

“You irritate me.”

“I think you should stop pushing her away.”

“You really irritate me.”

Moments like these are so fucking weird. Moments where everything feels absolutely wrong, but then there’s that one second of a good thing that has you thinking it’s all worth putting up with.

“Don’t go back,” he tells me, voice rumbling in his chest. I can hear his heart beating.

I nestle closer. “I won’t if you won’t.” And then I chuckle because it’s just all funny.

Okay, so maybe we’re not exactly a usual situation. Maybe this is the best we can get in our individual situations. Not a midnight house, but at least I’m here sharing this moment with him – at least we’re embracing in this cold, wide museum room. But when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll always keep adding to the fantasy. Never possible but always nice to dream about. “Not yet, but one day,” Ethan says, and I chuckle because it’s funny.

I tell him, “One day isn’t good enough.”

He tells me, “You’re all I look forward to.”

Yeah, well, one day isn’t good enough.

#ethan hunt x reader #ethan hunt #mission impossible #tom cruise #benji dunn #tom cruise x reader #ethan hunt x y/n #simon pegg #ilsa faust #luther stickell #ethan hunt is a hot bitch #the world will be dead by tomorrow and i want you to come over #posting at midnight lmao

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