#i need breaks from misery weather

[libertyybellls]

FEMALE ROBBERY !

pairing; finnick odair x dist4!victor!f!reader

summary; meeting finnick at your capitol victor party, he is nothing short of entranced.

contains; fluff! just pure fluff, innocent- sweet, comforting, brief mentions of forced prostitution but no detail.

a/n; i was lowkey turning into anakin skywalker when i started writing about how much reader hates sand but it adds personality ok…

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

you were shivering, teeth practically chattering. the wide doors that led to the back of the luxurious party-mansion were wide open. your dress offered little warmth and neither did the people around you- their arrogance and bright colors offered no heat, no coziness, no reminders of home.

your wearing a corset dress- low cut, your chest on great display, you feel like the short hemmed bottomed makes you out to flash everyone at this party.

your hair has braids scattered about- your original hair texture is long gone with the amount of heat styling they’ve done on it throughout your victory tour and interviews. bows adorn the ends of each small braid that lays on your now, flat- straight hair.

the meaningless conversation, and congratulations throughout this party is enough to drive you mad. you need air- oh-so cold but nonetheless you needed more air. you’re feet are moving past people- people who grab at you, yelling praises, trying to get a passing word with you.

but you’re mind is racing, you need to sit in silence and breath.

you find a garden- you don’t have enough greenery back in your district, more ocean, too much sand, too much heat.

the sand got everywhere. you couldn’t complain about the ocean- oh, how you loved the water. but once the sand got in your hair, your shoes, your towel, your clothes- it couldn’t get out. it seemed sand would never leave you alone- president snow reminded you all too much of sand.

it felt like an infirmary sentencing, a life estimation. once the words ‘capitols doll’ left his mouth, ‘desirable’, ‘young, sweet, and pretty’ you felt sick- you’d live your life in misery until another innocent tribute would come along and take all of the heat. but you’d always be in a hotel room, in the capitol, entertaining the people like a puppet on a string.

you don’t think you’ve been warm since you heard those words, you don’t think there’s been enough air- but now, in this garden, everything seems okay.

you sit on a bench, rose bushes surrounding you, a few flowers you can name but never seen- only in books.

your hands are in your lap now, fingers playing with one another- your deep breathes began to lower your blood pressure.

until you hear footsteps nearing on the cold- crunchy grass that’s been frozen over from the weather.

he’s tall- shirtless. what stylist would do that to someone in this nippy weather? but you think your stylist would send you off to these parties naked if he had no decency, too.

he’s finnick odair. even the wind flirting your eyes can recognize that. how couldnt you? the poster boy of your district, sex symbol of panem, but you don’t comprehend any of it.

“you’ve found my spot.” he’s smirking, you can understand why people in the capitol swoon over him- not even six seconds and your body rushes with warm blood.

then you process his words, slowly scrambling to grab your clutch and rising to your feet. he puts his hand up, signaling for you to halt your movements.

“it’s nice to have company.” and so you move your bag over , allowing him more room to sit on the bench.

you don’t speak, atleast you don’t know what to say- you don’t ask questions or say something stupid. finnicks voice breaks the thick barrier of silence; “nice party they gave you.”

he’s joking, and his slight laugh makes you laugh. you’d won nearly a month ago- many sleepless nights covered with makeup and fake eyelashes. “yeah, i’m so grateful for them all.” you breathily laugh off.

the playfulness of this all is refreshing. it almost makes you long forget about your grim past and even darker impending doom.

he turns his head towards you, scanning your face- then to the rose bushes surrounding the both of you- then back to your face. “too many roses every where, i’m starting to hate the smell of them.”

you pick up on his small talk, and you almost laugh a little- he’s acting like a grade-school boy. “i’m beginning to think it possibly the ugliest thing natures created now.”

“mags told me about how mentoring you went, we were all relieved when you won.” you wince when you think about that, he knows that better then anyone here. the heart sinking feeling when your brain slips up for a second- that you don’t let yourself think to hard about, nor too long.

“thanks.” he doesn’t even know you yet, but he know that even if you don’t speak too much the ones you do vocalize have meaning, no vacancy in them. “are you cold?” you can’t help but voice your curiosity.

he looks down on himself, almost as though his body brings him guilt in a way. like he’s ashamed to own it, you’re sure you’ll understand soon.

but within seconds his guard is back up, back to the capitol darling. he simply places your hand on his shoulder, he’s forcing your body to move but in the most genuine way anyone has ever done so.

you feel your cold finger tips merge with his radiant shoulder, like a hypothermic to a heater.

finnicks aura is simply heat, not a touch of coldness. you wonder if it’s his insides pouring into his physical being. does he not have any cold feelings in his heart? is he genuine? “how are you warm right now?”

he only laughs as you try to remove your hand from him in the least awkward way you can, placing your hands back into your lap. there’s so many things you want to ask him, tell him. his soul is like a confession booth, that you’ve heard before. all the secrets he knows, all of the words only he’s been told.

“does it get better? even if you’ve been told something that doesn’t make you think it will?” he can only imagine what your last words mean, and now his heart drops. no- not someone like you? so young so unsuspecting, but weren’t they all?

“if you have someone to lean on, you’ll be okay.”

you frown at this, despite your fear of making yourself seem like a complete and utter loser to the golden boy of panem- you say; “and if i don’t?” you can’t help but think about your overworked tired parents, never home, never cared too much. your friends who you don’t see all too much.

“if you don’t,” he looks up from his lap now, eyes locked onto yours, only your eyes ever- not your exposed chest or the dress that rides up your thighs. “you have me if you’re willing, i think we’ve gotten on well.”

this makes you smile to yourself, you can’t look into his eyes any longer you think you’ll get lost. you feel like a school girl, unable to breathe around the presence of your crush. “i don’t know you all that well, finnick odair.”

he shakes his head, “haven’t you read the news, y/n l/n?” he’s mimicking your words, almost in a sing-song way.

“i don’t tend to make premeditated decisions on who someone is based on what the capitol news says. i prefer to get to know them instead.”

“well, let’s get to know eachother then.” his body turns toward you. flattening his hands onto his lap. “favorite color?”

you look at the grass before you, the stems of the flowers around you, the feeble, poor excuses of barely full bushes that line the sand before the water in district four. “green, not a dark green. something in the middle.” your eyes flick back to his, almost the perfect green you were talking about. “and you?”

“blue.” his two fingers pick up the bows at the end of your hair, you almost roll your eyes at this. too charming you could laugh.

“what are you scared of?”

he thinks about this one, taking a moment to relay his thoughts. it wasn’t death, no. he wouldn’t be scared when his time came, he would just hope the people he loves would be okay, that they’d get through it without him.

“becoming one of them.” he nods his head back to the people scuffling about in frilly dresses and skirts around the main party center. “so moral-less, so demanding. so many things i don’t want to be.”

you shake your head now, “i don’t think you could ever be one of them.” to anyone else this would be an insult, being apart of the capitol was little girls and boys dreams. to live so lavishly and carefree. but once you’ve seen it all, you just want to be by the ocean- at peace, unbothered with those who meant the most to you. “you’re much too good for that.”

finnick believes you, it’s like all he’s needed his whole life was your words that had no hint of second meaning. only pure, true, clean. “if it means anything, i know you couldn’t be anyways. no matter how many bows they put in your hair.” he laughs again, that charming chuckle that sends a butterfly to your stomach. “you have a good heart, i hope that it stays that way.”

it’s all so honest , the whole interaction. but you’ve been away from your own party far too long and you’re almost scared to upset people. “i have to go. i’ll see you around, finnick.” his name is foreign to your tongue almost, but its welcome.

finnick then stands quickly, “when will i see you again?” he almost looks worried.

“soon. we live in the same village after all.”

-

inspired by my favorite, @mrsnancywheeler ‘s fic

masterlist

inbox open!

#finnick odair #finnick angst #finnick fanfic #finnick fluff #finnick imagine #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick oneshot #finnick smut #finnick #thg finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick x oc #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n

[genshin-side-piece]

Tell Me You Are Mine

Hopefully he'll leave me alone now.

Sequel to : Love Me Tender & Love Me True

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

“Good afternoon.” As if by instinct, your jaw tightened at the sound of his soft voice. A swift glance out of the window told you he was early. Way early. Normally, it was closer to dinner when Neuvillette made his presence felt.0 The golden light of the setting sun seemed to herald his return. The second it began to peak through the soft sheer curtains that hung on all the windows, you made every attempt to hide. Drawing room, breakfast room, the back corridor that led to the servants quarters. It didn’t matter. He always found you. Even after you slipped your little wardens or convinced them to give you privacy, he still found you within minutes of his arrival. It was almost like he had a sixth sense in that regard.

As of late, you had taken advantage of the mild weather, opting for one of the more out of the way spaces so that you might enjoy your novels in peace. You had read the one that was currently in your hand a hundred times before today. It was one of the few pieces of fiction you were permitted to read, therefore it brought you the greatest joy you could muster. The escapism was a much needed break from the monotony you faced on a day to day basis. Which was why his gentle voice breaking your train of thought at the best part was nothing short of annoying. Especially when his presence was neither expected or invited. “I see that with the change in season, you’ve adopted a new spot. This room does keep the afternoon light longer than the drawing room. With the days becoming shorter, I imagine it is exemplary for reading before dinner.” You tried not to visibly roll your eyes as you made every attempt to ignore him. The faster this was over, the faster you could enjoy your solitude before you were forced to perform the abhorrent ritual that was dinner. “I wonder if you are at a stopping point. I have something I wish to show you.” There was an unusual giddiness that his calm voice generally lacked. He was uncharacteristically excited about something. That generally meant one thing. “A present, of sorts.” A heavy sigh was your only reaction. He had already tried to shower you in presents as a lame attempt at an apology. Aside from the book in your hand, all the others had fallen flat. The only time he got to see them was when you felt he was in need of punishment. Where you forced him to see and be near the version of you that he so desperately wanted, the version that you would never let him have. “Please, I have been working on it for quite some time. Will you let me show you?” The sheer hope in his voice grated on your nerves. Every instinct in you said no. Mentally you wanted to crush that hope he had. If you did, then perhaps he might finally see there was nothing to gain in keeping you here beyond your mutual misery. Once he realized that, then he might grant you the one thing you so desperately wanted, which was to let you go. “Is it not something you can leave on the table for me?” You didn’t bother to take your eyes away from the page you had been reading. Instead, you made a half hearted gesture in the general direction of the rest of the room. “I am afraid not.” Gods above you hated he sounded pleased, but you supposed he got something he wanted from the brief interaction. You had avoided speaking to him for weeks now. “This gift has a bit more permanence to it.” You furrowed your brow in confusion. Permanence? Another sigh escaped you, this one smaller than the last. You couldn’t deny that after months of trying, he finally didn’t something that made you want to know more. 

With zero flourish you closed your book, giving him what he truly wanted, which was your full attention. The soft smile he offered you as a reward for your compliance was no less annoying than his voice. “I will need to escort you to it, but afterwards you are free to go there on your own.” He toyed with his fingers for a moment, a tick you had noticed whenever he was nervous. Your eyes narrowed at it, momentarily focusing on his hands, questioning the action. On closer inspection of Neuvillette you noticed he was as rigid as a board. His frame lacked the somewhat relaxed countenance his normal posture tended to have. From your vantage point, you could see that small beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow, while his eyes swirled with what you could only guess were the emotions he refused to acknowledge or show. Neuvillette was always so calm, so collected. He never exercised anything but absolute control over himself around you. The only time he had come close to losing that control was when someone had dared to threaten one of the melusines. The weather had seemed to match the fury that filled him as the storms lasted for days. 

Now was nothing like that time. His mood, his posture, even the slight shakiness in his speech was nothing short of bizarre. You blinked, a realization washing over you. God, it couldn’t be, could it? Was he nervous? Another look at him told you all you needed to know. His handsome face was strained, struggling to hold the disarming smile he was wearing. The sweat on his brow was growing by the second. He actually broke eye contact with you long enough, to allow his smile to fall into a slight frown. What made his present state so curious was that he never got nervous when giving you something. It was often left for you in your room or he would drop it on a table nearby and wait for you to open it. Why was this different? “Will you allow me to escort you?” The expectation in his voice grew. He sounded almost desperate for you to say yes, for you to take down the invisible barrier between you long enough for him to get close to you. Based on his proximity to you, he had already broken it, but given that he had you cornered there wasn’t much you could do other than say no. “Please?”

Again it was a chance to hurt him beyond all measure. To just absolutely crush him, possibly once and for all. The longing in his eyes alone would make it worth it, but for once, your better judgment granted him a reprieve. While Neuvillette was many things to you, the one thing he was not, was intentionally cruel. He had never been abusive, nor had he ever raised his hands to you to bring you harm. Even at your worst, when you could do nothing but scream at him, he just took it. He never interrupted, never raised an objection to a single thing you said. He just let you rage at him until the anger that had possessed you left your body, reducing you to a quivering, sobbing mess. Then he would still be there; a glass of cold water and handkerchief in hand, ready to comfort you should you wish him to.

His compassion for your situation, despite being the cause of it, was the only reason you bit your tongue now. Over the many months you had been with him, you had come to the realization that while you loathed his actions, you did not necessarily loathe him. At least not entirely. You were still angry. You still sought your petty revenge. You still denied him all that you could, but crushing his hope, crushing him felt needlessly cruel. His motives had come from a decent place, as had his actions. At the time he had believed something horrible had happened to you. With a serial killer lurking, you could make yourself understand it. In some way it was almost flattering. The Iudex of Fontaine cared enough for you that he came to personally rescue you from harm. What you resented was not what he had done before, it was what he did now. You despised being kept, but your abhor at your own situation was not a good enough reason to harm him like that. Deep down, you knew it would not bring you the outcome you desired, nor would it bring anyone any satisfaction. If anything, it may make things worse for both you and the nation as a whole. Living with a kind man was easy, you often shuddered to think what kind of man Neuvillette could be if he wished to see someone suffer. Given his place in the world, it wouldn’t be difficult at all if he wished that upon you. His little friends were all too happy to tell you about the caverns and caves and oubliettes that lurked in the darkness beneath the waves. It would be nothing for him to disconnect from your world completely and send you to live in eternal darkness for the rest of your days. Your entire body involuntarily grew cold at just the thought. 

It was easy to forget Neuvillette was dangerous. His calm nature and gentile manners were a clever mask for the power that laid just beneath the surface. You had heard the rumors, same as all the rest. It was all the melusines had talked about for days. They had fretted and fawned over the events that had taken place. Neuvillette had recently had to suppress an outburst in court. The offender had managed to land a blow, but it had only been by luck. Not even a blink of an eye later and the individual in question had been subdued thanks to Neuvillette’s strength. The entire interaction had lasted seconds. You knew based on your own experiences with him that he wouldn’t even need that for you. It was another sobering reminder that his treatment of you was a choice. He chose to love you, just as he chose to be gentle with you. But you knew, even gentle people had their limits. You briefly wondered where his actually were, if rejecting him now would push him past the point of no return. You silently worried if you could weather that kind of storm. 

Reconsidering your options, you took a second look at the current situation. Unlike past gifts that were left for you, this one was different. He had arrived unexpectedly, nervous and hopeful, with something he could not simply hand you. Neuvillette had to escort you. It possessed permanence. To say that you were cautiously intrigued more than you were worried was not an understatement. It was impossible for you to imagine what it could be. “Petit?” The intrusion of his voice, distracted you from your thoughts. You looked at him again, his nervous feelings were clear as day now. The smile had fallen in favor of pursed lips and concerned eyes. “Will you walk with me?”  “Will it take long?” You did your best to sound disinterested, quickly using your book as an excuse. “I was at the best part.” A breathy chuckle escaped Neuvillette’s lips, followed by what felt like a sigh of relief. “Not long at all petit chou. In fact, bring it with you. I believe it may come in handy.” That statement only served to encourage your curiosity further.

The walk was a quiet one. Neuvillette either wasn’t in the mood for small talk or thanks to the situation, he had been rendered silent thanks to his nerves. You found that fact irksome. The one time you wanted him to speak to you, to tell you what was going on, he wouldn’t. Neuvillette was stalwart in his silence. The only sound that passed between you was the sound of his robes moving in time with his body as he silently led you to wherever you were going. His home in comparison to yours was quite large, but in reality not so big that you wouldn’t be able to reach a set of locked double doors within a few minutes. You noted there wasn’t anything particularly special about them. The only thing unique to them was that they were on the north side of the house, a place you rarely ventured as Neuvillette’s office and chambers were located on this side. It made complete sense the object in question was on this side. If it possessed any sort of permanence, then it was logical that he would keep it close. 

There was no fanfare when he unlocked the doors before you. No music. No confetti. No shouts or utterances of the word surprise. Just an open door and second set of doors, that led to a walled garden. To what you gathered later was his extreme pleasure, your jaw hit the floor. 

It was a peace offering between you and him. A cage within a cage really. The stone walls were far too smooth and far too tall for you to scale, but that didn’t detract from the meaning behind his gift. Neuvillette was expanding your privileges, offering you a semblance of freedom in a world where you had none. Here, you would have the feeling of the sun and the wind and rain on your skin. You could hear the sounds of the court, albeit at a distance. You could even detect the faintest scent of the sea as it hung in the air. All the things you had lost the day he had taken you. All the things you had yearned for since being locked behind the heavy stone walls of his home. After the first few weeks of being here, you hadn’t asked for them to be returned to you. Neuvillette had made it clear that they wouldn’t be. His personal matra to you was that the outside world was dangerous. You were not safe. He had done his best to protect you from afar, but it had not been good enough. Your trip outside the city had triggered him to the point that he felt the only solution for his dilemma was to keep you in a place where you could be monitored full time. If you wanted sun or rain, then you could gaze at them through the filtered light of the windows. If you wished to smell the sea, then you would have to be near him to do so. As of that moment, you would never be in the outside world again. It had absolutely crushed you. “I know it is quite late in the year to gift this to you. I offer my apologies for that oversight. The meulsines and I were in agreement that it should be nothing short of perfect. Some of the flowers were also quite difficult to grow. It was insisted upon that as many of them as possible were to be in bloom when this was presented to you.” He hesitated. “I do hope you like it.” 

The trepidation in his voice pulled your attention back to him. There was a pang of guilt for how you had treated his gifts in the past. Your lack of appreciation where he was concerned had made the act offering anything to you, gift or otherwise, a challenging one. It was another sobering reminder that Neuvillette himself wasn’t a bad man. His intent towards you had not and was not malicious. Everything he had ever done for you had come from a place of admiration, of love. Even now, as he stared at you, almost bracing himself for the negative reaction you were sure to have, he still looked at you like the moon and the stars hung by your hands. For the first time since arriving, you felt cracks form in the ice around your heart. “It’s-” You paused, allowing yourself a moment to take the entire space in again. “It’s wonderful.” You bowed your head slightly, doing your best to hide the genuine happiness that was bubbling up from inside of you. It was wonderful. You would never deny that. Outside of letting you go, this was the best thing he could ever give you. “Thank you.” Your downcast eyes missed the look of utter relief that washed it’s way across his face. “I am glad then.” There was a breathy laugh that followed that. “Cosanzeana has been so worried over the flowers. She cultivated many of them, just for you. It will be a great comfort to her to know that you like them.” You nodded, bringing your eyes up to meet his once again. “This is not just for today. Going forward, it is reserved solely for your own use. No one will trouble you here unless it is for an emergency or we are preparing to eat.” You didn't know what to say to that. What could you say? Your own place? Your own private place? Better still, you could use it whenever you wished. You felt as if you had witnessed a miracle. While the garden certainly wasn’t the freedom you desired, it was a giant step towards achieving it. Allowing you this was a sign of trust. One that you were sure to take complete advantage of as time went on. “I only ask that you be mindful of the weather, especially when winter arrives. It would be most disagreeable if you caught a chill due to overexposure to the elements.” You nodded, silently agreeing with that sentiment. Becoming ill would be incredibly disagreeable considering he and the meulsines would be the ones to take care of you should you become that way.  He had already gotten close enough as it was. Giving him a legitimate reason to be so near you, to touch you, was something you couldn’t bear. “If you are content, then I shall take my leave until this evening.”

“Monsieur.” You thickly swallowed, watching him pause as you called after him. The look in his eyes made you falter slightly. They were brimming with adoration. Instinctively you knew he was pleased as punch that this had gone as well as it had. That he had done something to make you happy. Even if it was only for a few moments, he had managed to pull a genuine smile out of you. It had been the point of all of his gifts. He wanted to make you forget that for that moment he wasn’t your keeper. That you weren’t a captive. He wanted to paint the illusion for himself that you were both happy. Up until now, you had resisted. All the fine things he had presented you did little to achieve the lie he wanted. They did nothing to change the circumstances in which you lived. Clothes would never open the locks that kept you here. Jewelry could never help you get away from the walls that surrounded you. Only the book in your hand had given you even the slightest hint of escape. It was why it was your favorite and you imagined that now, like your book, this too would become a favorite. That should have been enough in your eyes. He gave you a garden, you would use it on the days that the weather would permit. That should be the end of it. Your conscience, though, disagreed. Maybe it was your own guilt for how you had acted, but in your mind a step deserved to be met with a step. The use of the space didn’t seem like a proper thank you. Even if it would bring you his unwanted attention, in this instance, you decided to make an exception and go one step further. “We have a while before dinner. Perhaps-” You gently sighed as he continued to stare at you with those eyes of his. Damn them for being so beautiful. Damn him for being as he was. Damn yourself for making you say what you were about to say. “The weather has been very nice as of late. It seems a shame to enjoy it alone. Would you care to sit with me?” His normally pale skin flushed. Neuvillette looked as if you could knock his lithe frame over with a feather.

“I-” He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks growing as he visibly fought his own surprise at the invitation. “I had thought of catching up on some work before dinner.” You raised your eyebrows almost stunned for a moment. He wasn’t going to refuse, was he? Surely he couldn’t. Not when you knew the invitation alone was something he yearned for. Briefly, you considered he would be well within his right. You had given him a rare chance to pay you back for your behavior for the last few months. To your surprisingly great relief though, he did not. “But I believe it can wait until after we eat.” The spirit of peace between you continued, with Neuvillette accepting your olive branch, just as graciously as you had accepted his. “I would be all too happy to join you mon petit.”

#yandere genshin x you #yandere!genshin #yandere genshin #yan genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #genshin impact neuvillette

[chernabogs]

Threnody

Inc: Malleus x Reader, with a lil bit of Lilia parenting Warnings: Existential crisis, anxiety mentions, allusions to death, dabbling in insecurity, post-blot coping WC: 2.9k Summary: There is trivial difference between storms of a Fae’s misery and those of a Fae’s joy—both are adorned in catastrophe for those caught within.  Part 1

The gasps of spring’s last moments found closure under summer’s blade as she sliced through the tolerable weather into that of stifling, uncomfortable heat. Despite the way it made his skin itch beneath his uniform, or the way it left an aroma of sweat and humidity on those he surrounded himself with, Malleus was apt to linger on the Isle of Sages for slightly longer than necessary this time. Of course, Housewardens were always the last to leave anyway—someone had to make sure the dorm rooms were cleared out and prepared for the coming fall. 

Last to leave, first to arrive. 

Even then, there was more motivation than the years before for him not to depart so hastily back to the cooler, darker halls of Black Scale Palace for all of three months. Motivation which was presently situated on one of the couches of the Diasomnia lounge, basking in the fresh air from the open windows as Malleus arranged the last of the disarrayed cushions to his liking. 

Yours had come to be a strange relationship in the aftermath of his uncomfortable realization post-overblot. He had bit his tongue like a man cursed and ensured that you had not caught wind of the idle thoughts turning in his mind as he had observed you, so patient and so giving, sitting next to the cot he had been delegated to in that medical ward. 

Your idle chatter had been efficient at keeping periods of silence from stretching for too long. Those periods of silence would have been the trigger to make him shoot off his mouth at you, ejecting his revelations like a psalm that no one was ever meant to read. 

… He wanted you. He wanted you, so much so that it ached in his body …

Such thoughts were akin to ones that a man in torment would have, writhing between the battle of want and learned conservativeness. 

He had admittedly avoided you for a week upon being released. His excuses were mainly that he wished to focus on the reparations duly owed to everyone that had been caught in the prison of his insecurities. Internationally, he had a script written for him by some of the more political of Briar Valley, apologizing for his actions and ensuring he was taking the steps to never fracture again. Privately, he fumbled over words in the dark to the three he had hurt the most, his voice breaking as fingers twisted the hems of his sleeves. He had been more nervous asking forgiveness from Silver, Sebek, and Lilia than he felt speaking to an international stage.

He had not asked for forgiveness from you, despite the fact that you and Grim had been on the forefront of this conflict, alongside the Shroud brothers and STYX. Your presence by his bedside had felt like absolution already granted, and so to plead for it would be a waste of fragile breath in the end. 

“Have you marred the cushion enough?” A teasing tone snaps him sharply from his ruminations as he pauses, his mind sluggishly returning to the present. He holds the couch cushion in his hand, its form warped from the original due to his constant pushing and remodelling. Malleus clears his throat before dropping it unceremoniously and nudging it with his knee. 

“It was due for some rearrangement.” His voice is less light as he assesses the rest of the dorm before his gaze drags itself back to you. The sunlight dapples across your skin as you watch him, the faint smirk on your lips doing little to hide the tiredness that rests in your eyes. Like him, you too have fought battles this year. It was selfish to bemoan his own hells when you have been in levels far deeper. 

“Sometimes you seem more meticulous than Riddle. I should be thankful I don’t need to memorize a rule book for Diasomnia as well.” You still continue to poke fun even as you observe him with a sharp stare. This is a look he has grown familiar with since his overblot. Perhaps born of concern, or perhaps born of paranoia, but you have been dissecting every comment he’s made as of late in a more clinical fashion. 

Malleus does not deign to give you a reply as he drifts around the lounge, readjusting candles or shifting books ever so slightly on the table. He wouldn’t say he’s overly anal about how things operate, but he does appreciate a sense of order. He has dealt with enough chaos this past year that the thought of more feels like a weight on his back. It’s when he enters his third lap of the room that you speak up again.

“Malleus.” His name slips from your lips like a lure, causing his attention to move from the lounge to your form once more. The smirk is absent from your lips as a sterner expression rest on your face. He still enjoys the sight of it. Smiling, stern, or despairing—he struggles to find flaws in your complexion. “Is there something on your mind? You seem quite restless.” 

That terrible impulse to speak true rears its ugly head once more as deeper thoughts bubble up to his tongue. Want, want, want, want—

His upper lip curls into an expression he doesn’t mean to give—disgust—and he see’s the consequence of this by the hurt that flashes in your eyes. He turns to face away as an ugly feeling embraces his body.

... You cannot speak with them, or hold them, or tell them how much they mean to you ...

“Nothing, Prefect. I’m merely thinking about what still needs to be done.”

_______________________________________________

There is trivial difference between storms of a Fae’s misery and those of a Fae’s joy—both are adorned in catastrophe for those caught within. The skies above are a roiling mass of grey as the scent of rain perfumes the air. Malleus observes it with fraught silence as he taps painted nails along the windowsill. That ugly feeling is still wrapping its arms around his body. He has showered several times, scrubbing his skin until it was raw in an attempt to remove the heat and the unseen slickness that is holding him hostage. The failure to do so has set him in a foul mood—one that the entire world can now sense.

This can be easily written off as a last spring storm, intending to make the season’s death a performative one. At least, those who have not been alive for several hundred years would think so.

He can feel a gaze on the back of his neck for a while before he finally rolls his eyes and decides to address the elephant in the room.

Or, more accurately, the bat.

“If you intend to surprise me, you’re doing a poor job at it,” Malleus mutters wryly as he finally looks back to the shadowy corner. Red eyes glint in delight before being accompanied by a white smile as Lilia moves to stand by his side.

“I was trying to surmise if I would be allowed to approach, or if you’d try to fry me with a lightning bolt first.” Lilia clasps his hands behind his back as he leans forward to look at the skies above. His expression is quite relaxed for someone fully aware of the turmoil going on in the man next to him. Lilia’s brush with death in the recent months had caused him to be more open-minded to the possibility. “You’re going to make move out day a very unenjoyable experience if you keep this up.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Malleus’ voice is dry as he taps his nails again, his attention fixating on the skies. The ugly feeling churns alongside the clouds above and for a moment it makes him feel satisfied to see a physical reflection of his state.

“Malleus.” There’s a sharper, more paternalistic tone now behind Lilia’s words. Malleus can feel the disapproval rolling off of him the longer they stand here in a stubborn silence. In the aftermath of the blot, Malleus had agreed to be more communicative of his moods to his family, and so it’s with a reluctant grunt that he speaks again.

“I don’t feel good.” His words are just as sharp as Lilia’s as his expression darkens. “I don’t know why.”

“Have you visited the medical ward?” Lilia’s hand flits out to touch Malleus’ forehead, as though checking to see if he’s feverish. The gesture causes the prince to scowl and move his head back. “Oh, come now, don’t get moody with me. I’m concerned.”

“Is it concern, or do you just wish to fuss over me?” He grumbles back as he bats his guardian’s hand away. “I haven’t visited the medical ward, no. I’m not too sure if there’s cause to do so.”

“Then at least tell me what you’re experiencing. Perhaps I can provide some insight.”

Lilia would be the most probable to give some sort of answer. Malleus knew the cause already, but his denial of the fact makes him speak up regardless. “I feel... unclean. Hot. Restless. There is a twisting sense of anxiety in my stomach that has made sleep quite evasive as of late, and it only is growing with each passing day. It’s as though I’m afraid of something—but I have yet to discover what.”

Lilia frowns as he looks from the window to Malleus. There’s a seriousness to him that comes from those many, many years of experience. “Is that so? And is there something you think of that seems to make this feeling grow?”

Malleus’ jaw clenches at the question as memories briefly flash in his mind. Sunlight dappling on skin, lips curled in a faint smirk, and idle chatter at a hospital bedside.

“Malleus?” Lilia’s voice is softer this time. Malleus knows that in this moment, he is playing traitor to his own thoughts. He looks to his guardian, and his silence is all the answer the other man needs.

“Am I ill?” He asks, and it’s when Lilia’s expression becomes one of faint sympathy that the ugly feeling becomes clearer.

“... no, not ill.”

Lilia’s repetition of the same answer he gave Malleus so long ago feels like cruel irony in this moment. Malleus barks out a laugh before waving dismissively at the other, who takes his cue to vanish away.

Not ill, no. But foolish, most certainly.

_______________________________________________

Ramshackle is no longer a dorm of ruins. The school year and your tender care has given it new life, something that many may have thought would never occur. No longer can he hear floorboards rotting or cement cracking under the weight of time. Although he mourns the loss of such precious tribute to the end, the prospect of rebirth is invigorating all the same.

He draws to a stop by the iron gates and takes a deep breath, looking to the dorm in silence until he see’s a figure step out and stand on the porch, waiting for him.

He does not make you walk to him this time.

Malleus’ hand grasps that iron gate and forces it open so that he may step through. He walks with purpose towards the porch where you stand, a mug of something in your hand as you watch him in the dying light. Birds sing their last songs and grasshoppers begin their own chorus as he stops just at the edge of the steps and looks to you appraisingly.

“Are you ready to retire?” He asks.

“Depends. What brings you to my home tonight?” You counter, smirking wryly from over the rim of your mug. That expression makes his nails dig into his palm behind his back as he clears his throat. He feels more nervous standing before you now than he felt speaking to an international stage.

How funny.

“Walk with me.” The words come out more as a demand than a question, and for a moment he balks, thinking that the authority in his tone may have just cost him an opportunity. But then you take a sip of your drink before setting it down on the porch’s banister.

“Please?” You hum, and Malleus clenches his jaw, looking to you with an unwavering gaze.

“Please.”

_______________________________________________

The nights silence, often welcoming, now feels as though he’s standing on a stage before an audience held in rapt attention. The two of you walk silently down your usual route as his mind turns and tosses his thoughts like a restless sea. He wishes to know if you feel a similar turmoil to what he presently does—and yet you are moving in perfect ease by his side.

“... and I can tell you, he wanted to make another contract with Azul over this. He was making faces at the man the entire time we were in the Lounge and Floyd looked ready to drag him to the backrooms.” You’re chattering away about your two other friends as you walk. He finds the situation grimly humorous. He’s having a crisis, and you’re filling him in on how ridiculous the antics of your companions are.

“Is that so?” Malleus murmurs vaguely, if only to keep you speaking, if only to keep hearing your voice. The two of you continue on your route as he remains in a trance like state.

No, not ill.

Lilia’s words are an omen hanging over his head. His guardian knows, and although Lilia is very skilled at keeping secrets, the fact that another is involved in this only makes his anxiety grow. He looks to you briefly. There’s a time limit left on how long you will remain by his side, both for tonight and for the future. You may return home, or you may embark on some grand adventure around the world, drinking in all the sights that Twisted Wonderland has to offer while he’s forced to remain in a palace on his own.

Everyone misses the ones they love when they leave us.

His grandmother’s comment in the mausoleum also comes to the forefront of his mind as he ruminates on this. He will miss you, and that’s an uncomfortable fact. He will miss you, and he cannot place if this is because of genuine care or because he’s so goddamn terrified of ending up on his own, that he cannot come to terms with the loss of someone by his side.

He doesn’t even register the two of you coming to sit on a bench by the main street, doesn’t even register how empty it is. He doesn’t register anything at all until he feels the sensation of your warm hand on his and it pulls him so harshly from his thoughts that he fears he may have whiplash.

“Hey?” You’re looking at him, and it seems that at some point you had stopped talking about your friends, stopped talking about your day. There’s concern in your eyes and it’s such a warm feeling, to be worried about, but for some reason it makes Malleus want to shrink back into the shadows even more. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem like you’ve been in a whole different place this entire walk.”

No. He wants to say. No, actually. According to my guardian I am not ill, and yet the very prospect of watching your form grow smaller on the coast of this Isle as I return to the Valley is one that fills me with such abysmal fear that I cannot even comprehend it. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I do know that you are the centre of this all.

You will die. So will I, in the end, but yet it’s this childish fear of seeing you fade away while I still remain that I cannot seem to get past.

Please, show me how to get past. Let me know, so that I may know you.

The words that had fought so hard to escape him so far now shrivel on his tongue as he looks to you. Your gaze flickers around his face, focuses on his lips, and it’s that action that makes a bolt of heat shoot through him. But before that bolt can ignite to something more, the ugly feeling wraps its hand around his throat and wrenches his head back. He jerks his face away and stands from the bench, his body stiff as he clears his throat.

“No, I think I may be coming down with something. It would be best to head back.” Even his words feel fabricated—traitorous! —as he speaks them aloud. This is not what he wishes to do. He wishes to thread his fingers through your hair, to pull you in and to lose himself within you until he can no longer differentiate where he ends, and you may begin. He wants to taste your words before they leave and know your thoughts before they’re spoken. He wants you, so much so and it aches and—

“Malleus,” you begin again, moving to go to his side, but he raises a hand to you sharply.

“Now.” He chokes out before setting off down the path, uncaring to see if you’re truly following or not. His mind is in turmoil and his body feels as though he has no control over it any longer. All that lingers now is the way your gaze went to his lips and the silly, hopeful thoughts such an action provoked.

Please.

#twst x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus #ok i promise i'll give u a nice conclusion but there is a BUILD UP #the man is like an onion we got layers we gotta pull #the beautiful crisis between what you were raised believing and what you desire #OUAGH #the tension of want and control #malleus has several crisis in my stories and i love it all

[cinnamostar]

lotus

pairing : seungmin x gn!reader

summary : how do you save a failing relationship?

wc : 921

cw : established relationships, angst, sadness, a touch of fluff, not proof read

a/n : hehehe ok i ended up getting inspired again! let me know what you guys think!!!! also hehe lotus flowers can represent rebirth/new beginnings btw >:3

wilted petals laid across the counter, the color they once held greying out as the dried edges chipped away over time. the flowers that once blossomed beautifully in its porcelain vase had long died out, the life that once coursed through it left without a trace, leaving behind the depressing, unsightly death of a flower. the few petals that remained clung onto the stem of the flower in a desperate attempt to hold onto life, yet their grip would eventually loosen as it weathered its painstakingly slow demise, signifying the end of its life cycle. their reluctance to let go was pitiful, yet it felt like the bouquet of dying flowers now only mocked you and served as a cruel metaphor of the state of your relationship.

months had gone by, the fiery passion that once ignited the love story you and seungmin wrote had been put out, leaving behind only a trail of ash and soot that covered every inch of your hands. the pages of this novel was slowly ripping at its seams, the book thinning out as you desperately thumbed through it, praying to find a clue on how to rekindle this dying romance. except your touch would leave behind cinders on each page, the words you hopelessly searched through now becoming illegible.

you both had become complacent, completely forgoing the smallest details of maintaining a healthy relationship which ultimately whittled down the foundation of your love. the cracks had become more apparent, the soullessness behind each action was undeniable, and you were both becoming exasperated as you tried to keep up appearances to one another, not willing to admit there was a growing issue that needed to be addressed. they say ignorance is bliss, but the tension between you two hung heavily and was gradually drowning you, and it was about time for one of you break to the surface to catch your breath.

tonight, you and seungmin were sitting across each other at the dinner table, quietly eating the take out food you ordered. it was upsettingly silent, not a single exchange of words and only the sound of your utensils scrapping against your plates could be heard.

what was the point of this anymore? why had you both accepted this new norm without a fight? had you both become use to each others presence? were you both too afraid to face the possibility of loneliness? did he even still love you?

these questions had occupied your mind for months, the number of them growing as the aching feeling your heart once suffered from had slowly become numbing.

should you say something? right now? interrupt the faux peace that you two had become accustomed to?

maybe, maybe not. it was all too daunting to not know where that conversation would leave, but you also no longer wanted to live with never ending misery. something had to be done.

“do you still love me?” you whisper, your voice quivering with trepidation, bracing yourself for his response.

seungmin looks up from his meal, his piercing gaze meeting yours, uncertainty and fear in hiding behind his stoic expression. he lets out a heavy huff, nodding his head as he took in your words, “of course i do. do you still love me?”

“yes, always,” you respond, your face softening at his confirmation, “but… what happened to us?”

he didn’t need you to further explain yourself, the few words you spoke carried the weight of your sadness as he reflected on the state of your deteriorating relationship. “im not sure,” he sighs, “im sorry.”

you swallow thickly as a lump of your emotions manifests in your throat, “im sorry too,” tears begin to prick your eyes, “what do we do?”

“i don’t know.”

“i don’t know either.”

the uncomfortable, familiar silence returns in its place as you each gaze longingly at the other. what was there to do? there was no guide book on how to salvage the skeleton of a relationship, the tendrils of love thinning out as they weakly held your hearts together.

seungmin clears his throat, as if to disperse the tensity in the atmosphere, “do you want to keep trying?”

you bit the inside of your cheek anxiously, “i do, but what if it doesn’t work out?”

“then at least we can say we tried our best,” he hums, mindlessly poking his food with his fork, “i wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if i didn’t try.”

“okay,” you nod meekly, “let’s try again.”

“when was the last time i took you out on a date?” he asks, pain evident in his voice upon making this realization.

“i don’t even remember,” you tearfully answer, looking away from seungmin’s eyes as his began to glaze over with anguish.

“i see,” he whispers to himself with a sniffle, “let’s start there then.” he forces a weak smile, feebly holding onto the bit of hope he rediscovered, “let’s remember why we fell in love in the first place, okay? let’s go to the ice cream shop we went on for our first date tomorrow. how does that sound?”

you look back at him, a touched smile that sent butterflies down seungmin’s abdomen, a smile he didn’t realize how much he missed, “i’d like that very much.”

the very next day, when you woke up to get ready for your date, the withering flowers had be replaced with flourishing lotus flowers. a small note scrawled with seungmin’s handwriting laid next to it:

here’s to a new beginning. i love you.

#cinnamostar writes #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids seungmin #skz angst #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #skz seungmin #skz seungmin x reader #stray kids seungmin x reader

[thedgeoftheuniverse]

and i believe (because i can see) | post-outbreak!joel x f!reader

prologue — where we find ourselves

He told him how he thought that dog was going to rip her to shreds, and the only thing he could do was stand frozen in place because he’s not the man he used to be, no longer a ruthless killer who could have taken anyone and anything down in his path—he needed Tommy to understand that part. He needed Tommy to know that the only piece left of the man he once knew was the weak, aching flesh and bones sitting in front of him. He was no more capable of taking care of Ellie than he was of Sarah, but he was staring at him as though he were lying.

[ WARNINGS/TAGS ] loss of a child, angst, enemies to friends to lovers, grumpy!joel, angst, eventual smut (minors DNI!!), slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, joel miller desperately needs a good therapist and an even better hug, no use of y/n, no physical description of or named reader, shifting pov (see individual parts for warnings per chapter. please let me know if i miss anything. if any of these tags are triggering/upsetting/harmful to your wellbeing in any way, please do NOT interact.)

Winter came suddenly.

The summer had seemed to eternally endure, the heat from the sun leaving you drenched in sweat and with a constant sunburn across the bridge of your nose. The long days of trudging through woods and down back roads left your body hopelessly sapped of all energy and grotesquely deprived of proper hydration. A thin sheen of sweat seemed to permanently coat your body, leaving you feeling sticky and terribly uncomfortable; you had no intentions of concealing your discomfort, opting instead for—as your traveling companion charmingly described—incessant bitching. You've always found peace in the swaying of treetops and the warmth of the sun on your cheeks, but this was extreme, even by your standards. Nevertheless, the everlasting summer faded, as it always does, into an autumn that seemed to only last for a week or two, much to your disappointment.

Fall was stunning; a magnificent sea of yellows, oranges, and reds decorated canopies of trees, eventually falling and littering the ground and making a satisfying crunch underfoot. But then, as it always does, the fleeting autumn gave way to the bitterness of winter. A piece of you thought it came faster this year, as if the Earth was beginning to realize how far back it had fallen and desperately hoped that it could speed along the passage of time to correct some kind of miscalculation—a foolish notion. Nevertheless, you soaked up the fleeting weeks of fall with gratitude before you soured over winter. The harsh weather nestled into your bones, stiffening your joints and drying your skin—your knuckles remained almost permanently cracked and split during winter, regardless of gloves or warm evening fires. Perhaps there was a morbid beauty to the desolation of it all or a metaphor that would bring you some form of understanding for the misery you've endured. 

For the moment, though, you were just freezing.

The small campfire you huddled in front of did little to warm your freezing body; the cold, having seeped well into your skin, stiffened your joints and tinted your fingernails with a purple-ish hue.

“Need to find you a new jacket.” Joel’s voice breaking through the silent night momentarily startled you. You looked at your coat with a huff and recalled the events from that same morning—your once warm, tastefully worn coat now decorated with a large tear down your left arm. Had it not been for the thick material shielding you from the maw of that Clicker, you would likely have already turned or been shot by him.

“Not before you get some new boots, old man.” You lazily motioned towards his shoes, raising an eyebrow as he began his nightly task of taping rubber to leather.

“Funny.” He clearly was not amused. “I’m serious. You're gonna freeze to death.”

“Well, if you can find one out here,” you gestured to the expansive forest surrounding you, “then be my guest.” He rolled his eyes at you, though with less disdain than he used to; if anything, it was affectionate. “You could share some of that whiskey if you don't want me so cold.” He passed the tarnished silver flask to you with another roll of his eyes, and you took a swig of the smokey, bitter liquid. It was far from high quality; in fact, it was hardly drinkable, but it succeeded in filling your gut with a fuzzy warmth that spread through your body after another sip.

You noticed Joel staring at Ellie with a fearful glint in his eyes as she stood atop a rather large boulder, staring at green lights illuminating the sky. He was about to say something; you could only guess it was going to be an attempt to get her back on the ground. “Give her another minute. Who knows when she'll see it again?" He paused, looking as though he still wanted to say something. You could practically feel the anxiety radiating from his body. You knew he would deny it until the bitter end, but he worried for Ellie as if she were his own child; however reluctantly their relationship started, he’s wrapped around her little fingers, even if he hadn’t caught onto the fact. A part of you wished he had developed similar affections for you, but Joel seemed to have come to only tolerate you. Sure, he was not half as surly or aggressive towards you as when you first met—you were shocked he did not kill you on the spot, considering your previous affiliations—and he would engage in lighthearted conversation, but you sensed an underlying disdain.

The longer you traveled with him, the more it made your heart ache.

This was not part of the plan.

A high-pitched whistle broke your thoughts, followed by his gruff command: “Come on down from there. You’re gonna break your neck.” Reluctantly and with a hefty sigh, Ellie made her way from the rock after sparing a final, unobscured glance at the sky.

The rest of the evening passed in mostly amusing conversation. You chose not to participate, though you intently listened. You saw how Joel tensed up when Ellie asked what they—no, he—would do after the cure; it was a question that, until less than a year ago, was wholly absurd and could never be answered. His answer was not surprising. You never expected Joel to be the kind of man with ambitions of settling down with someone, living in a big city, or pursuing anything more than a life of solitude. The sheep, however, made you giggle to yourself, and he shot you an unserious glare in response. You also saw the way Ellie’s face lit up as she talked about space and “Sally Fuckin’ Ride” and the moon and stars, and the sadness (or was that guilt?) in Joel’s eyes when the conversation inevitably shifted to the loss of Henry and Sam, and how Ellie seemed to somehow feel responsible. It wasn’t long after that that she decided it was time for bed. 

“Do you wanna take first watch or second?” 

Joel sighed. “I’ll do both.” 

“No, you won’t. I’ll take second.” You piped up. Something in Joel’s eyes told you he would not be waking you up for the second watch, a debate you would have to settle at a later date.

“Get some sleep. Dream of..." he trailed off for a moment. “Sheep ranches on the moon.”

/ / /

Joel, in fact, did not wake you up for second watch. Not because Joel himself took both first and second, but because he fell asleep less than three hours into the night. He awoke from a fitful sleep with a start, distress seeping into his bones as he realized the sun had risen, he was asleep, and he did not know where Ellie or you were. He shot awake, his eyes glazed over with panic as he looked to you, still asleep on the ground, and then to Ellie, who was standing watch with the rifle that was much too big for her in her hands. An overwhelming feeling of guilt accompanied the anxiety in his gut—try as he might, he never seemed to stop failing. 

“Still mumbling in your sleep.” She observed. “I woke up early. You guys were passed out, so I took second watch.”

Joel’s words were rushed, betraying his normally stoic demeanor. “You gotta wake me up if that happens.” He slowly stood up, the unavoidable ache in his lower back and knees seemingly worse that morning, perhaps from walking the last hundred or so miles, or maybe it was the rock that dug into his back during the night. “You can’t do things like this.” He said, gently nudging his companion’s still sleeping body on the ground with his foot; his poor back would not be tolerating him leaning down to wake you with a gentle grazing of his fingers or nudge of your shoulder. He chose to ignore the fact that he always felt afraid to touch you—not because he thought you were fragile, but rather because you made him feel as though he was. Your skin made his hands feel like he was electrified, on fire, or frozen in place, and sometimes it was all three. Sometimes, he wished he had left you back in Boston, and sometimes he wished he had found you twenty years ago; on more rare occasions, he wished he had met you thirty years ago—when he was still whole and he was still alive, Joel Miller and Sarah were still alive, and he would’ve seen you as you were meant to be. Those thoughts never lasted for long, but they made his stomach turn nonetheless. 

"Uh, I can. I just did.” Joel had grown very familiar with the sarcastic smile she flashed at him.

“I’m responsible for you.” “She is too; don’t see her complaining.” His gaze flitted back down to you, barely awake and wholly confused by the situation at hand.

Joel took the rifle from Ellie, who was attempting to explain her precautions as she stood watch. “You wake me up next time.” “Yes, sir.” She responded.

That day started the same as each one for the last eight—was it closer to ten?—months had: a grueling trek across wooden terrain in what Joel hoped was the right direction, consistent sarcastic quips from Ellie, and your soothing presence at his side. It was a normal day, a normal fucking day, and he was mostly on course again, and everything was normal, normal, normal, and for the life of him, Joel could not fathom how he managed to find himself sitting in a bar drinking whiskey from a glass with his little brother. There were the horses and the dogs, and the all-consuming fear that Ellie was going to die and that you were going to die too; the knowledge that you would be after Ellie, and you would be lucky if the only thing these people did was kill you. Then he was hugging his brother for the first time in years, and everything felt fuzzy, and his stomach ached worse than his knees.

“Thanks for still giving a shit about me.” As if he ever stopped thinking about him. As if he hadn’t spent nearly a year in search of him. As if he were not the last thing of his old life that he had left, and he wouldn’t fight for that until the bitter end. And then he was asking about Tess (she’s good, she's fine), and it felt like a punch to the gut, and he was asking about Ellie (she’s the daughter of some Firefly muckety-muck). (There's a payment.) He could no longer breathe, and then he asked about you, and he was at a loss for words. What could he possibly say to justify you? Sure, your previous affiliations are what initially convinced him to bring you along, but he could have easily gotten what little information you had without trekking across the country with you. He could have left you at Bill and Frank’s or in Kansas City or in a random spot in the woods early in the morning; he did not have to take you with him. There was nothing in it for him; there was nothing to gain except another mouth to feed and the knowledge that you could have killed him in his sleep at any time you pleased. 

And then Joel was seeing red because, how dare he say that? 

How dare Tommy expect him to be happy when he was being handed the very thing that destroyed his life? He was there. He watched his niece scream and cry and bleed out as he pleaded for help; he was there after he tried to follow her into the unknown, and he was the one to clean the wound on his temple. He was there for it all, and then he left. How dare he sit back with his comfortable life, his house, and his family after Joel had lost everything? How could he sit there and judge him after he compromised every moral he thought he held near and dear to keep him alive? Sarah’s blood had not been washed from his hands before he committed what little was left of him to keeping his little brother safe. How dare Tommy find the life that Joel lost?

 He stormed out of the bar with that same goddamn feeling in his heart, and he thought he was going to die there for a moment—he had to have, at least for a second, because Sarah looked so real in that moment. The rest of that day passed in a blur. Joel found himself sitting in an old shed, the smell of wood and tools flooding his senses as he grew frustrated, fruitlessly trying to repair his tattered shoes.

 “The guys said I might find you here.” Somehow, seeing his face again, Joel could not bring himself to continue to stoke his anger towards his little brother, however fixed the scowl on his face was. “Figured you could use these.” An awkward silence filled the room from his lack of response, but what was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to tell Tommy, his brother, that he almost hated him for finding a better life without him in it? “I shouldn’t have said what I said... I don’t even believe it. I know you’re happy for me; it's just—it’s complicated for you. I’m sorry.”

 In that moment, Joel did what he had always done best and ignored it. “This ride to the university—is it a suicide mission?”

 “No. It’s dangerous, but it’s nothin’ you can’t handle. Just prepare and do what you do.” He said it as if he were not a shadow of what he used to be. As if he did not freeze when Ellie was in danger, and he didn’t fall asleep on watch, and his hands were still strong, his back didn’t ache, and he wasn’t holding back a torrent of tears.

 “You’ve had people go that way and come back?”

“All of ‘em.” He has said too much, “What is this?” And god, how was he supposed to hold this any longer? Where was he supposed to sit the last eight months down—or was it nine?—if not with him, that would not leave a path of destruction behind him. Tess, and Ellie, and the Fireflies, and Bill and Frank, and Henry and Sam, and Kansas City, and you? It was swallowing him whole, ripping him open from the inside; it was so heavy and he was so weak, more sorrow than man, and he could no longer bear the weight on his own.

 “She’s immune.”

 “What?” 

“Ellie. She got infected, but she didn’t get sick.” He looked like he was ready to chase the girl down and put a bullet between her eyes. “Tommy. Tommy, I saw her get bit myself. That was months ago. Months. She’s immune.”

 “From the beginning.” And he did. He told Tommy everything—about Tess; about Marlene and the Fireflies and how Tess made him swear to take her; about Kansas City and how Ellie saved his life; and Henry and Sam and how someone else had to save Ellie’s life because he could hardly hear out of his right ear and how desolate Henry’s eyes were after he shot his little brother (he overlooked how Ellie’s scream felt like a knife in his gut). He told him how he thought that dog was going to rip her to shreds, and the only thing he could do was stand frozen in place because he’s not the man he used to be, no longer a ruthless killer who could have taken anyone and anything down in his path—he needed Tommy to understand that part. He needed Tommy to know that the only piece left of the man he once knew was the weak, aching flesh and bones sitting in front of him. He was no more capable of taking care of Ellie than he was of Sarah, but he was staring at him as though he were lying.

“I was so afraid.” Joel could not hear himself speaking anymore. He knew the words were leaving his lips—he could see Tommy react to the syllables as the sound waves traveled through the air and to his ears, but he could not hear them. The ringing in his ears had never been so loud. “You think I can still handle things, but I’m not who I was.” A single crack in his voice. “I’m weak.” And god, he still looked at him like he wanted to argue against the points he so clearly laid out. “Lately, there are these moments when the fear comes up outta nowhere and my heart… feels like it's stopped…

“And I have dreams. Every night." 

“What kinda dreams?" 

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Another crack in his voice. Another reminder that he is incapable. “I just know that when I wake up, I’ve lost somethin’.” Tears began to fall down his cheeks. “I’m failin’ in my sleep. That’s all I do. It’s all I’ve ever done is fail them again and again and again.” Them?

“You want me to take her.”

“I’m just gonna get her killed. I know it. I have to leave her.”

“And what about her?” Joel’s heart truly stopped at the mention of you. “You still haven’t said a damn word about her or why she’s with you. Who is she?” He took in a shaky breath. He knew that Tommy would ask about you; he had sent a silent prayer that he would gloss over you. He could not bear to face the truth about you.

“What about her?” Denial was always his closest friend, but it seemed determined to betray him. 

“Joel.” He wanted to seem indifferent; he wanted to lie, but the truth came spilling out of his mouth the same way hot tears streamed down his weathered cheeks. It did not ask for permission—it took whatever it wanted from Joel. The truth wanted everything from him this time; it begged to be free from its shackles. What was he supposed to say about you? How could he justify this? How could he explain that you had completely bewitched him without him having ever known until it was too late? How could he tell Tommy everything without admitting a truth he had tried so desperately to ignore?

“C’mon. From the beginning.”

[a/n: buckle up we're gonna be breaking hearts here]

MASTERLIST // AO3

#the last of us #tlou #joel miller #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #ellie williams #joel miller x female reader #ellie the last of us #joel tlou

[lonely-cowboy]

future of us

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: after finding a box of home videos, you're overwhelmed with thoughts of the future. only connor can ease your worries.

word count: 2k

warnings: panic attack sorta, good ol' daddy issues, a 6yo (and a however old you are)yo having an existential crisis about death, i actually don't know what this is i just felt like writing it, rushed ending

author's note: yes i was complaining about my angsty gameplay in my last post and yes i am posting angst after saying i needed more fluff to feel happy. what about it. i like the angst, it makes me feel smth.

masterlist ⟡ requests

The television flickered in the dim living room, the shadows shifting like otherworldly creatures. The heavy rain pounded against the windows combined with the quiet whistle of the winds. You would think that with such advanced technology nowadays the intense weather wouldn’t affect the power. Apparently, that hadn’t been a priority during this era of technological breakthroughs. But you didn’t mind. The flickering screen and hissing static were comforting, reminding you of the days Hank still had his old-fashioned television.

In the peaceful hours of the early morning (or late night depending on who you asked), you sat huddled on the couch with your eyes glued to the television. Wearing one of Hank’s old sweatshirts that was far too long for you, you hugged your knees tightly. 

You watched the screen as a little girl sat bashfully at the head of a long dining table, kicking her feet giddily as a birthday cake with six blazing candles was placed in front of her. She was surrounded by loved ones who looked at her fondly, singing in unison with enthusiastic, booming voices. One voice– the cameraman's– overpowered them all, his voice uncharacteristically jaunty and cheerful. As the singing reached its end and the little girl blew out her candles with a big breath (and a lot of spit), the cameraman squished himself into the frame with a wide grin.

And there was Hank Anderson. A younger, much happier Hank, but Hank nonetheless. He grinned at the camera, calling the little girl’s attention. They both smiled brightly into the camera, ignoring that it was a video and not a picture. Hank and his goddaughter. Hank and you.

You were honestly surprised when you found the box of old VHS tapes. Yes, VHS tapes. No, you weren’t that old, far from it actually. Hank was just always old-fashioned; he never had a knack for technology. So any videos from your childhood were found on VHS tapes that Hank had kept for all these years.

You found them when you were organizing his garage. The entire day, you had been cleaning around his house with Connor’s help because his drunk ass could never do it. You hoped that maybe by giving him a clean environment he might be able to clean up his act. You weren’t too sure about that, but the thought was there.

When you found the tapes, it was already well into the night. Hank had passed out hours ago, and you released Connor to recharge not long ago. That’s when you decided you were deserving of a much-needed break, dragging the hefty box of VHS tapes into the living room for your viewing pleasure.

Only you hadn’t realized the experience would be the exact opposite of pleasurable. The more videos you watched, the more your misery grew.

You couldn’t exactly explain why you were so upset. All you knew was that your chest was heavy with dread, your eyes forlorn as you watched video after video.

You were so distracted by the video of your sixth birthday (Hank was now interrogating you about the differences between being five and six, ever the detective) that you hadn’t heard Connor’s light footfalls. Though you probably wouldn’t have heard them anyway. Androids were scarily sneaky like that. You didn’t realize Connor was even in the room until he was standing right beside you, his figure nothing but a shadow in your peripheral vision. You had almost forgotten he was here, simply resting (or whatever it was androids did) in Hank’s spare room.

Your attention snapped to him, fumbling for the remote to pause the video. With only the light of the television to guide you, you struggled to find the pause button. By the time you finally found it, your cheeks were unbearably warm with embarrassment. 

Watching videos of your childhood self to remember the good times with Hank before he practically cut you off completely, dried tear stains on your cheeks and fresh tears welling in your eyes? Pathetic.  

With your face buried in the baggy sleeves of Hank’s sweatshirt, you tried to casually wipe away your tears, but you knew it was too late. Connor had already seen them. And even if he hadn’t seen them, you were sure he could guess by the shaky tone of your voice.

“Hi, Connor,” you greeted weakly.

Connor was silent for a moment as his eyes trailed over your figure, surely analyzing you. His LED circled yellow for a long time. Even when he sat down beside you, it continued to show yellow.

“Are you alright?” Connor asked softly, reaching a hand forward to rest on your knee and giving it a loving squeeze.

You were so surprised that he didn’t offer some kind of thorough analysis of your current mental state that a guttural laugh escaped your lips. The sound confused even Connor, his eyebrows furrowing at your impromptu reaction. You covered your mouth sheepishly, flashing Connor a look that said “I’m-sorry-I-don’t-know-what-that-was-either-kindly-ignore-that.”

Connor was silent again as he considered what to say. His eyes flitted to the television screen that had paused on a frame of you shoving your face into the camera with a toothy smile. You were missing two of your bottom teeth.

“Is that you?” Connor inquired. He was only being polite. You both knew that with a simple facial scan he had already determined that it was, in fact, you.

“Yeah,” you answered lamely. “My sixth birthday.”

Connor’s hand that was resting on your knee moved to your hand, slowly pulling the remote out of your grip. He unpaused the video and sat stiffly, his eyes darting from you to the screen like he didn’t know which to watch. The television showed you as you flaunted your missing teeth before pulling back to answer another one of Hank’s questions.

“Alright, last question, kiddo,” Hank said off-screen, his tone teasingly serious. “We gotta hear the final verdict… d’you like being six?”

Your little self squinted her eyes in consideration, lips pursed into an extreme pout. For added effect, you put a finger to your chin and tapped it thoughtfully.

“Hmm…,” you thought loudly. “No!”

“No?” Hank repeated with a hearty laugh. “Why not?”

“I don’t wanna get old,” you admitted innocently as if it was the easiest answer in the world. “Getting old means I’ll die.”

You snatched the remote from Connor’s hand and hurriedly paused the video again. All of a sudden, your breaths were coming out in sharp pants as your body was filled to the brim with an inexplicable panic. You needed a distraction, you didn’t want to think about any of this. 

Connor was calling your name calmly, his voice a steady, grounding force. Your wide eyes snapped to meet his, hands moving to clutch both of his. As you latched onto his warm gaze, you felt an odd imbalance. You couldn’t tell if you were comforted or stressed by his presence.

“How can I help you?” Connor murmured, allowing you to grip his hands as tightly as possible.

“I don’t know… I don’t know,” you stammered. “I’m scared, Connor.”

“What are you scared of?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay… okay,” Connor whispered soothingly.

Freeing one of his hands from your grasp, Connor’s hand snaked to the back of your head and pulled you forward until your forehead was resting against his lips. He pressed light kisses against your skin, murmuring comforting words as tears started to silently spill from the corners of your eyes. You collapsed forward until your face was buried in the crook of Connor’s neck. His lips moved to your head, kissing along the top of your head.

Why were you crying? Why were you crying? Why were you crying?

You didn’t understand why you were so overwhelmed, you just knew that you were. You had felt it so suddenly that there hadn’t been time to ask why. 

“Are you scared of… losing Hank?” Connor questioned.

No, that wasn’t it. Well, yes, you were. But that wasn’t the cause of your unexpected anxiousness.

“Are you scared of… dying?”

Yes. Yes, that was it. That was it. Sort of, at least.

Too broken to speak, you simply nodded against Connor’s body. 

“Can you tell me what scares you about it?”

Could you? You thought about it, blinking furiously to slow the tears. Why were you scared? Sure, death was scary in general, but there was something else. There had to be something else because your heart was still pounding furiously.

“I… don’t know,” you croaked.

“Okay,” Connor said patiently. “That’s alright. You don’t need to know.”

With his hands still on you, Connor carefully pulled away from you to meet your gaze. The corners of his lips were raised in a loving smile as he studied you, his thumb absentmindedly running along your knuckles.

“I want you to know that you’re safe with me,” he continued.

You matched Connor’s smile hesitantly, feeling your heartbeat slow to a resting state. Your attention was drawn to Connor’s spiraling LED as it returned to its usual blue.

That was it.

Your smile vanished quicker than it appeared. Your eyes were now fixated on the LED at Connor’s temple, a constant reminder that he was an android. And you were only human.

“I’m going to lose you,” you whispered hoarsely.

A puzzled look crossed Connor’s features, the crease between his brows returning. His LED blinked yellow again as he realized you were still in distress. 

“You won’t lose me,” Connor promised, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can’t lose me.”

“That’s the problem, Connor,” you sniffled. “Someday, I’ll die. And you’ll keep living.”

The tension in Connor’s face eased as he realized the root of your sadness, though he didn’t look at ease himself. His LED quickly turned to a solid red. He looked so… sad. As if it hadn’t occurred to him until now the inevitable future of the two of you. 

The look on his face made you want to apologize profusely. You were sorry for ever putting that thought in his head. But you didn’t have the words to speak. You were frozen, just as he was.

Connor broke your suspended state by inhaling slowly, nodding his head as he thought to himself. You noticed that his grip on your hand was tighter as if he was afraid to let go. His other hand had moved to rest on your upper arm, rubbing it soothingly. It seemed to be a calming gesture for both you and him.

“Maybe that is how it will be,” Connor muttered, his eyes finding yours again. “Or maybe there’s another way we don’t know of. But that… that’s far in the future. That’s not something we need to concern ourselves with right now. Right now… is right now.”

Your tears had stopped falling long ago once there were no more left to cry. You resorted to chewing your lip worriedly, ignoring the bead of blood that infested your tastebuds. Connor’s hand moved to caress your jaw, running a thumb across your lips to stop you from hurting yourself. 

“Right now… I’m holding you. On this couch. Because I care about you,” Connor continued, though his voice was still slightly frazzled. “And that’s all we need to worry about.”

Either way, his words did do something to calm you. You nodded along as he spoke, leaning into the warmth of his smooth palm. Your fear wasn’t gone, not completely anyway. But it was certainly less than it was before. 

You moved quickly into Connor’s arms, pushing him back so that he was lying on the couch. Your head curled against his chest, holding the front of his shirt tightly. You never wanted him to leave. His arms naturally fell around you and lightly rubbed your back.

It wasn’t necessary for Connor to breathe, but you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. You knew he was doing it for your sake. You followed the pattern of his breathing until you finally felt a sense of peace for the first time that night.

“Will you keep holding me like this?” you mumbled.

“I’ll hold you like this, right now and forever.” 

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

[onlyswan]

summary: in which christmas is upon us and jungkook just wants to say that he loves you.

> fluff / wc: 3.4k

> warnings: poor baby is sick so he’s on vocal rest :( oc loves snow but is scared of slipping on it, a littleee suggestive with an allusion to a hard-on

note: just to be clear the bold texts are the lines jungkook says to you using his phone ^^ + the first scene is inspired by this ask !!! + i had a nap after my finals then started writing this lol my brain is still fried. happy holidays my dear friends <3 stay warm and healthy <3

—

jungkook plops down on the bed, about to slide his sweatshirt over his head until it gets forcefully ripped away from his hands. a yell of his dog’s name dies down on his tongue as bam’s fast paws slide all the way across the living room floor. releasing yet another crestfallen sigh, he follows after his stolen piece of clothing.

however, the path gets blocked by you, standing infront of him with a hand over your waist.

“and why are you walking around only wearing boxers?” you ask him quizzically, raising your eyebrows. “baby, please don’t get sicker than you already are.”

he pouts sadly, pointing at the couch where bam stands tall, his two-weeks-old sweatshirt hanging from the dog’s teeth.

“bam!” you turn to look at bam, and he tilts his head to the side innocently. “come here. give it back to your dad.”

jungkook scratches his head when bam drops the sweatshirt on the floor, stepping on it as he jumps off the couch to jog towards you. he can’t even point out the fact that it was just fresh from the laundry because he left the whiteboard in the kitchen and his phone is in the bedroom. oh my god, he can’t even complain about how much he fucking hates being on vocal rest.

well, he did try once this morning, using the whiteboard. with eleven exclamation points and the sad emoji drawn with extra details to be exact. okay, maybe twice. he erased the sad emoji to replace it with a crying one when you caught him making coffee, which the doctor told him he isn’t allowed to drink until his throat heals because it can dehydrate and irritate it. to be fair, having coffee every morning has been a part of his daily routine. he didn’t even realize he was making coffee until you started scolding him.

due to the cold weather and his intense recording sessions for the past week, he woke up with a sore throat and hoarse voice yesterday morning. aside from taking the prescribed medication, he was advised to go on a vocal rest, too. what makes it absolutely hellish for him? it’s not difficult to obey doctor’s orders. because it’s not like he could actually use his voice even if he wanted to. almost nothing comes out when he tries.

this gloomy situation reminded him why he religiously drinks vitamins and takes good care of his voice in the first place. it’s one thing to take a break from singing . . . but to completely abstain from talking? the last time he said ‘i love you’ was almost two days ago. he wants to curl up into a ball, cry, and scream.

and just like what he’s been doing since yesterday to express his misery, he sighs, lazily draping his arms around you. bam ends up lying down on the floor behind you when he realizes he won’t be getting any attention.

“oh, my poor baby. i love you.” you coo, tenderly rubbing his naked back, hoping it provides him a little more comfort and warmth. “you’ll be better in no time. just give your voice the rest it needs, hmm?”

you feel him nod against your shoulder. his embrace becomes tighter as he slumps, leaning more of his weight on you. you plant your feet firmly on the ground to prevent the two of you from falling, and you allow him to hold on to you for however long he needs.

“are you sure calvin klein hasn’t offered you guys a deal yet?”

and that’s when he pulls away. he stares at you for a second before shaking his head, fluffy hair bouncing as he does so.

“maybe it got lost in the mail?”

he shakes his head again, a bunny smile creeping on his face because of how adorably serious you’re being over such a random topic. how do you possibly miss a mail from the calvin klein? your teasing touch travels down to the curves of his waist, until your fingers trace the waistband of his boxers, sparking tingles in his abdomen and all the way down there. only then does he realize that he’s still half naked.

your nose scrunches as you smile innocently. what a minx. you never give his poor heart a rest. “then i guess you’re for my eyes only.”

body, heart, and soul— for your eyes only. but he wouldn’t say it even if he was able to speak because it sounds too cheesy outside of the song he hasn’t played you yet, so he kisses your cheek to say i am.

you pat his butt twice, urging him to head back to the bedroom. “go get dressed now, or i’ll change my mind and leave alone.”

he narrows his eyes at the sweatshirt left lying on the floor, and you click your tongue when the realization dawns on you.

“i’ll wash it later. it just had to be the white one, huh?”

—

“oh, baby, wait! forgot your scarf!” you rip your hand away from the doorknob, bolting back to the bedroom.

jungkook waits by the door, holding up his phone in landscape view, the words ‘but i don’t have a scarf?’ flashing on the screen. he only sees this at concerts, having done it himself before— a fan using their phone as a makeshift banner. and here he is, using it to his maximum advantage in his daily life.

“well, i do!” you enthusiastically respond to his message when you return, holding up the two scarves you managed to find in your cabinet. “pink with black checkered pattern or indigo? it’s shibori.”

he points at your right hand, and his heart flutters inside his ribcage when your face evidently lights up. you drape the pink scarf over his nape, wrapping the longer end twice around his neck to make it even with the other end. you take a quick step back to check him out, and it matches perfectly with his all-black outfit.

“nice and warm.” you say sweetly as you stroke his shiny hair.

he types on his phone before showing you the screen: ‘it’s so cold outside wear a scarf too :(’

you wear the indigo scarf without tying or wrapping it around your neck, leaving both ends draping down almost the same length as your jacket. this makes your boyfriend tut. he mimics your actions from earlier, making sure it’s warm but still breathable. you hide a pout. this scarf doesn’t match your outfit at all, but just like how you also ate soup for dinner last night so he wouldn’t feel sad and lonely about eating bland food, you do it anyway.

you look down when you feel a poking at your thigh. “oh. hi. be a good boy, bamie, okay? we’ll be back before dinnertime.”

despite the dirty white sweatshirt in the hamper, jungkook gives bam his good boy head pats before locking the front door.

—

you hum along to the christmas songs playing in the stores you pass by, restraining yourself from skipping along the pavement so you won’t slip on the unswept snow that fell almost the entire evening. jungkook is holding your hand firmly as you share a heating pad. his free one is tucked in the pocket of his padded jacket to shield it from the cold. you made sure that he was leaving the house as warm as possible, even stuffing earmuffs in your bag incase he starts complaining about freezing ears, too.

you pull back the khaki knitted bucket hat a little over your head so it won’t block your vision. he can’t see the rest of your face, but the way your eyes crinkle as your cheeks rise beneath the mask makes him copy your smile. you’re not usually happy with walking crowded streets, but the holidays seem to be an exception.

you always marvel at the giant christmas trees they display in the middle of the cities. you watch hanging christmas lanterns in awe, the swirling colors dancing in your dilated pupils. you gush about the christmas sales, and the discount bundles. you insisted on owning two christmas trees, green and white, to use them interchangeably. and by insisted he means you went home one november night hauling a giant box without him having a single clue what was inside . . . and he was afraid to find out.

you tend to decorate a little late because you’re both usually busy by the end of the year, but you leave it up until you’re reminded that valentine’s day is nearing.

this year, it’s the white tree’s time to shine again. it was jungkook’s idea to go with the theme of pantone’s color of the year, very peri, a shade of periwinkle. you already decorated it with a purple star on top and christmas balls all around, with light blue flowers and candy canes as the accent. now you’re on a hunt for lights to wrap around it, and hopefully also toss in some of those little gift box ornaments you just can’t seem to goddamn find online. (spoiler alert: you fail to find them in person too)

“ah! they have all the colors.” you giggle as you grab the first box of lights you saw, which is green.

jungkook is walking to the other end of the shelf as he inspects the boxes of lights he brushes past, until he finds something you’d definitely love. he takes out the first two boxes to grab the one behind them, because well, many other people most probably already touched those.

“baby, please help. should we get white? or green? or pink?” you ask without looking at him, squinting at the three boxes infront of you in serious contemplation.

he catches your attention by bumping his arm against yours, proudly presenting the item he found with the words ‘this one has a remote control with twelve colors ^_^’ flashing on his phone screen.

of course, it goes to say that you feel sad about your sweet boy having a sore throat, because this man’s life literally revolves around his voice. you were anxious about how you were going to comfort him when you found out that he needs to be on a vocal rest. but you didn’t expect that it would end up with you being hopelessly endeared by his written communication and cute little emoticons.

you beam at him excitedly, taking the box from his hands. “i like these round bulbs better. i didn’t think they’d have this type of st-”

you flip it over to check the price, and the amount of numbers comically make your shoulders drop. “aaand that’s also twelve times the price of the regula- jungkook!”

you yelp in surprise when he tightly wraps his arms around you from behind, whisking you away before you can convince yourself not to get it.

after the employee tested out if the product is working well, you finally made your peace with the price tag. you can choose the colors for the lighting modes and patterns? sick.

it doesn’t come as a surprise when you find long lines extending past the belt stanchions that separate the two counters. jungkook glues himself to your back again, resting his chin on your shoulder. the beeping of the barcode reader sounds too loud for him, and he wishes they would turn up the speakers so he can hear the jazzy christmas songs better.

he behaves for the most part, gently swaying you back and forth to the music. at some point, he almost falls asleep on your shoulder while resting his eyes. he regrets not wearing his glasses today. when he opens them again, you’re already fifth in line. jungkook estimates that a good 10% of your relationship is spent waiting on cash register lines, and it may sound tiresome if you put it that way, but oddly enough, he doesn’t hate it at all.

he pulls up the notes app in his phone, and you instantly look down at the screen knowing that he has something to say to you.

‘i’m thirsty :( my throat is getting dry again’

“aw, my love.” you coo at him sadly, rubbing his forearm. “want chamomile tea with honey again?”

you feel him bob his head, his cheek brushing against yours as he types his response. ‘yes. it magically makes me feel better ㅠㅠ but the pain still comes back ㅠㅠ’

“it’s gonna be fine. just let me take care of you, okay? drink your tea at the bakery we passed by, then let’s cuddle when we get home.”

jungkook briefly pulls down his mask to press an appreciative kiss on your temple, a small smile forming on his lips because you taking care of him makes him feel significantly less shitty. about generally everything, really. but you just get extra fussy over him when he’s in pain and he adores it.

your cheek kisses? addicting. asking him how he’s feeling every hour with your sweet, nurturing voice? brings him to tears. scolding him about being stubborn? makes him feel loved. religiously refilling the humidifiers? he must marry you. burning his midnight oatmeal because you had to help him look for his whiteboard marker? funny.

“oh wait, it’s already 4pm. so you should eat dinner and take your meds first before cuddles.”

the medicine makes him drowsy, and considering that he is already drowsy, he knows he’s going to pass out to sleep as soon as his body gets tangled with yours. having a sore throat fucking sucks, but he’s kind of excited to get his longest sleep of the year yet.

—

jungkook heads straight to the table beside the window, letting you order alone so he doesn’t get charmed by the wide array of christmas-themed desserts displayed by the counter. the seductive smell of sweets permeate through every corner of the room, and it’s more than enough to have him drooling, really. but if he eats sugar, his voice’s time in prison will be extended.

he takes off his jacket, scarf, and mask to enjoy some warmth without the heavy layers. while he waits for you, he distracts himself with checking his inbox. he giggles quietly as he scrolls through the conversation between his members that took place earlier this noon. he was taking a nap at that time, courtesy of the medicine he took after breakfast. however, his attention gets torn away from the phone when he hears a gasp from another table.

it’s snowing pretty heavily again, engulfing the vibrant street in thicker piles of pure white. winter can sure be a nuisance, but god, is it breathtakingly magical. it’s fascinating how ice falling from the sky can transform a daily scenery into a wonderland of unadulterated joy. to jungkook, the human’s ability to breathe life into earth’s many natural processes gives him the enthusiasm to live through another cycle of the four seasons.

“snow is so pretty.” you sigh dreamily as you sit down beside him, sinking on the (personally, too) soft couch. “here’s your tea, babe. be careful. it’s still hot.”

mesmerized by what he calls his magic potion, he carefully picks up the cup by its handle. as he blows on the piping hot beverage, his gaze falls upon the saucer infront of you. it’s a blue donut with a snowflake intricately drawn on it— too pretty, he would feel bad about eating it.

“stop watching me. i feel bad.” you whine halfway through your donut, wiping the corners of your lips with a tissue paper.

your boyfriend feigns innocence, making a confused face before taking another sip of his tea.

“what do you want for dinner?”

with that question, he goes back to scrolling through his phone to look for a restaurant. craving to feel his warmth, you hold his waist as you rest your cheek on his toned bicep, curiously watching him navigate the food delivery app.

he shows you the chicken noodle soup from the family restaurant you’ve ordered from several times in the past. “yeah, that should be fine. as long as the meat and veggies are soft. put it as a request in the notes.”

he does as you told, explaining that he’s sick so he can only eat easy-to-swallow food. before he can proceed to the payment, you sneakily tap the plus sign beside the quantity to make order two servings. he look at you in question, because you always prefer rice over noodles.

“i’ll eat it with you. i want something warm in my tummy.” you smile sweetly, gesturing at the snow-covered street to reiterate your point.

you finish the rest of your donut while singing along to jingle bell rock, thighs bouncing along to the beat. your boyfriend watches you in amusement, laughing to himself when you mumble gibberish then sing louder when you know the lyrics again. after sending in the order, he shows you that it should arrive at your doorstep by 6pm.

he picks up his cup to finish the rest of his tea. he takes a small sip to find that it’s already at the perfect temperature. “mhmmm, so good.” he moans, eyebrows knitting in sheer delight as the warm liquid soothes his sore throat.

“jungkook!”

oh shit. right. he has a sore throat. that hurt.

his hand flies to cover his mouth, ‘oops!’ written all over his face.

you release a sigh. it’s the first proper sound you hear from him since the other night, so you can’t say that you’re mad. “is the tea that good?”

he snaps a thumbs up with a wink to confirm that ‘it’s the best!’ as he usually says. you conclude that the tea here is better than what he has at home, and so, you decide to secretly go here early tomorrow morning. his throat hurts the most after sleeping, and you’re hoping it would help put him in a good mood for the rest of the day.

jungkook wears his jacket again, and then the pink scarf. as it’s snowing harder and it’s getting colder, you take this opportunity to put the earmuffs on him.

“so cute.” you mutter quietly, kissing his cheek because it’s impossible not to shower him with love when your heart is overflowing with it. you roll your eyes when your boyfriend leans closer to wordlessly ask for another. nevertheless, you cup his face with your warm hand, kissing the mole on top of his cheekbone.

jungkook opens the umbrella the moment you step out of the bakery, and the sound of chimes get muted when the door closes on its own. the green eco-bag where the christmas lights are in gently swings as you walk back to the car parked three blocks away. parking was full almost everywhere so you had no choice but to go with whichever empty spot you saw.

you make a noise of confusion when jungkook suddenly grabs your arm to stop you from walking. he dishes out the phone from his pocket and begins typing using only his thumb. you remain standing there, motionless, waiting for him to communicate.

he pushes back his earmuffs a bit before showing you the screen. ‘baby do you want a pasta maker?’

“why would i want a pasta ma- do you want a pasta maker?”

‘they’re on sale at the store we went to :D’

you fail to hold back a laugh when you realize that he’s probably been thinking about it since you were waiting in line back at the store. “want to go back and let me buy it for you?”

‘i love you <3’

you hide a stupid grin under your mask, shyly pushing down the screen to hide it. “yah, we’re in the middle of the sidewalk.”

jungkook only giggles, stubbornly raising the screen to show it to you once more. you pull him over to the side when you see a big group of people about to walk by, accidentally stepping on a pile of snow that makes you an inch taller.

“i love you more.” you brush off the snow that fell on his hair, and you share a sincere smile that can be recognized even only through the eyes. “you promise that you’ll use it more than once?”

he replies with a fervent nod. and it’s his eyes again . . . it’s always those wide eyes shimmering with love and optimism. they make you feel as though you are capable of moving mountains and parting oceans and turning dust into gold. and as long as it’s for jungkook, those might just be true.

“alright. let’s go then.” your boyfriend takes that as the green light to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he excitedly tugs you back to the opposite way.

“walk slowly! i’m scared of slipping!” you whine in panic as you and jungkook leave behind footprints on the snow, temporarily carving the memories of today into stone.

—

taglist! @alanniys @jjkeverlast @queenofdragonsandcats @yvesismywife @enhypenslay @cramseys @witchfqllen @virgogentlejk @rkie @jeonwiixard @monilyv @bermudaisy @ameliejeannelaurent @takochelle @the1921-monsters @investedreader @seagulljk @yeow6n @yoonqkiss @hopeworldjimin @lllucere @unnatae @zqynmlk @bxbyyyjocelyn @zkdlllin @koostarcandy @tswisal1 @fragmentof-indifference @laylasbunbunny @jjk-jeongirl @cherishoshi @taexidriver @luaspersona @yn-lifeu + send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

[imaginesheaven]

Bar Owner!Reader x TF 141 - Part III

Like my follower requested: Finally the final part of the Bar Owner!Reader series. I hope you all like it. It was so fun to create it all for you. I listened to the 5 centimeters per second original sountrack the whole time writing this. I've got happy tears in my eyes :)

Warnings: Curse words (like always)

Captain John Price

John knows already for years that he is deeply in love with you yet he didn’t want to accept it. From day to day it gets harder to push the realization into the back of his mind. If you would feel the same you would have said something already. He assumes you are not looking for a relationship. Probably especially not with someone who is always away on missions. Someone who is always in danger to die very soon. Someone like John.

He takes another sip from his whiskey watching you how you serve your customers. It’s a warm evening and you all hang out in the garden behind your bar. You look so incredibly happy talking with everybody while Cougar trails after you like a lost puppy. Your joy radiates like a ray of sunshine. Behind you the sun is setting on the hills coloring you in a deep orange. It makes you even more breathtaking than you already are.

“I think you should tell (Y/N) what you feel”, Kate next to him says nonchalantly like she would talk about the amazing weather. “Am I that easy to look through?”, Price thought no one would know about his little secret. His ever-growing love for you.

“John, humor me for a second. I noticed how you look at (Y/N) when you think no one can see you. Don’t you think you let (Y/N) waiting long enough?”, Kate gives him an overly confident smile. “What do you know, Laswell?”, John tries not to sound too excited. His heart keeps hammering against his chest. Racing to catch up to you.

“I don’t want to give away too much, but if (Y/N) would have died the bar and Cougar would have been yours. Is that enough for you?”, Laswell lets him on your very own little secret. John stares at her in disbelief. The bar is everything you have ever loved in your life. Just like Cougar. You trust him so deeply knowing he would keep both safe and sound.

Price stands up from his chair making his way over to you. “Hey, John!”, your whole face lights up as you see him coming closer. He loves how you say his name. Your voice so full of kindness and love. It makes his knees weak.

He can’t stop himself anymore as he cups your face softly in his big hands. Surprised you look at him with a slight blush on your cheeks. “You have no idea how much I love you”, not waiting for your reaction John presses a soft kiss onto your lips.

Shocked you let go of the drinks, which splatter onto the grass. Doubts creep in John’s mind breaking away from you, but you stop them immediately as you wrap your arms around him pulling him into another kiss. “What took you so damn long?”, you lean your forehead against his.

Everyone starts to cheer loudly. Especially Kate. She is over the moon to see you happy once again. It brings the two of you back into reality. “I’m sorry for making you wait, love.”

It took John years to confess his love to you, but he makes sure to catch up all the things you two have missed. John tries literally everything to make all your dreams come true. Sometimes he forgets that he is the only thing you ever wanted in life.

He is so very thankful for the joy you bring him every single day he can be with you. You were all along his reason to come back safely from missions, but now John is allowed to drown in your love openly. You are his one and only. The ray of sunshine he needs to forget all the pain and misery he has been put through.

Even if you love to make fun of the fact he waited for years not realizing you feel the same all the time. John takes it with pride, “The best things in life take time, love.” Naming drinks that take longer to prepare after him.

Bonus

(Y/N): So, you set John up to confess finally?

Kate: Yes, it worked, right? But I might have lied to him about something…

(Y/N):  Kate… What did you say?

Kate: … I might have told him that you would give him your bar and Cougar if you would have died.

(Y/N): … Well, that’s not that much of a lie. I totally would have, but I’m not that easy to kill.

Kate: Oh, come on. Don’t act like a superhero.

(Y/N): … I took out half of the Russian military, Kate. I am a fucking superhero.

Kate: … *rolls her eyes* Damn it. That’s true.

Soap: *witnessing everything* HALF OF THE RUSSIAN MILITARY?!?

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Simon keeps his love for you hidden away with the rest of his emotions. Everyone knows he has a soft spot for you, but not how much his heart yearns for you. He wants to share his life with you. He wants you to know the real Simon. The one behind the mask. He wants you to see how vulnerable he can be, because he knows you would never hurt him.

“Fucking hell”, Ghost mumbles under his breath slowly overwhelmed by his feelings and thoughts. “Hey, boys. Another round?”, you stand by the table giving everyone your best smile. Simon can’t believe how much he loves you. It almost physically hurts.

Without a word he stands up to leave the bar. The fresh air calms his racing mind, but he doesn’t even try to untangle those confusing thoughts. Every single one of them revolves around you like they always do. How long can he uphold this façade?

“Hey, you okay?”, you followed him outside pointing towards the garden chairs, “Wanna take a seat?” It’s actually too cold to sit outside yet he accepts your offer thankfully. In silence the two of you sit together. You look at the sky seeing a ton of stars this night. Ghost looks at you wondering which god has sent you his way. You don’t try to start an uncomfortable conversation. Not even once you forced him to talk to you. He’s incredibly grateful for the way you deal with his peculiarities.

“Sometimes when I get overwhelmed by my thoughts I look at the stars. I try to remember all the constellations I learned over the years. It took me years to learn that it’s actually okay not to be okay and w-“, you don’t mind holding an one-sided conversation. Simon could listen to your voice all day long yet he interrupts you, “I love you.”

Simon can’t look at you after his rather blunt confession scared to see rejection in your eyes. You take his hand in yours softly to get his full attention, “I love you too, Simon.” There is only admiration and kindness in your eyes. His heart swells with happiness.

You know it wouldn’t be easy to love Simon yet you still did it with all you had. First things first, this man has to learn to trust again. Opening up himself. He lived so long behind a mask not sure how to be a functioning human being anymore. You are always there for Simon giving him exactly what he needs. Patience, love, honesty, safety.

This man would literally die for you in an instant.

You adjust to keeping your relationship under the radar for a while. Not even his team knows about the two of you. Except for Price. He knew right away after Simon confessed his love to you during that night.

One evening in the bar Simon decides it is time to make it official. Johnny likes to flirt with you in a platonic way. “Amazing drinks as always, sweetheart”, Soap winks at you grinning like the childish boy he still is.

“That’s my partner you are flirting with, Johnny”, Simon wraps his arm around your middle as you stand next to him by the table. A few seconds no one dares to say a word. Price leans back impressed by Ghost’s openness, “Pay up, Gaz.” Kyle rolls his eyes as he hands over the money.

“You did not bet on us?!”, you throw your rag laughing at Price. He raises his hands in surrender, “Sorry, it was clear as the day. Had to take the chance to win a fine bet.” Gaz shrugs one shoulder, “I thought you two would be just friends.”

Soap stares at all of you clearly confused, “Am I the only one who did not about this at all?” Smiling you push his shoulder playfully, “Your head is always up in the clouds to notice the small things.” Cougar pushes his way forward to put his head on Ghost’s leg begging for head scratches.

“Oh, that’s why Cougar likes you more now!”, Soap puts the puzzle pieces together way later than everyone else. Simon can’t explain in words how happy he is in this moment. He finally found his very own little family.

Bonus

Soap: So… (Y/N), did you see Simon without his mask?

(Y/N): … No, not yet and that’s totally fine.

Soap: You didn’t kiss yet?! Simon! What are you waiting for?

Ghost: Fucking hell, Johnny! None of your business!

(Y/N): Don’t be so harsh, Simon. Johnny doesn’t know how to woe his partner.

Ghost: … *tries not to snicker*

Soap: That’s right! I don���t know … wait, what? HEY!

Ghost: *proud of you* (Y/N), I love you so much~

John “Soap” MacTavish

Let’s be honest, everyone would know right away that this man is so in love with you. Soap is not someone who can keep things like this a secret. As soon as he lays his eyes on you his whole face lights up and nothing can bring him ever down.

“Fucking hell, Johnny, tell (Y/N) what you feel or I do it. I can’t stand you drooling over the whole table anymore”, Ghost doesn’t mean it literally, but Soap’s puppy eyes and lovesick grin the whole evening make him gag eventually.

Soap would love to tell you what he feels, but is just way too scared to lose you. “Just rip it off like a band-aid”, Gaz isn’t really the right one to give out flirt tips yet he does it anyways. Gaz and Ghost would team up against Soap; teasing him non-stop to push him to his limits so he would finally confess his undying love for you. “Boys, please, leave the poor lovesick baby alone”, Price smiles into his whiskey knowing exactly what he’s doing.

Soap stands up from his chair without a further word making his way towards the good old jukebox. He choses the first song he played over and over again to annoy you. It’s also actually the song that reminds him off you. When Soap is away from you he is always listening to this song.

You can’t help yourself from yelling out an amused “Johnny!” as you make your way towards him. A slight smile appears on his lips as he falls over and over in love with you once again. It is the first time you ever called him Johnny and it’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

He grabs your hands in his to overplay how hard they are actually shaking. The nervousness is eating at him, “Just listen for a second. I really need to get this off of my chest … Then you can yell at me or whatever.”

“The first time I ever saw you has burned into my mind, because it was the best moment in my whole life. You are a ray of sunshine. Every time I’m with you I experience so much happiness and joy like I could hug the entire world. If I could I would drown in this feeling for the rest of my life… Not that I’m proposing… I mean if you want me to I-I … Oh shit…”

Everything started out so good for him, then he starts to stumble upon his own words. Still Johnny keeps pouring his heart into his one-sided speech, “I really like you, (Y/N). I’m not the best catch out there I know but I pro-…”

You cut his rambling off with a brief but meaningful kiss. “You talk way too much sometimes, Johnny”, you wink at him grinning and the whole bar interrupts your moment with cheering. Cougar makes him way in between the two of you to share some of the love.  

This man worships the ground you walk on and would do everything for you. Sometimes Soap is a bit childish, but it doesn’t bother you at all. It reminds you to enjoy the life how it is and don’t worry too much. He still loves to get on your nerves with doing stupid shit. Here and there Soap even teams up with Gaz to make it double trouble.

“Sweetie, you love me, right?” – “You are god damn lucky you are cute, Johnny…”

Johnny is literally moving in with you after the two of you start dating. You can’t convince me otherwise. Being always by your side is his way of love language. Of course, you are not mad about having him around you all the time.

But the most important thing is that you bring Johnny peace and happiness. For the first time in forever he learns what being in love with someone really means. Having a reason to come back in one piece from missions. Johnny loves wrapping you up in his arms for sure being the happiest man on earth.

“I love you so damn much, (Y/N).” – “I love you too, Johnny.”

Bonus

Can’t forget about the most important fact of your relationship. Sharing your lovely Scottish man with your dog…

Johnny: Don’t look at me like that. I love you so much, Cougar. You are my number one.

You: … Do you want some alone time with my dog, Johnny?”

Johnny: No, no, you can stay if you want :)

You: … -.-

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Gaz is quite decent hiding his growing feelings for you behind his poker face. No one knows how much it costs him to keep up his coolness. He lost completely control over his own body. You entering the room is enough for him to turn into a blushing mess How is he supposed to tell you what he feels without making a fool out of himself?

Silently sighing Gaz downs his drink in one single sip. He hates how easy everyone seems to interact with you. Soap always makes you laugh with his jokes, while he can’t even make a conversation without starting to ramble or stutter.

Gaz only wants to let you know how much you mean to him. That you make his life so much better. You are literally perfection and out of his league. Why does he even bother to try? His desperation reaches another level.

Only alcohol can help him now. He downs another drink earning a concerned glance from Price, “You okay?” With a slight smile on his lips Gaz stands up, “Never have been better, Cap.” John just witnessed him downing two handful of drinks within an hour. He is clearly not okay, but maybe Gaz reached finally the level where he will confess his love to you. Price will keep an eye on him from afar.

“Hey there”, you greet Gaz with a smile that lights his whole world up. He hops onto the bar stool almost falling over with the whole thing trying to be cool. “Are you drunk?”, you have never seen him like that before ever again. Gaz usually knows his limits.

“No, not drunk. Only a bit tipsy”, an overly confident grin is plastered on his face. Knowing what an effect you have on him you lean forward pulling him closer towards you by his shirt collar, “Then proof it.” His eyes widen full of panic for a second, while his heart skips a beat just to double up the speed afterwards.

“If I would be drunk I would tell you how perfect you are. I would tell you how much love I have in my heart for you. There is a space in there that is shaped exactly like you. Being near you makes me so damn happy I have never been before. I could drown in your lovely eyes. This must be true love…. But I’m not drunk so therefore I’m not telling you all of this.”

His truthful words leave you shocked. A slight blush appears on your cheeks.

“Well, you just said it out loud, buddy”, Soap just stands a few centimeters away from the two of you witnessing everything. Realization hits Gaz like a baseball bat in his face. His drunk ass just confessed not knowing he spoke all of his thoughts out loud?!

“Soap!”, you throw your rag at him. Without a further word Gaz stands up bailing out completely sober now and makes his way out of the bar. “Oh no, for sure not!”, Price grabs him by his shoulders and guides Gaz back to the counter, where you are still standing.

“Don’t you dare to run away from me ever again”, you grab his chin to place a kiss onto his lips. Soap giggles in the background, Ghost makes fake gag sounds and Price just rolls his eyes, “Get a room, kids.”

Gaz still can’t believe his luck even after weeks of dating. You are the only good thing in his life and he would give everything to make you happy. Which means he lives his romantic side to its fullest. Planning out dates like almost every week. Burying you under a wave of presents he thinks you might like. Writing you pages and pages of meaningful words hoping you can understand what you mean to him.

But as soon as his ass is planted in the bar he turns into a literal child. Bickering with Soap about the jukebox. Making bets with him who can annoy you the worst. Sneaking drinks behind your back and so on. He even teams up with Soap AND Cougar singing songs from the jukebox. Well, Cougar only barks away happily having a blast with Gaz by his side.

“You are all grounded for the rest of the week!” – “No, baby! I love you! You know that, right? RIGHT?! BABY!”

Bonus

Gaz: … Thank you, Captain, for giving me the push I needed.

Price: You are welcome, kid… but please stay away from the alcohol.

Soap: … What about me? I helped too!

Gaz: You made everything worse!

Soap: I did not! You wanted to run away!

Gaz and Soap: *start pushing each other*

Price: Boys, behave.

(Y/N): … I love all of you, but bloody hell what did I get myself into?

Tagging @apathetickun @missroro @abbiesxox @flyingmushroomss

#call of duty #reader insert #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw x reader #cod mw2 hcs #relationship headcanons #romantic headcanons #captain john price #price x reader #john price mw2 #soap x reader #john mactavish #soap mw2 #kyle garrick x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #kate laswell #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #modern warfare

[leviscolwill]

soleil pluvieux

pairing: rúben dias x reader

summary: you never thought you'd be grateful for manchester's shitty weather, but that was before you met rúben at your usual bus stop [wc: ~680]

contents: strangers to ??? (🤭), just fluffy stuff

note: i should be writing the 16839 wips i've started but this idea was too irresistible not to write... also i'm aware ruben would not take the bus but he's doing it for the plot 🙄

now playing: soleil pluvieux by yvnnis (novae)

your friends would describe you as a control freak, but it wasn't totally true. you just liked to have your life together and fully organised.

but one of the very few things you couldn't control in your life was the weather. for example, you couldn't predict that this sunny day would be darkened by rainy clouds. because that was the weatherman's job, something he couldn't do properly, it seemed. so here you were, in your pretty sundress, getting rained on, on what was supposed to be a perfectly sunny day.

you mentally cursed the weatherman as you arrived at your bus stop, noticing your next bus to be in 12 minutes. enough time to get completely soaked by the time you get home, you thought.

you sensed someone stilling next to you, and the rain suddenly stops. you look up, only to meet eyes with the stranger. a tall man, with brunette hair and charming brown eyes, sharing half of his umbrella with you.

"i thought you might appreciate a break from the rain." he told you looking deep into your eyes.

for some reason, you were taken aback by his voice and his accent. you weren't one to lose your bearings often, but something about him made you stumble on your words.

"you would be right... i guess. i mean you would be right about that, getting rained on is never nice so..." it felt like the words were tripping out of your mouth and lost all their meanings.

the stranger chuckled, a beautiful sound, one you would want to listen to forever you thought.

"i'm rúben, and you are..?"

you gave him your name in something that resembled a whisper, but somehow rúben understood you, saying your name back, mostly to himself.

"pretty name." you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment.

"do you usually carry an umbrella everywhere you go ?" you were taken aback by his flirty manners and the way his eyes looked so intently into yours, tracing their way to your lips once in a while. so you tried to put him on the spot as well.

but rúben simply laughed, a loud and hearty laugh that surprised you more than your question surprised him.

"it's manchester, you should always have your umbrella ready."

he was right, manchester's weather was unpredictable. and you carried your umbrella with you whenever you felt the day was about to turn rainy, but today was supposed to be a sunny day, in your mind at least.

"i suppose you're right..." you grumbled, if there was one thing you hated, aside from untrustworthy weathermen, it was being wrong.

"my bus should be here soon... can i give you my phone number ?"

once again, you were confused by the brunette. usually, people would ask for your number, not the other way. this time, rúben put you out of your misery and explained himself.

"in case you need someone to share their umbrella with you one day, and maybe we could get a coffee or whatever you like really."

for the first time since rúben spoke to you, he seemed a little flustered. his cheeks were reddening by the second and his eyes left yours to look at his shoes.

you handed him your phone with a smile as he quickly wrote his name and number in your contacts as he saw his bus coming.

he gave you a quick smile, handing back your phone. he got on the bus and that's when you realised he also gave you his umbrella.

when you looked over at him in surprise, you were met by his pretty smile and a cute wave.

you had a smile glued to your face on your way home thinking about today's funny and unexpected encounter.

once you were finally home you snapped a quick photo of the umbrella and sent it to rúben with a text.

i guess i'm the one who has to share the umbrella now.

#rushed the ending a bit ngl #might write a pt2 idk yet #hope you like ittttt #ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias fluff #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias blurb #ruben dias x you #football drabble #football one shot #football fanfic #footballer imagine #football imagine #football x reader

[dearcat1]

(Carelessness)

Part 5 of Sass and Squirrels

Xanxus comes back to the ruckus of his brother screaming his lungs out. He sighs, fishing out his keys. It's a good thing that he took over the new school too; otherwise Nana's forgetfulness would have Xanxus spending far too much time in that building. As it is, he's got a feeling that whatever he finds inside is going to piss him the fuck off. He's so sure of it, in fact, that he's already a little pissed, in preparation. The door opens to reveal nothing. The living room looks like it should, as does the kitchen. Xanxus hoists his backpack, fingers tight around the rough fabric. "Mama?"

There is no way.

Almost reluctantly Xanxus walks up the stairs and to his brother's room. Tsunayoshi is screaming so hard it looks like he might throw up, hands clenched into fists and face scrunched up with the effort. Xanxus drops his bag by the wall. "MAMA?"

He leaves his brother where he is, rushing down the stairs because something had to had happened. There is no way. Nana is a little scatterbrained, not the best mother around by any means but she isn't this careless. And yet, almost mockingly, the answer stares back at him. There's an innocent-looking small note stuck to the fridge, Nana's writing cheerfully signed with her name and a drawn heart. Went out for tea, it says. Like it's an acceptable thing to do. Like she didn't leave a baby all by himself for who knows how long. For the first time since Xanxus woke up in this new life, fury consumes him. He doesn't care about the scorch marks he leaves on the counter, his fingertips melted into the fridge. No, he stalks back upstairs, barges into his mother's room and starts breaking anything he can get his hands on.

There's something incredibly satisfying about hearing shit break and yet something heartbreaking about finally stopping, fingers bleeding sluggishly and tears falling down his cheeks, surrounded by the destruction. He breathes harshly, chest raising and falling in sharp, jerky movements. Xanxus thinks he might hate her, but he hates more that the thought hurts. At least her room looks as it should now, he thinks, drawing himself up. Tsunayoshi is still crying, so Xanxus turns around, closing the door behind him.

The way back to Tsunayoshi's room is both purposeful and a little too mechanical. Xanxus forces his mind to stay where it needs to be, this he can fix. The rest can come later.

"Come on," Xanxus grunts, grabbing his brother out of his bassinet. Unlike Nana's room, this one is still pristine. A few reddish marks where Xanxus's bloody fingers grabbed at something but otherwise just fine. "Come on," he repeats, not bothered by Tsunayoshi screaming in his ear. He's just being loud for both of them, after all. "Diaper change," he decides because Tsunayoshi stinks. "And then food."

Afterwards, they can hug on the couch and cry a little bit. Just a little.

"You're miserable," Xanxus hums, "I'm miserable." Misery all around.

Never again.

It'll probably strain his tenuous control of the school a little but… Fuck it. Whoever Sawada used to be, he's Xanxus's little brother now. And he doesn't deserve to be left behind just like that. Abandoned so that their mother can go out and enjoy the weather or something. If he thinks too much about it he'll get mad again so he pushes that thought away, focusing on the warm weight in his arms. "We've got this, fuck Nana." He stops, fingers tight on the bathroom's knob. "You can say it too," he allows. "I won't be mad."

Tsunayoshi gurgles something back.

Xanxus assumes it's appropriately demeaning. "Exactly."

"Who needs mothers anyway?" Xanxus announces, both of them are more relaxed after the bath.

His little brother smiles at him instead of answering, bright eyes peeking up at him from under the hooded towel.

This time Xanxus's flames didn't come out of impotence and fury, fear and a desperate need to stay alive. This time, his flames came out of indignation, out of worry for a brother who wasn't his before but is his now.

When Nana comes back, she assumes some sort of freak fire accident happened in her room. Xanxus doesn't tell her otherwise and grits his teeth while she lectures him about being more careful. He doesn't pull his hands away when she cares for his wounds, doesn't even protest the stupid little nickname or the kiss on his brow. But he doesn't stop frowning either. And if a part of him wonders if this is why past Sawada didn't even bother speaking up? Well, that's only for him to know.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #xanxus #sawada tsunayoshi #sass and squirrels

[cha-melodius]

This is very exciting I can’t wait to read what you come up with.

For me?

Firstprince. A corner office.

(HELLO LOVELY thank you for this prompt, and I hope you enjoy the finished product. 💕)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

Step Into My Office, Baby

(firstprince, 2.4k, E; read it below or on AO3)

Henry is staring out the window at the southern end of Central Park when he hears a very familiar cadence of footsteps entering the office behind him. A moment later, Alex gives a low whistle.

“Look at you, Mr Fancy Pants with the corner office,” he says, his voice low and teasing and shot through with fondness.

Henry still winces slightly. “I did try to turn it down.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re an idiot,” Alex says. He’s leaning up against the door frame, his legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded in front of his chest. It’s late in the day, and he’s shed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms that Henry can’t keep his gaze from lingering on. When he manages to force his eyes up, Alex is smirking at him. “You earned it, H. Fair and square.”

If anyone had told Henry two years ago that this moment would happen, he would have laughed in their face. To say he and Alex did not get along at first would be putting it mildly. Or rather, Alex resented Henry and everything he embodied, and Henry saw the benefit of keeping Alex at a distance even as they were forced to share an office. Then, getting accidentally locked in the building overnight together yielded a tentative truce, and a fast friendship had bloomed in its wake. It’s been lovely and also dreadful, because now Henry is constantly forced to weather his warm smiles and his teasing smirks and his bloody forearms.

The owner of which is currently flopping bodily onto Henry’s new couch and wiggling his hips in a completely obscene manner as he gets comfortable.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna fucking live in here,” Alex tells him as he stretches his arms up and tucks his hands behind his head.

Yes, nothing to worry about at all.

~~~~~

The corner office comes with promotion and a whole heap of new responsibilities, and Henry quite quickly finds himself drowning in work beyond the long hours he’s used to spending with Alex at the office. He’s in the middle of a particularly terrible stretch at the moment, the looming deadline somehow simultaneously the light at the end of the tunnel and the headlamp of an oncoming train. Alex has been in the thick of it too, working late nights beside him, though that apparently doesn’t include tonight.

Henry loves him—truly, to his endless misery—but he needs to work, not listen to Alex chattering aimlessly while he sits on Henry’s couch tossing M&Ms into the air and catching them in his mouth.

“I was thinking about Thai,” he says, as if it isn’t gone one in the morning. “D’you think Noodies is still open?”

“No,” Henry huffs. They’ve been closed for three hours, and Alex knows this. “Why are you still here, anyway?” he snaps without meaning to, immediately regretting it when Alex’s face falls.

“Well, I was keeping you company and making sure you don’t collapse into an endless spiral of work like a fucking black hole, but I guess Mr Corner Office is too important to need anyone’s help,” Alex sneers, pushing himself angrily to his feet.

Christ, they haven’t spoken to each other like this since that horrible first year, and even more than the work, that’s what finally breaks Henry. Alex is halfway to the door by the time Henry catches him by the elbow, and he jerks out of Henry’s grasp immediately. Thankfully, he does stop, though the glare he levels at Henry does a poor job at masking the hurt written on his face.

“Alex, wait,” Henry pleads. He lets out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand over his face. Christ, he’s too bloody exhausted for this. “I’m sorry. It’s just this project is driving me batty. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Well,” Alex says, fidgeting as he frowns down at the ground. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” He sighs as he looks up again. “But I get it. They’re putting too much on you.”

Henry reaches out and puts a tentative hand on his elbow again; this time, he’s not shrugged off. “Can you forgive the stuck up prick in the corner office who takes everyone else for granted?”

“That guy?” Alex snorts. “No. But you’re not that guy, H.”

“I feel like him sometimes.”

“C’mere,” Alex mumbles, and the next thing Henry knows he’s being tugged into a tight hug.

It’s not the first time they’ve hugged, but it’s the first time it’s been so fierce, and it feels like it fundamentally shifts something inside Henry. Alex winds his fingers into Henry’s collar and buries his face in his neck, and it’s all Henry can do to hang on like he’s clinging to a life preserver in a storm.

Except somehow, Alex is both the life preserver and the storm.

~~~~~

When the project finally wraps up, it’s a big deal, and the whole office celebrates accordingly.

“Work hard, play hard,” Alex sing-songs with a wink as he fills Henry’s champagne flute again.

He’s been ricocheting around the room, putting that patented Claremont-Diaz charm to good use. There’s almost certainly a promotion with his name on it after all of this, so he has more than enough reason to celebrate. He’s already been teasing Henry about stealing his office. Henry feels jubilant, effervescent like the bubbles bursting in his glass, and he forgets to be self-conscious about the way he watches Alex. Forgets to school his expression. Forgets not to smile too broadly when Alex hooks an arm around his neck and hangs off him like a monkey.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” Alex says all at once, tugging him toward the door of the massive conference room that’s serving as the party hub.

“You quite literally just poured me a new drink,” Henry points out.

“So bring it with you. C’mon,” he almost whines, which should not be as endearing as it is. He’s unleashing his most devastating giant brown puppy dog eyes. Henry never stood a chance.

“Where are we going?”

“I just need a breather,” Alex sighs heavily. He drags Henry down the office corridors at nearly a jog, until the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses fade away, all the way to the open door of Henry’s office. At Henry’s cocked eyebrow, he laughs. “Best view in the building.”

He doesn’t walk over to the bank of windows, though. Once Henry’s inside the door, he pushes it shut, sealing them off from the rest of the office. Then he returns to Henry’s side and plucks the champagne flute from his hand. He downs half of it in one go, laughs at Henry’s affronted “hey!” as he deposits the glass on the desk, and grabs the fronts of Henry’s jacket before he starts walking backward across the office. Henry can’t help but laugh helplessly at Alex’s chaotic manhandling, at least until Alex stumbles into the couch and he’s dragged down by Alex’s dead weight dropping out from under him. They land in a giggling heap, and Christ, he’s in Alex’s lap, but when he tries to disentangle himself, he feels Alex’s grip go tight at his hip. An arm slides around his waist, loose enough not to be demanding, but firm enough to prevent him from moving away.

Oh.

Startled, he looks down at Alex, whose cheeks are flushed a dusty rose from the champagne and the exertion, who’s breathing heavily through pink lips temptingly parted as he stares back up with his bottomless dark eyes. He isn’t laughing anymore.

“I like this office,” Alex murmurs. “Something about it settles me. When I’m here.” His grip shifts on Henry’s hip, fingers tightening. “With you.”

“Alex,” Henry whispers, barely daring to breathe.

One corner of Alex’s mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s not the office.”

It’s impossible to tell which of them moves first to close the narrow gap between them, lips meeting in a fierce, hungry press that quickly deepens. Alex nearly bites at his lips, dragging his teeth along their inner edges, and it shouldn’t work for him but fuck, it really does. Henry finds himself pressing closer, revelling in the way that Alex’s arms tighten to bring their bodies together as he sinks his fingers into Alex’s curls. 

“Christ, I never thought you’d want—” Henry starts, though he doesn’t manage to finish that train or thought before he’s diving in to kiss the corner of Alex’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Alex breathes as he tips his head back to give him better access, “me neither.”

“What?” Henry asks, huffing a soft laugh against his skin.

“I mean, does anyone expect to fall in love with their work nemesis?”

That makes Henry pull back and stare down at him in shock. “You’re—”

“In love with you?” Alex finishes. There’s an impossibly soft look on his face, but it’s undercut by a flicker of nervousness. “Yeah, baby. Head over fucking heels.”

Henry feels himself tremble at baby, which is an entirely novel experience, though perhaps not unexpected given how his usual reaction when Alex teasingly calls him sweetheart. He’s so fucking overwhelmed that the only thing he can manage to do is lean in and kiss Alex again, slow and tender and full of all the words and emotions threatening to choke him. He presses his forehead to Alex’s when they part, and for a moment they just breathe together—unconsciously, perfectly, in sync. It’s everything he never let himself imagine, all those late nights together, all those meetings and emails and coffees delivered with sunny smiles that he refused to read into. Alex is warm and solid under him now, grabbing his waist as they kiss and kiss and it becomes heated again, until he’s rocking his hips up eagerly to meet Henry’s in a way that is rapidly going to become a problem.

Especially since Alex seems to find it not a problem at all.

“Wait, Alex, we can’t—” Henry tries, biting down on a groan when Alex palms over his hardening cock before making quick work of his belt and the fastening of his trousers, “—the windows.”

As if that’s the most troubling thing about them having sex in Henry’s office while half the company is just down the hall.

“We’re on the fiftieth floor, baby, no one’s gonna see,” Alex says, undeterred, grinning wickedly as he slips a hand into Henry’s boxers.

Right, then, that’s… good enough, actually. Henry’s been waiting for this for two and a half bloody years and he’s not really inclined to wait any longer. He kisses the smile off Alex’s face as he sets to work on the buttons of Alex’s shirt, rapidly pulling them open so he can get his hands on more of Alex’s skin. And Christ, he’d known Alex was fit—it’s hard not to know, with how ridiculously tightly cut he wears his suits—but it’s another thing altogether to drag his palms over the swell of his pecs and the hard lines of his stomach. Alex bites down hard on his lower lip when Henry tweaks one of his nipples, then retaliates by twisting his palm with just the right amount of pressure over the head of Henry’s cock. Henry moans as his hips buck up into Alex’s grip, chasing the friction that borders on just this side of too much.

“What do you want, baby?” Alex murmurs against his lips, and ‘everything’ feels like too big a concept in the moment, so Henry chokes out, “Just this, just you—” and lets himself get lost in the feeling of Alex’s hands on his skin. He’s so unbelievably worked up that it’s not long before the tension building in his groin is reaching a breaking point, but it’s looking down that finally does him in—watching the head of his cock appear and disappear within the tight circle of Alex’s long fingers, brown skin against dark pink. He tumbles over the edge with a choked off laugh, clinging desperately to Alex as he works him through it, until he’s hissing at the point of oversensitivity.

For a moment he just breathes, his face buried in Alex’s shoulder, mindful of Alex shifting slightly beneath him even if he’s trying not to be obvious about it.

“Not trying to harsh your afterglow here, but d’ya think you could move so I could get a tissue or something?” Alex asks eventually.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Henry rasps, dropping his hands to the fastenings of Alex’s trousers. He shifts back to get a better angle and tugs Alex’s boxers down enough to release his cock, long and rock hard and leaking at the tip, then takes Alex’s hand covered in his come and wraps it around his shaft with his own, weaving their fingers together.

“Oh,” Alex gasps, his hips immediately rocking up into their combined grip, Henry’s come slicking the way and filling the silence of the office with some of the most obscene sounds Henry’s ever heard.

He lets Alex set the pace, which starts out as a slow drag and rapidly picks up tempo, until Alex is quivering under him and swearing in at least two languages. Alex tips his head back against the couch, and Henry can’t resist ducking down to scrape his teeth along the long column of muscle so temptingly laid bare before him. The movement seems to make every muscle in Alex’s body tense up, and then he’s coming with a “Fuck, baby,” that has Henry groaning along with him. 

They clean up quietly, trading soft kisses that they occasionally get lost in, setting each other to rights enough so that they can— well, perhaps not return to the party, but at least leave the building. Henry doubts that their absence has been noticed, anyway.

“Jesus, I’ve been wanting to do that since you got this office,” Alex groans once they’re done, pushing a hand through curls as he stretches slightly where he sits on the couch. 

“What, that specifically?” Henry asks, furrowing his brow at him.

“I mean, more or less,” Alex admits. One side of his mouth tugs upward into a smirk. “To be fair I think I’ve imagined every possible way of taking you apart on this couch.”

“Christ, Alex.”

Alex grins broadly and shifts over to press his lips to the corner of Henry’s mouth. “You wanna hear the list?”

“You’re an incorrigible delinquent,” Henry protests, letting himself be drawn into another kiss. Then he leans in, lips brushing the shell of Alex’s ear, and whispers, “Tell me at home.”

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

I was wondering what Akai is up to in the sweater weather AU, so here you go

I.

Akai Shuichi is a thrillseeker at heart, but even he has his limits.

So when his mother, conveniently pocket-sized but still as sharp as ever, threatens him with a gun and lays into him, not for faking his death, but, of all things, for not mentioning his partner to her, he privately questions her priorities but decides to tell her the truth. He certainly likes to live dangerously, but he wouldn't be alive today if he didn't know how to pick his battles.

While she seems initially confused, the conversation about Akemi quickly veers off-track when his mother asks him to repeat her family name. Miyano, as in, her sister's daughter Miyano Akemi. Shuichi didn't even know he had an aunt. Not that it matters much, since he knows Akemi's parents died years ago. Eventually his mother leaves him alone, both of them too caught up in their heads to continue the conversation.

Shuichi's not really sure what to feel about all of that. So he doesn't.

.

He's not always been good at managing his emotions, but it's pretty close. When his father taught him how to hunt, and the misery of seeing proud game succumb to his shots had almost swallowed him alive, something cracked under the pressure. And whatever that was, despite Shuichi's best efforts, it has never quite healed alright. It left him with a slight gap between his thoughts and feelings, giving him that bit of extra distance necessary to keep going instead of breaking down. He'd come to understand, then, with a clarity born from numbness, death as an integral part of life. It comes for all living things, sometimes too early, and there really is no way to escape it. There's no use in fighting. Better get used to it.

The FBI counsellor called it repression, many years later, and while it was not even close to immediate grounds for disqualification from the program, she tried to give Shuichi reading materials on mindfulness and self-reflection. He hasn't touched them; the ability has been too helpful so far. He would've shattered several times over without it; when his father disappeared and his world threatened to break apart; when he decided to leave his family, including an unborn sister, behind for the ghost of a chance to find his father; and most often since he went undercover for the FBI. There's no fooling himself, compartmentalization and repression are probably the only reasons he can talk about the years and years of dirty work, including everything from blackmail to torture and murder, without losing his sanity. People call him cold-blooded and emotionally unavailable, and mean it as an insult. Shuichi can't bring himself to care. Life is complicated enough without emotions thrown into the mix. He needs to control some factors and keep them simple. Himself, he can control - mostly. So he does.

And he's good at it, but some days, it's too much.

.

Dealing with Akemi's untimely demise has always been difficult. He made a mistake when he got attached to his target. He can't even claim that he didn't know better, at the time, because he did, he just chose to ignore his better judgement. Couldn't help it, really. She was so easy to get along with, gentle yet tough as nails in a way that gave him, too, the strength needed to make a name for himself as a hitman. Those first couple of months before he learned not to sleep too much, when he came back from his missions feeling stained in blood that never even touched him, when he maintained his cover throughout the day and threatened to break apart by night, she was there to steady him. And she allowed him to be gentle with her, to hold her and love her and promise her the world. He needed desperately to not just be a monster, and she managed to see the man in him.

Now he's left to wonder if the easy familiarity he settled into with Akemi was a result of their relation. Such a pointless question.

.

With the help of a few glasses of Maker's Mark, a pack of cigarettes, and a probably unhealthy amount of emotional distancing, he manages to lay the matter to rest, for now. Until the organisation is dealt with, he can't afford to let his emotions get in the way, so he buries them as deep as he can, and applies logic to the problem.

Ultimately, he reasons, rhythmically assembling and disassembling his IWI Jericho to give his hands something to do, it doesn't really change things. What matters is that he loved her and she died for it. Whatever he learned after can't tarnish that memory. It's a simple fact that he needs to keep going to avenge her; aside from that, all he can do right now is remember her, and honour her last request. That's the active parameter he can affect: he will see to it that Miyano Shiho is protected, or die trying.

Shuichi considers telling the girl they're cousins, and eventually, he will - if she doesn't figure it out before that, keen as she is. But for now, she still doesn't trust him, has too much to worry about, and honestly, for a supposedly dead man he has enough tetchy family connections already. Maybe, when all of this is over, he can tell Masumi - she's a bit too careless to be told now, and he hopes his mother shares this assessment. But his little sister is great at breaking the ice, and he's sure she would love to hear she has more family. It might do Shiho well, too, knowing she isn't as alone as she might think. Their family is odd enough that she'll fit right in.

He's not sure he'd wish it upon her, though. Dealing with his darling mother always involves a headache of some kind. He is reminded once again why he didn't join the MI6, and why he tries to keep contact with her to a minimum. Still, somewhere deep down and buried, he's glad she seems to be well enough to feel like going out and threatening him. It's almost cute, even if she's deadly.

.

Despite his best efforts not to let it affect him, emotional exhaustion sticks to him through the next couple of days, uneventful as they are. Sleeping would probably help, but he keeps himself awake with coffee where he can, only napping a couple hours a day. Shuichi's life is one of constant vigilance, of surveillance and planning and striking at precisely the right time. And it suits him just fine, patience is in his nature. But while he's not on a mission, it sometimes leaves him just a little bit bored. The Kudo library is extensive, but there's only so many mystery novels he can read before his mind starts to wander. Trying not to think of Akemi's death is like trying not to think about pink elephants once he has been reminded of them. The comparison is uncharitable, and he knows she wouldn't appreciate his brooding, but it's not like he has much else to occupy himself with. Yes, there are the preparations for a joint operation against the organization coming up in a little over a month, and there's a class Okiya Subaru has to attend Tuesday evenings, but it's not like they require his full attention. He still tries to give it to them.

II.

Shuichi's not sure whether it's a blessing or a curse that he's meeting with Furuya Rei a couple of days after the ill-fated encounter with his mother.

Their relationship is tumultuous at best, and murderous at worst, complicated in the way all interactions containing Furuya tend to be, as the man is dictated by exactly the kind of emotions Shuichi tries to avoid. Granted, it is a rather one-sided disagreement; as with most things, Shuichi has no strong feelings about Furuya. He respects the other agent's abilities, particularly the fact he is still undercover, and teasing him is surprisingly fun. That's about it. Shuichi's keenly aware of Furuya's flaws, but as long as they don't bother their operations, he's not going to do anything about them.

In fact, in the last weeks - months really, at this point - he's been enjoying going along with Furuya's whims, meeting him to exchange the sweaters he seems to be so obsessed with. When he's not trying to hound him, Furuya can be somewhat decent company, chattering away about the mundane things that irritate him. Until he realizes he's been too pleasant, at which point he gets a little volatile to make sure Shuichi understands they're not actually friends. It's nothing Shuichi can't handle, and to be completely honest, he appreciates a little less boredom in his life.

Today, though, doom and gloom and failure still on his mind, he's not really up for playing games with the PSB agent. They know each other better than anyone else alive, aside from maybe Morofushi. Furuya will understand.

So he prepares a bag, shoves the sweater Furuya requested in, double-checking it's the right one because he really doesn't need another lecture right now, and waits for the agent to break into the Kudo mansion so he can hand it over and be done with it. Considering he's an ally now, Shuichi would offer him a key, but he's got the distinct impression Furuya would somehow misconstruct it as an insult to his abilities.

.

Exactly five minutes ahead of schedule, there's the click of the first-story balcony door, and Shuichi pads down from the sniper nest in the attic to meet his guest. Wordlessly, he holds out the bag to Furuya in the hallway. "Not even a good evening? Lacking in manners as usual, Akai Shuichi." Shuichi shrugs, can't be bothered. Shakes the bag. "Here's what you came for." Furuya's eyes narrow, scan across his form, then his brows furrow. An expression Shuichi hasn't seen on him before crosses his face, and before he has time to interpret it, it's gone, replaced by a smirk. "Hey, Akai." He stretches, dangling his own bag overhead. "That takedown you performed on the serial killer two weeks ago. Teach it to me." Shuichi stares back, unimpressed. "Maybe next time, I'm not-" Two quick steps, and Furuya's in his space, eyes blazing blue, looking up at him so impossibly bright. "That wasn't a question, Akai." He grins, eyes shining. "Or you're not getting your sweater back."

Shuichi almost lets out a laugh. That's gotta be up there somewhere in the top five stupidest threats he's ever been issued. Which is really saying something, considering he spent his teenage years in a high school in the US, and then some more years with FBI trainees in Quantico. What is it with Furuya and his sweater fixation? Akai doesn't care, he can have them all if it gets him out of his hair.

Unfortunately, Shuichi's best death glare doesn't seem to have the desired effect. Determination is either Furuya's best or worst quality, depending on how much trouble his current agenda involves, and for the sake of Shuichi's time, it's probably quicker to go along with him than to try and forcibly relocate him, even if he's certain he could. With a quiet sigh he makes for the basement gym.

.

Where his temper shines through in conversations, Furuya's presence in a fight is that of a wildfire, contained in a person. When he fights, he burns, sucking the oxygen and attention out of his surroundings, doesn't allow for distractions or he'll singe and bite and sting whatever is in his path. He takes to Akai's instructions easily, and soon enough they're no longer practicing but engaged in a sparring match. Furuya doesn't leave him time to consider anything else, at all, and damnit, that fervour of his is contagious. The battlejoy kicks in, hard, and Shuichi finds himself mirroring the PSB agent's mad grin as they wrestle for dominance, toss each other into the mat, twist and turn and struggle on the fine line between play and serious fighting.

Once they're staying down on the mats, the battle is over quickly; one moment he has Rei in a full-body pin, sure of his surrender; only for the man to twist his legs, shift their positions, and straddle Shuichi, bending down to choke him. He's stunning like this, flushed and panting for breath, his scorching gaze focused intently on Shuichi and Shuichi alone, looking for an opportunity to make him yield. An effigy of life itself.

Shuichi can't help it; his heart soars, his blood sings, his body shivers. Rei is a pinpoint focus of light, and then everything goes dark.

.

Sweater weather AU masterpost

#akai might know his limits and pick his battles accordingly. this does not help whatsoever when rei picks the fights for them. #rei is contemplating heavily ever trying to help Akai again. here he is being nice and Akai faints on him. #rei: you're supposed to tap out BEFORE you loose conciousness ffs (not that he would surrender either) #akai thinking: don't get distracted or he'll eat you alive. also akai: gets distracted #recreational choking is not where I thought this would go but here we are #yes I know I'm an advocate for Akai being a better fighter than Rei #but he's going through things it's fine #also I do believe he has an eye and appreciation for brilliance #sweater weather AU #iris writes things #long post #damn it I always forget to tag a thing #akam #there we go #if I knew what I was doing I probably should've left it at Akai moping. but I couldn't let him stay that down :/

[koco-coko]

Ikevamp OC: Tchaikovsky

(If Ikevamp can genderbend Jeanne D'Arc, I can genderbend Tchaikovsky.)

The Porcelain Composer

Sensitive x Docile

Full name: Pyetrovna Ilyich Tchaikovsky 

Nickname: Tchai

Nationality: Russian

Current place of living: Vlad’s Castle

Past Occupation: Composer

Birthday: May 7th

Likes: Flowers, Ballet, Snow 

Dislikes: Alcohol, Pessimism, Intense Emotions

Background: Like a spring flower standing against a winter storm, Tchaikovsky always keeps an optimistic air about her, no matter what the weather brings. Rain or shine, Tchai plays her violin and dances to her own melody, hoping to bring a smile to every face she sees.

All she wants is for everyone in the world to be happy, to be understanding, to love one another… Even if it comes at the expense of her mind and body. It’s a small price to pay.

“If my music can make one person smile– just one– then I think I’ve made the world just a bit better, don’t you agree? Maybe that's a bit selfish of me...”

Relationships

Mozart: A mutual respect for each other and their dedication to music. They almost treat each other like siblings, despite Mozart looking down on how emotional she is. He finds her passion for music quite amusing sometimes, seeing as she always has her violin in her hands and has a habit of breaking into song whenever it hits her. They share the music room when she stays over and play together a lot, though many times Mozart has caught her on the floor of the music room when her tremors flare-up. He usually has to force her to take a break from her songs. 

Vincent: If you put these two in a room together and peaked in, it would be like staring at the sun. They’re too pure and bright! They share an adoration of flowers and end up agreeing on many things. They go to flower shops together to look for inspiration. Theo does not like this, especially considering her… “cat” (aka a beast from hell the size of a human child). 

Vlad: The one who revived Tchaikovsky after learning of her intense desire to make the world a better place for all. Her heart is pure and not a single bad thought goes through her head– the perfect example of what Vlad wants from humanity. Vlad can be protective of her because of this and her disability, but they are also very good friends. They can often be seen gardening and playing duets together.

Faust: Acquaintances and nothing more. They don’t interact with each other often. At most, she goes to Faust when she’s having tremor flare-ups or needs a muscle-relaxer. Otherwise, she tries not to get in the way of his dubiously ethical experiments. She slightly confident he won’t hurt her specifically, considering he deems her too fragile for any meaningful experiments, but she still doesn’t trust him that much.

Charles: Combined, they create a single brain cell. When their hyperactivity syncs up, it can either be the brightest, sunniest day or it can mean chaos for all parties involved. Tchai loves to go visit children with him and perform for them, dancing and laughing the entire time. Other times, they will simply sit with each other and wallow in misery together. They always play off each other’s emotional states when they’re near each other. 

Pet, Svetlana: A snow-white Maine Coon, she’s almost the size of Tchai herself. Vlad adopted Svetlana when she was a tiny kitty, intending the cat to be a gift for Tchai when she was having a depressive episode. Tchai instantly fell in love with the cat and despite her size, still treats her like a small lap cat. She loves this cat with all her heart, cuddling her whenever she’s around and keeping her well-groomed and clean as possible. Svetlana is extremely friendly and prides herself on her cleanliness. When Tchai can’t take the noise or has flare-ups, she spends time with her favorite little kitty-cat. 

Physical Characteristics

Addictions: This girl will drink iced tea (preferably sweet) even if it kills her. She’s trying to stay away from alcohol in her new life.

Eye color: Lavender

Hair color: Pastel pink

Skin color: Pale as snow

Disabilities: Tchaikovsky has central nervous system issues. Large sounds and intense vibrations trigger intense tremors. Ironic, considering how intensely she loves music. Her tremors can grow intense enough to the point she can’t even stand without assistance, but she’ll strum her violin on the floor if she must.

Height: 5”4’ or 162 cm

Hobbies: Aside from playing her violin, Tchai collects flowers and presses them into a journal in her spare time. Vlad and her exchange flower crowns on occasion.

Clothing style: Tchai wears light, flowy dresses and ballet shoes. She likes having freedom of movement due to her bursts of inspiration.

Health issues: Other than her tremors, Tchai deals with bipolar depression. She uses music as her escape and tends to hide these feelings, staying as optimistic and kind as possible. She will spend some days locked in her room, unable to do anything, and a few days later she’s filled with energy and life.

Mental Characteristics

Fears: Tchai has an irrational fear of birds. If one gets near, she starts screaming and trying to cover her violin as if it were her own baby, thinking that the birds might pluck the strings out.

Self-confidence: Very low. Tchai does not see herself as worthy to be here or to help Vlad with his goal, but she’s trying her best.

Rational or emotional: Emotional

How could you upset this character: Almost anything can upset Tchai. She was called the “porcelain child” for a reason– she’s highly sensitive. Not just due to her nervous system issues, but her emotional state as well. She is a crybaby through and through. Any intense situations, good or bad, will have her sobbing.

Sleep habits: Erratic. Sometimes, she only wants to sleep. Other times, she’s so busy composing she won’t sleep for days and Vlad has to use his powers to get her to bed.

Emotional strengths: Tchai always looks on the positive side of things, shining with positive light wherever she goes.

Emotional weaknesses: Any strong emotions means tears will appear. A little kid complimented her skills? Sobbing. Someone pushes her aside and laughs? Crying. Her cat brings a dead squirrel? Wailing in pride.

Introvert or extrovert: Introvert

What would they change about themselves: She wishes she wasn’t such a crybaby.

What motivates them: The thought of bringing purity and love to the entire world, making pain no more and letting happiness reign. She hopes her music will inspire people to enjoy life and encourage others to be kinder to each other.

What scares them: Disappointing her friends/family and causing trouble for anyone.

What makes them happy: Music and flowers.

Give or take: Give

Nice or rude: Nice

Pet peeves: She hates unnecessary rudeness. 

Guilty pleasures: When nobody is around, Tchai will perform entire ballets by herself, dancing and playing violin simultaneously. 

Picrew:

#koco talks ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp oc #ikevamp oc: tchai #OC

[miserymerci]

Fluffy February Day 1 : Snow - The Unchangeable Changes

@fluffyfebruary

Fandom: Lego Monkie Kid

Characters: MK and Sun Wukong

(Father-son relationship, comfort)

Summary: Set right after the gang flees from Lady Bone Demon in S2 E10, they set off on a journey to the west- but the west is a long way from the familiar comfort of home. MK struggles with the sudden changes.

It didn’t often snow in Megapolis.

The last time it had snowed in the city was before MK had even been born; thirty years ago in the midst of an unnaturally-cold winter. Before that, it had been another forty years since it had snowed.

So, yeah, MK had come to terms that he would be an old man before having a snowball fight– but that had been all right. Megapolis was his home . Even though it had crushed his little five-year-old dream of being like those kids in the movie, MK was still MK, snowy weather or not.

The absence of stars on this dark, fuzzy night was replaced by snowflakes.

Specks of snow fluttered down like dust in the sunlight. It glittered and twinkled playfully with every twist and turn, as if it were laughing.

Snowfall could mean plenty of things: play, innocence, purity.

When the first flake glided down onto MK’s skin, all he could think of was the cold embrace of destiny.

He backed out into the doorway of the ship.

Of all the nights MK couldn’t sleep, it had to be this one: in the chilly, still night, miles away from home, hope and faith a spark against a storm.

The snowflakes laughed at him.

Yeah , out of all the things that MK needed right now, this one was very low on the list, thanks.

“Perfect night, ey, bud?”

Beside him, Monkey King stretched two hands up before one of them settled on MK’s shoulder.

“Sleeping through something like this is for dorks ,” continued Monkey King.

“Oh– oh . Yeah. No, I’m– I’m not one of those,” said MK.

Monkey King snickered, turning away from MK to look up at the dizzy snowflakes caught in the gentle breeze.

“What a view,” said Monkey King, after a few moments. “We should get out of the doorway and have a closer look.”

“ You can. Um, it’s a little too cold for me though. Was thinking about going back to bed.”

Monkey King smiled, shrugged, and let his tail brush MK’s arm as he emerged onto the ship’s deck.

MK’s hand went out to grab him– warn him, stop him, something–! But the snowflakes welcomed the King of the Monkeys with weightless kisses on a fuzzy head.

MK swallowed and huddled up in the doorway.

“Are you scared of snow ?” asked Monkey King. He turned to face MK, eerily backlit by what little moonlight could reach past the dark clouds.

“I’m not scared of snow ,” said MK, frowning at the teasing tone of his mentor. “It’s just cold . I’ve never seen it snow before.”

“ Really ?”

“Monkey King, you live near Megapolis– we don’t get snow.”

“ Oh , right,” he looked up at the sky. “Sorry, I forget that not everyone’s been to as many places as I have.”

MK rolled his eyes at the boasting, but he wasn’t actually all-that-annoyed at Monkey King’s antics– it was this blasted weather .

He watched the snow flutter. Something deep and blue flickered at the core of each and every flake, like an echo of a call: of an everlasting promise that was less of a ‘pinkie-swear’ and more of a ‘I vow eternal misery to you and your children, and also everytime you tie your shoe you’ll mess up and only make one loop’.

The snowflakes laughed at him.

MK needed to go back inside.

“What’s on your mind?”

MK turned back to his mentor.

Monkey King was settled against the railing of the ship, tail swaying as if it were trying to copy the gentle lull of the breeze, the snow a fresh powder of promises on top of his head. He stared at MK with a strangely-troubled expression.

The break in the perfect snowfall was a relief .

“A lot of things, actually,” said MK, voice cracking past his doubt. “I can name a few at the top of my head. Like: I don’t have my powers anymore, I lost your Staff, Lady Bone Demon is on our tails, and I’m starting to feel a little…” he shrank away from a snowflake that got too close to his hidy place, “…wrong, I think.”

“Feeling wrong about ‘everything’?”

MK swallowed.

“Feeling wrong about ‘ me’ ,” he said, but it was lost somewhere between him and his mentor, whisked by the playful tickle of the wind.

The words might not have reached Monkey King. It was sort of hard to tell, but now he was too embarrassed to repeat himself. I mean– what does that even mean ? ‘Feeling wrong about me’ !? Come on , MK!

The metal of the ship deck clinked lightly as Monkey King neared. Then, a hand took his shoulder.

Something in the midst of the desolate snowstorm warmed.

Monkey King took one step back, so MK took one stumbling step forward into the known.

He was exposed.

The gathering storm giggled with passing nips against every little inch of his skin. Its touch flushed down MK’s insides to settle a deep cold in every organ of his quivering body.

His next breath shook.

Warm palms shifted down to cup MK’s elbows, and they led into another step backwards– another step forwards. Back and forward. Shift and stumble.

Monkey King and MK were in the middle of the storm. The snow, a taunting thing, never let up in their assault. It gathered in MK’s hair and Monkey King’s fur, weighing MK down.

The spiking cold was smug eyes watching him squirm. The biting wind was ghostly touches draining his warmth. The snow was cruel words echoing his swelling fear.

A red cape was tossed along MK’s shoulders.

“Better?” asked Monkey King as he tied the ends together.

“What?”

“You said it was cold? I have a cape? Extra layers?”

MK blinked at him, slowly pulling the cape closer to his body. “Um. I…”

Monkey King had this… look in his eye. It wasn’t caused by something MK did– in fact, he had seen the same look in all of his friends within the past few hours. The day had been cruel to each and every one of them.

Monkey King was exhausted. MK was exhausted. Every single person below deck, struggling to sleep in a land not their own, was exhausted. Next to nothing was perfect right now. They had been chased from their homes by a force that they didn’t quite understand yet.

“Why did you have to leave?” asked MK.

The winds had softened against his cheeks, but maybe they hadn’t been raging in the first place.

Monkey King turned away from him. He looked down, but every side of the ship was occupied by thick clouds. The guilty twitch of Monkey King’s expression sent the dread racing back to MK’s heart.

Quickly, as if he had sensed the change, Monkey King slung an arm over MK’s shoulders and pressed him to his side.

“Thought I could handle it.”

“You knew , and you didn’t tell us.”

Monkey King made a croaking sound.

“Ugh,” said Monkey King, sagging against the ship’s railing, the movement bringing MK down with him, “This is my mess. Watching you take care of it, take the brunt of all this craziness. It’s not fair.”

“I’ve been a part of this craziness. The moment I picked up the staff, this has had everything to do with me, too,” said MK.

Monkey King pulled MK impossibly closer, glaring down at nothing.

“You couldn’t have expected the past to not bite me– bite us – when you let that staff become mine ,” MK added, watching his mentor’s face but not understanding it. “I can handle it . I promise .”

Monkey King’s head shot up to look at MK.

“ Bud , you’re one of the toughest little spitfires I know. You can handle plenty of things I’m not even sure I could have when I was your age.”

“You think so?”

“ ‘Course I do. Ugh. I just have… a sense of duty . You get it, right?”

Flakes of snow had gathered onto MK’s eyelashes. He swiped one hand over his eyes, but his hand felt numb with cold and his fingertips had become a flushed pink. He tested out a sniffle and found that one of his nostrils was clogged.

“Uh. I dunno. I can’t sense much of anything out here.”

“ MK ,” Monkey King stressed. The serious edge to it melted MK’s urge for jokes.

“…I think so,” said MK, looking over his unshakable childhood hero. They were out in the cold, watching the gentle snow welcome them to their journey.

“You think so?” echoed Monkey King.

MK sniffled.

“I do know. Um– I hope I do, I mean.”

“Where’s this doubt coming from?”

It was coming from the Lady Bone Demon– her purpose, her desire, MK’s involvement in it all. It came in the form of flimsy trust and feeling powerless in his own skin. She came with ice and bones and chill. She came with faux winter weather and the snowy tomb to match.

MK focused on the gracious warmth pooling where the two of them huddled together. The wind was a breeze, the storm was an easy drift of little snowflakes.

This snow meant no harm to MK.

“I just don’t want you to think you made the wrong choice… chose the wrong successor,” said MK, weakly. When Monkey King didn’t reply, MK rushed to add, “I– I mean, it’s weird . Just a crazy thought. Not my thought, though– it was Lady Bone Demon’s. She thought that, not me. Because that would be weird .”

Monkey King took a deep breath.

“Everything she’s said was meant to do one thing: hurt you. Hurt all of us. Beating us down– it helps her with her own goal. Did any of her words come from my mouth?”

“Well… no,” said MK. He squeezed his eyes shut, shuddered out a breath, and then winced up at Monkey King. “But I’ve been seeing a lot of it.”

“Oh.”

They stood on the ship deck, watching the weather continue on in the dead of night, until MK’s nose was so stuffy that he couldn’t even breathe through it anymore.

“Maybe it’s time for bed,” said Monkey King.

He shifted to grab the red cape, readjusting it to better cover MK, and then moved on to the snow that had gathered on top of his student. Once the snow had been brushed off, Monkey King stepped back.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for bed,” said MK.

“Oh. That’s all right.”

MK looked over the exhaustion on his mentor’s face again. He stared and stared, through the pretty, white snowfall, until Monkey King smiled over at him; it was a warm, cheeky smile that MK was confident would be the only thing that would never change.

“You want me to tuck you in and read you a bedtime story?” said Monkey King. “I hear that helps babies get to sleep.”

The thought was absolutely absurd. It was such a far cry from what they were even doing out here in the first place. I mean, the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, offering to read a young adult some sort of children's book?

The more MK thought about it, the funnier it became.

“I mean, if you’re offering… ”

Monkey King looked over thoughtfully at the clouds. “It’ll be blackmail for both parties. Neither of us should mention it to anyone.”

“You don’t want to do it?” said MK, feigning disappointment.

His mentor blinked at him. Something fierce and suspiciously life-changing flashed in his eyes, and MK faltered.

“Of course I do, kiddo," said Monkey King, straightening up. "I’d be honored."

MK believed him.

“You know,” said Monkey King after MK was bundled up in his makeshift bed, “I offered you my cape because I thought the problem was that you couldn’t handle the cold.”

“I’m great in the cold!” MK replied before doubling back. “Wait, you pulled me out into the snow thinking that I was just scared of a few shivers ? I thought you were doing some wise mystic monkey-ness stuff back there.”

“Well, I was . Unintentionally.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, you want ‘Llama Llama Nighty-Night’ or ‘Stellaluna’?”

MK sniffled softly.

"'Stellaluna', please."

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk mk #sun wukong #sunburst duo

[doktordismemberment]

Brain Puke: Vaping Bile

How fucked is the world we live in where 1 in 5 Americans think Taylor Swift is a deep state operative?

The desperate need for a comic book narrative. Good guys. Bad guys. Cloak and dagger intrigue. Hack plot devices. Stan Lee with a brain injury and stunted emotional development.

The wholehearted belief that if anyone has anything you don't it's because it was handed to them, and the reason you don't isn't because you're a mediocre idiot from a nowhere town who has worked at fucking Taco Bell since you dropped out of high school it's because there's some grand fuck-over orchestrated by some shadowy "them" and pointed directly at you.

You're a hard worker.

A good person.

You deserve what everyone else has.

They deserve to live in misery.

Fuck 'em.

Take another hit off the vape pen and fall asleep on the couch.

Got work early.

AM radio fascism.

Drive time outrage.

Dead end sociopathic malaise.

Sunday morning self-insert savior fanfic.

Layer upon layer of bullshit suburban delusion to keep the big bright scary world at bay.

But given the chance to do anything to break the cycle or improve yourself it's always the same excuses: "Nah, I'm good." or "I can't move away, I gotta stay close to my family."

What if it doesn't work?

What if I don't succeed?

I really like the fries at that one place and I'd sure hate to live more than five miles away from that.

I'm doing fine, best I've ever been.

So you seethe through another day of nothing and blame everyone but yourself.

And when you're put on the spot you can't even explain yourself...The incoherence comes pouring out like a clogged toilet.

Michelle Obama's arms.

Chemtrail mind control.

Weather modification.

Transvestigation and looksmaxing.

Winners of the genetic lottery.

Turning the frogs gay.

The great reset.

You talk long enough and somehow it boils down to blacks, gays, and jews exist and that's why your life sucks.

It's got nothing to do with you and your shitty choices.

Your life has nothing to do with you.

You're dead leaves blowing in a winter wind.

A used condom floating down a filthy river.

An empty human outline.

None of this is your fault.

Not what you've done and not what you might do in the future.

Make any of it make sense.

#Brain Puke

[wonderinc-sonic]

Espilver Week Day Five: Float

"Something from Nothing" on Ao3 (2.6k) Silver is asking a miracle of Espio to change their lives together forever.

I'm feeling a bit under the weather, so I'm posting slightly early, so I stay on track! Sorry for the inconvenience!

Espio was hot with embarrassment and frustration as Silver chucked a tennis ball in the air again, and it bounced to the ground. Silver didn't say anything, just caught it and tossed it again.

The sound of fabric on concrete was drumming Espio's head, and although his face was completely still, standing perfectly still, Silver could see the sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Wanna take a break?"

"From what? I have achieved nothing."

"... Trying?"

Espio took a slow breath in and imagined himself screaming to vent without venting.

"I'm fine."

He didn't see the use in asking again if they could give up. He had pled his case as well as he thought he could, and Silver begged him back to give it another shot. Still, there was only so long he could watch a ball drop in front of his eyes imagining he could catch it with his mind before he lost that mind.

Silver dropped the tennis ball again, and Espio blinked, realising he hadn't even tried that time, and it didn't make a difference.

"I am not fine. I want to stop." He said clearly, suddenly descending to the ground to sit cross-legged and let his head flop to his chest. Silver lobbed the offending ball into his bag, and joined him on the dirty ground of the Chaotix' concrete yard. Espio leant into his chest and sighed quietly, happy being squished into the fluff.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be this hard."

"I told you; your powers are innate. You cannot teach me them."

Silver tutted and ran his fingers over Espio's spines.

"No, I know you can do it. I just haven't explained it well enough. Let me try again!"

"In a minute."

Espio sounded so small and defeated, he practically whimpered as Silver rubbed his head with his fingers. He hoped Espio would rally as he had every other time he asked for a break, but after a minute he just seemed to deflate more, and Silver pulled him onto his lap, leaning on the flimsy fence.

Espio curled around him, his head banging. He couldn't hold his eyes open without feeling his own heartbeat in his eyelids. He groaned as Silver's hand returned to the spot behind his horn on the bridge between his eyes where the skin was barely touched, confident he would never move again.

"You okay?" Silver whispered, kissing the back of his neck as he spoke. He grunted. He counted himself down to when he needed to get up and find strength again, but his discipline finally failed him.

"What will it take for you to accept that I can't do the things you can do?" He asked finally; he determined that whatever it was, he needed to hurry up and prove it to put them both out of their misery.

"But you can. You can do things you couldn't do without Chaos powers!"

Silver was trying to be encouraging, and although that was one of his best skills, he couldn't drag Espio up now.

"I cannot. I have been exposed to Chaos energy. I have no innate instinct."

"That's not true!"

"It is, and I am not offended by it. This is normal." Espio pulled his head heavily from Silver's chest to kiss his cheek, and offer a wan smile: "Truly, it doesn't bother me."

Sitting cradled in Silver's lap, Espio felt too vulnerable to accept that he could be seen, so he closed his eyes again and let himself be comfy without awareness. Silver fell into his own quiet, punctuating his thoughts with gentle kisses to Espio's head that he didn't even notice he was giving.

Espio would have been thrilled to spend the day just the two of them, but Silver's latest obsession made him wish for a crisis to divert their attention to. It had started when Sonic accidentally opened a portal to Silver's time, and Silver managed to teach him how to get himself back. Then, he returned with him, hell-bent that Espio be able to use psychic powers. Psychic he was not, but Espio could add two and two: Silver would never travel with Espio in case something happened to him and he couldn't take Espio back. But if teleportation was going to be taught, he needed to show some kind of telekinesis - even if, like Sonic's, it wasn't totally controlled.

But as far as Espio could see, it was a pointless effort. He didn't know anyone who wasn't a hedgehog that could do that, or anyone non-mammal that had innate powers. But since he couldn't explain why that was, Silver saw no reason to give up.

Nevertheless, he didn't try to convince Espio to get up and try again now. Espio opened his eyes after a minute and saw him staring over his head: he was psychically juggling with the tennis balls he had been dropping all day. Espio glowered at them.

"They mock me."

They heard, and collected in the bag sheepishly.

"Sorry, I was just thinking-"

"I know. It's not your fault. Clearly Tennis Balls hate me."

Silver laughed once, and resumed stroking Espio's head so he flopped back. His conscience burned, but so did his pride, and he wasn't ready to give up on Espio and the future he hoped they could someday have.

"How do you turn invisible?"

"By dispersing pigment in my skin."

"But you don't just camouflage - you go invisible. I've never seen other Chameleons do that."

Espio grunted and shrugged, but Silver bounced him slightly on his lap until he bothered to word it.

"I've always been good at it. I'm not entirely invisible either."

"You're damn close if you aren't."

"Is this supposed to help? I know what I can and can't do. I can do that. I can't do this."

Silver levitated one of the balls out of the bag and caught it in his free hand, rolling it on the ground.

"What about... how you run real fast?"

"Practice. Genetics. Keeping good physique in general."

"No, that's how you'd run fast. How do you run really fast?"

"All of the above, but with some luck in the mix. It isn't the same Silver."

"But what if it is? 'Cause when I look at you, I see this..." He stopped batting the ball and let it roll off back to the bag, shifting to face Espio properly:

With one hand he held the air just an inch from Espio's cheek, and Espio leant into it like he was magnetic.

"It's like, in your aura. Not everyone has one. And the people that do, they can do things, y'know?"

"'Aura' is a spiritual thing, not physical. If you're literally seeing them, maybe you have cataracts."

"No, I didn't always, it came with getting better at my powers, it's like how you find a Chaos Emerald, just less bright."

Espio curled his tail around Silver's wrist, and held his hand to his own chest. He wasn't sulking any more, but his eyes were so tired he could barely hold them open, and he smiled in a way that was closer to a frown.

"That's a nice way of saying you think I'm attractive."

Silver tutted as Espio chuckled low at him.

"It's not like that, it's not just you that has one."

"I don't love that."

"Oh, shush. You can conduct chaos magic, we always knew this. I just never believed time travel could be taught like that."

"Maybe it can't. Sonic is the closest to a chaos superconductor the natural world could make. The only other person who can do that is Shadow, the closest thing the unnatural world could make. They probably-"

"But they do it different to me, so why would that-"

"Silver, I can't. I don't have the ability to do that, and I don't have the capacity to keep trying. You are asking a fish to fly."

Silver fell still and sad, resting his head on top of Espio's. It stung to bring him down: Espio kissed the hand he held against his chest to soften the blow.

They sat in the yard, feeling the wind blow and the mellow turning of the season. Silver had to go home soon. He had gone and come back enough times that Espio was confident he would see him again, but it still cast a blue shadow over them; like the waning moon, shaving slivers of time away from them with every inch around the earth it spun.

"We can try again." Espio said quietly, sitting up slightly in Silver's arms.

"No, you don't want to. I'm sorry I pushed you."

"It's important. Besides, we aren't about to do anything else today. If I can't do it by dinnertime, I want to rest this."

"That's more than fair. I'm sorry."

Silver cuddled him close once more, kissing his face all over. He stood up with Espio still in his arms, ungainly as he placed him on his feet.

"I'm sorry I've disappointed you so far. And that I can't promise I'll do any better."

Silver shushed him, and kissed his lips with a firm smack.

"None of that. We have energy! We can do it!"

Espio sighed inwardly, and stared at the tennis balls landing obediently in Silver's hands.

"You have to - um, it's like... really, really visualise they're doing what you want to do. Don't let what you think you see tell you what's gonna happen!" Silver said uncertainly fierce. He glared at the tennis balls in his hand and they levitated, quivering in fear at him.

"I'm not one for visual thinking."

"Err... I don't know, say it really loud?"

"Out loud? How foolish does that seem?"

"Not at all, it's only me!"

Espio growled slightly, and shook his head.

The sound of the ball hitting the ground felt like a kick to a bruise he was forming in his mind.

"It's going to work." Silver asserted to the ball.

"How can you be so sure?"

The ball bounced on the ground. Silver dropped the next before Espio had time to process it had hit the ground, and he focussed on the next one.

"Because I say so! And I want it to!" Silver said firmly.

"I didn't think it possible to out-stubborn gravity."

The balls bounced in a rhythm, like Silver was juggling with the ground, the beat growing steadily faster like music in a panic to fit as many notes into each bar as it crashed towards its close.

Espio's breath started to race as he kept up, darting his focus between the falling objects, but his mind was sticky and he felt hypnotised by the rhythm.

"This isn't working, it's too fast." Espio tried to speak, but Silver was too focused on taking his frustration out on the ground.

"There's no good reason! I never asked for my powers, and they beat their way into me! Why? Why anything? Why don't I know how they work?"

He shouted at the ground, forgetting to catch them in favour of slamming the last one into the ground hard enough to bounce up and over their heads, before it tipped back down, and landed in the air next to the other two, floating where Silver's catching hand was. They glittered gently with a translucent aura, spinning.

Espio's eyes kept turning like he was watching the washing machine, as he watched the bouncing balls that weren't bouncing. His eyes twitched.

Silver stared at the line of tennis balls, passing a hand over his eyes to confirm they were staying there.

"Look!" he squeaked, his hands in the air away from them. The moment Espio shifted his spinning eyes to Silver, the three balls dropped and bounced away. He winced as they hit the concrete.

"I wasn't holding them there!" Silver said excitedly, rounding them up in his mind as he picked Espio up in his arms.

"Hold- what? Sorry, I lost focus..."

"No you didn't! I knew you could do it!" Silver practically squealed in his ear, and he moaned slightly, hand on his temples. Silver hushed himself, nuzzling his face into Espio's neck as he squeezed him in the air.

"I don't think I did anything differently... but this is nice anyway."

"No, okay, I can prove it."

Silver placed him down, fussing and brushing his fluff off Espio.

He took a tennis ball in each hand, and held them out.

"Focus on the left one."

"Yours or mine?"

"Doesn't matter!"

He let the two tennis balls go. Like a heartbeat, they hit the ground half a second apart, with the left trailing behind the right.

Espio blinked, nonplussed.

"I dropped them at the same time!"

"Clearly not."

"I did! I super-did!"

"Then one may be heavier than the other."

Silver growled, and shook his hands out.

"Then focus on the other one!"

He dropped them again, and this time more than last the two beats diverged.

"See! See, look!" Silver squeaked, but Espio just leant back on the flimsy fence.

"You're jumping at nothing. You probably did that yourself."

"Don't you trust me?"

"I... usually do."

"... Do you trust me right now?"

He was too tired to connect the dots of Silver's playful sort of frown, but nodded.

"Hands behind your back."

Espio's face was doused in pink, but he did as told, then found his hands held there by a familiar cyan glow.

"Why?"

Silver shrugged, waiting until Espio yawned before he softly tossed a tennisball at his face.

"Think fast!"

Espio grunted and flinched, but the ball stopped dead in the air just an inch from his cheek, thunking to the ground and rolling away. Espio blinked hard to clear the sleepy sheen from his sight, but it didn't clear the translucent glimmer on the ball. He blinked hard again, rubbing his unbound hands on his face. While his eyes were covered, Silver scooched next to him to fuss again.

"Just so y'know; I would have stopped it if it got any closer."

"So you did do that?"

"Nope. Because I would'a pulled it back to me. And you know what my powers look like."

Espio stared at the ball, and tried to order it to move, but it just rolled slightly off course.

"I don't believe-"

"Urgh! That's the problem! You don't think it can be done!"

"Because... this is impossible!" Espio tried to say seriously, but found himself giggling as Silver's fur tickled his chin.

"No, it's more than that. It's super, super unlikely!"

"Exactly. So, how?"

"You know you did it." Silver commanded him, and he didn't have the energy to argue with a psychic.

"If I can move a tennis ball, how is that going to lead to travel in time?" He spoke flatly, a strange sort of exhaustion rattling skull. Silver must have known, because he stroked Espio's head again as he thought.

"It's like... like, making the first connection, I guess? Starting a spark that's gonna help make bigger things happen."

"Tennis balls are a pilot light?"

"Sure, maybe. I don't know, I learned to do this stuff by moving trash. Point is, going from having a little bit of something, to more of something, that's just using momentum, kinda easy compared to making something from nothing. But this, it's so much more effort! You had to start moving, then after - after it's just keep moving!"

Espio had enjoyed gazing at Silver as he admired the cloudy sky, but now he couldn't bear to keep looking at the light, so pressed his face into Silver's neck and breathed in deeply instead.

"... If you say so."

"I do. That's the hardest it's gonna be."

"That I don't believe. But we're no strangers to hard work."

Silver watched the sun dipping into the cityscape for the both of them, plans of life with a partner sparkling on the horizon.

tagging @espilver-week for the archive!

#espilverweek2023 #espilver #silvespio #silver the hedgehog #espio the chameleon #wonderincs #writincs #sonic fanfic #ao3 #espilver week #espilver week 2023