#i’m more hm concerned about this old man he barely knows in bed with him

[shiftingparadise]

Feitan x Reader: Much better 

Hi guys, this is just a quick drabble I finished today 🥺 I thought it would be nice to write Feitan like this for once. It's just a soft and fluffy story. The beginning's a bit angsty , but nothing too serious 🤍

I'm also working on your requests of course 🥺 the next one will be another part of the Noble Reader series 🥰 . Enjoy reading!🤍✨

Word Count: 2145

‘P-please, I-I don’t know anything. M-my dad would never talk about work’, tears streamed down your cheek. You were scared, so scared. You already crawled to the wall, being there is no other place to run or hide. 

You never imagined, not even once, that you would end up as a hostage. Especially not at the hands of the Phantom Troupe. Your dad always made sure there were at least 5 bodyguards with you, and every single one of them was the best of the best. He should’ve known though that they weren’t a match for the Phantom Troupe, and he probably did. He just didn’t care enough to keep you safe. 

‘Let’s just kill her, it’s not like that old man is going to pay us any money for her. Greedy bastard’. 

He’s got a point. The protection your father gave you was more out of concern for his public image than to protect you anyway. 

‘You really think our boss would be okay if we killed her? You’re an idiot, Uvo’. ‘Not again’, the blonde sighed into his palm, ‘Uvo, Nobu. Now’s not the time for one of your petty fights. Solve it later’. 

‘H-huh?’, you batted your eyelashes when you saw a strange figure hovering over you. 

Red hair, a tear, and a star… He looked like a magician with the card between his skinny fingers. 

‘Maybe not strong enough for my liking, but you would make a pretty little plaything’. ‘P-plaything?’. ‘Hm, I’ll even teach you a trick or two, if you behave’. The strange-looking man squatted, his eyes studying every part of your body. 

A shiver ran down your spine when one of his cards greeted your cheek. 

‘Bet I can arrange something with Chrollo… Or maybe not. Either way… You caught my att-‘. 

‘Phinks may be busy with fighting idiots, but I’m still here’. 

‘Relax, I’m just playing’. 

‘Move’. 

Honestly, what was even going on? Two men were fighting, one running behind them to stop them… Then there was this magician who called you a ‘plaything’ - whatever that means -  and lastly, this dark-haired mysterious figure who barely talked. 

‘Get up’.

‘Let me go! I told you I don’t know where he keeps his money’, you desperately tried to break away from the dark figure. 

‘Hm’, Hisoka chuckled when he saw the way you fought back like a hopeless little deer, making it even more amusing for him to watch. 

--- 

Was that the first time you met Feitan? It had to be… but it felt so long ago. 

‘Boss called. Be back in the evening’. ‘Can’t wait to clean after you in the middle of the night’, you pushed the plate of food further from you. ‘Care to repeat yourself?’. 

Ah, there it was again. The cold edge of a knife against your throat. It used to faze you, to scare you, but not anymore.

‘Do it’, a trembling wish you had for the past months, was just within reach. ‘Won’t kill you, you know that, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you. Remember what I told you’. 

Oh, you remembered. How could you forget? ‘Disobey me and your family will pay the price’. Right, blackmail 101. 

You flinched when you felt his hands tangle in your hair, his lips brushing over your ear, ‘Can still give you to Hisoka. Bet he’s worse than me’. You didn’t respond. The thought alone had you shaking. You didn’t know why, but you’d rather be Feitan’s prisoner than that magician’s. 

‘J-just leave’. ‘Hm’, Feitan smirked, a devilish look in his eyes, ‘You’re lucky boss needs me’. 

Finally. A sigh of relief once his hands moved away from you. 

‘Get up’, he roughly pulled you away from the chair you were sitting on, ‘Room, now’. 

Room? The ‘room’ he kept you was barely large enough to fit the bed he’d got you. At least he had the decency to get you some books to read. Every now and then he would get you a new one - if you behaved, of course. 

---

You grunted when you heard him opening the front door.

3.30 AM? Great.

You sighed at the thought of cleaning up the blood from his floor, praying he didn’t bring someone to torture in his basement. You couldn’t take it anymore, the screams. 

You pulled the covers over your head. Maybe if you pretended to be asleep when he unlocked your door… It worked before, once. If you were lucky… 

‘Home’. 

Tell someone who cares. 

‘Y/N?’, his footsteps drew closer to your bed. 

Don’t tense up, he’ll know you’re awake. Relax. 

‘Hm’, he softly hummed when his hand gently grazed over the sheets, as  to see if you still were where he left you. 

A smile on your face once you heard him close the door. You could relax, go to sleep again, and escape the hell you were living in. 

‘Hm?’, you drowsily looked over your shoulder once you could feel someone laying down next to you. It didn’t take you long, however, to jump out of bed once you realized what was going on. 

‘What?’. 

‘What do you mean ‘what’? Get out of my bed, Feitan!’. ‘Your bed?’, he chuckled, ‘If it weren’t for me, you’d been sleeping on the ground’. ‘If it weren’t for you, I’d still be at home, with my mom and sister’. 

Not again. You didn’t want him to see your tears, to see what he did to you.

‘Wrong. You’d be begging Hisoka to keep his hands to himself’. ‘Am I supposed to be grateful?’, you shrugged in disbelief, ‘Get out of my bed Feitan’. 

‘It’s me or Hisoka, you can choose’. 

‘Fuck you Feitan, I’d rather be with Hiso-‘. 

‘Won’t tell you again’. 

Your eyes widened in fear when you felt his body against yours. It was only now you realized that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

‘Bed, now’, he easily tossed you on the mattress, his aura angrier than ever. 

‘Why? Why do you want to sleep here?’. By now, your voice was barely a whisper, your heart racing with adrenaline. 

Did you even need to ask? You knew why he wanted to sleep in the same bed as you. You knew this day would come. The day your tears and pleas weren’t enough anymore, when he didn’t enjoy breaking a finger or two, or running a hot needle over your stomach. 

‘Why?’, you repeated yourself once he sat down on the other side, his back facing you. 

‘Curious’, he sighed before laying down underneath the sheets, ‘Never slept in bed with someone’. 

Great, now you felt sorry for the psychopath that tortured people for fun. 

‘If you touch me-‘, ‘Won’t touch you’, Feitan replied before laying down on his side, his back facing you. 

You hesitated before laying down next to him. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t move. Your mind started to race. You didn’t trust him. What if he was going to kill you? You didn’t dare to close your eyes, let alone go to sleep. 

It was around 7 AM when Feitan finally got up, when you finally could breathe again. You felt so scared this night that you didn’t dare to make a sound or lay in a different position, but neither did Feitan. In some way, it felt as if he was just as scared. 

--- 

Weeks passed, and somehow Feitan made a habit out of sleeping in one bed with you. He never touched you though, not even on accident. 

‘Strange’, you frowned when you saw the time, ‘4 AM? He never stays up this late if he isn’t working’. 

Were you seriously worried? God, you were a mess. You weren’t only worried, but somehow it felt strange to see his side of the bed cold and empty. Was it because he wasn’t as much of a jerk over the past couple of weeks? He did get you a nice, fluffy blanket… 

‘Shit’, you laid on your back, staring at the ceiling, ‘Can’t believe I’m doing this’. 

You angrily threw the sheets off you. You were mad at yourself, so unbelievably mad. 

‘He isn’t out, so the door should be unlocked’, you tiptoed to your door. Your heart jolted when you felt it was, indeed, open. 

Within seconds, you were standing in front of the door next to yours. Since all the lights were out in the hallway, you knew he wasn’t ‘working’ in his basement, or showering for that matter. 

Your hands were shaking. You shouldn’t do this, you shouldn’t be out of your room without his permission… but you were worried, right? 

That’s what you told yourself anyway, but you weren’t worried. You knew he didn’t leave the house. For some twisted reason, you just found it hard to sleep without him lying next to you. 

You carefully opened the door, a thin stripe of light greeting you. With one eye, you scanned the room. 

Reading? He was… Reading? 

‘Didn’t tell you to leave your room’, he lazily flipped the page without looking at you. 

He didn’t sound angry or threatening, giving you the courage to fully open his door.

‘I-I know, I j-just-‘, ‘Stop stuttering, don’t waste my time’. 

You looked at the ground, cheeks burning in shame. 

‘C-can I sleep here?’. 

‘Huh?’, Feitan widened his eyes. 

‘Got used to you lying next to me… I guess’. ‘Fine’, he placed his book on his nightstand, already laying down on his side. 

Feitan’s room was a little bigger than yours, but just as plain and boring. He did, however, have a soft light burning, a light that radiated warmth and safety. Not the cold, harsh light you found in hospitals and schools, and in your room.

‘T-thank you’, you quietly replied before laying down next to him. In response, he turned off the light, covering the room in darkness. 

You didn’t know what was happening, but without thinking you scraped your throat, preparing yourself to talk. 

‘Which book are you reading?’. 

It took a moment for Feitan to respond, as if he was debating whether he should. 

‘Dictionary’. ‘A dictionary?’, you frowned. ‘Want to improve my language skills. First language is Chinese’. 

That explains why he talks in short sentences. 

‘O-oh okay’, you were too scared to ask anything else. 

You were cold. Why was his window wide open in the winter? 

‘You’re shaking’. ‘Sorry, I’ll go sleep in my room’, you replied, not wanting him to get angry. ‘No, you can have this’. 

You didn't move to look where he was going when he got out of bed.

‘Here’. 

You froze when Feitan pulled the sheets away from your body. 

‘Soft and warm’, he gently placed another soft blanket over your body before pulling the sheets back over you. 

You tried to stop yourself from smiling, but the gentle gesture wasn’t something one was used to from him. A sad feeling filled your chest when you noticed he once again was laying with his back to you. 

‘Feitan?’. ‘Hm’. 

Stupid. You were stupid, you knew that, but you wanted this. 

‘Would you mind holding me?’. ‘H-huh?’, now Feitan was the one who froze. ‘Please?’. 

Why? Why were you asking someone like him to hold you? The solitude he put you in must have gotten the best of you. That must be it, right? 

‘Okay’. 

He slowly turned around before awkwardly laying an arm on top of the blankets. 

‘You can touch me. You don’t have to place your arm on top of the sheets’, you smiled at his innocence. Who knew someone like him could be this squeamish about holding you?

‘Okay’. 

It took him a while before pulling up the soft blanket he gave you and letting his arm rest on your waist. Almost immediately, you shuffled closer to him, already melting underneath the warmth of his body. It has been ages since you felt a kind and human touch.

You hummed when you felt his bare body against yours. ‘T-this not hurting you?’. 

His voice sounded kinder like this. You shook your head, already tired of how relaxed you felt. 

‘Never held anyone’, he whispered, ‘But feels nice’. 

Yes, you definitely pitied him. You couldn’t agree with the choices he made, or what he called ‘work’, but was it strange to be like him if you never felt the warmth of an embrace?

‘Hm’, you smiled, intertwining your hand with his and bringing it to your chest, ‘It feels nice, Fei’. 

Fei. You were the first, ‘normal’ person to call him that, and it sounded so much better when you said it.

Feitan closed his eyes, a content smile resting on his face. He loved your scent; sweet like honey. 

‘Can get used to this’, he whispered, too quiet for you to understand, ‘Much better than the scent of your burnt flesh’. 

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[mrcspectr]

wake me (when it’s over), chapter 2

Summary: In which Steven discovers the nightmare is not as hollow as Marc might think.

Title from Wake Me When It’s Over by the Cranberries.

Living in the past, it's difficult to hide. Some things will never last when you're swallowing your pride.

Inspired by this fantastic piece that’s been living rent free in my brain for a solid week now. You should absolutely go reblog it because wow.

Also, did an instrumental playlist for this story, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, angst

Steven?

Steven sits in the center of the bed, dressed in a soft, white t-shirt of his own and a pair of dark, navy sweatpants of Marc’s. While they don’t agree on much when it comes to their normal, everyday clothing, tonight Marc can’t deny that his headmate has excellent taste when it comes to what he wears to sleep.

Scratch that, he briefly thinks to himself with a huff, when he tries to sleep.

Most of the clothes he’s started leaving around the flat are practical, yet comfortable. A bit bland for Steven's taste, but he’s just happy that Marc is now finally taking some initiative in cleaning out the storage locker. It’s been a slow process — a bag here, a hard, dented case of old, yet official looking documents there. But it’s a start, anyway, and the man hasn’t held onto many personal items to begin with.

It almost makes Steven feel guilty about the whole situation, the way Steven's own things have easily overtaken every available shelf and bit of wall space in the flat. Marc sometimes complains about the mess, though he’s never done much when it comes to contributing to it or even straightening it up.

He’s threatened to, on occasion. But there’s never been any follow through. Not yet, anyway.

That is, until Steven took it upon himself to start bringing the storage locker key with him to work in the morning. And if something well worn of Marc’s happened to make its way home with him, well. How he managed that must've slipped his mind entirely, as far as Marc's questioning was concerned. 

Besides, Steven is quite forgetful.

Everything Marc has begrudgingly brought on his own is very simple, very, well … Marc. He’s not sure when they started sharing those things, either, but the give and take feels natural, after some time. Steven simply reaches for something in their dresser drawers, paying no mind to whose it is.

Each bit of fabric feels more familiar than the last, somehow. These hands have held these things before, he knows. But it’s never been Steven, not until now.

And anyway, he’s much more at peace during the night than he’s been in years, and he’s always been able to concentrate best when he’s comfortable. And maybe just a little bit sleep deprived, somehow.

Some things never change, even his worst habits.

Hey, Steven.

“Hm?” He turns the page of the book that lies open in his lap, barely registering Marc's low voice in his ear. His glasses have slid down towards the end of his nose, but he’s been so engrossed, he hasn’t noticed enough to adjust them.

Have you been listening to me?

“Well, not since you’d started nattering on about me wasting our time, no, not really. Why d’you ask?”

Steven can almost sense, without looking, Marc's eyes rolling in the reflection above him. Look buddy, thanks for the honesty, but I'm tired. We're tired. Can we give this a rest?

With an exaggerated sigh, Steven takes the pen he's been absentmindedly chewing on and puts it between the pages, marking his place. "Alright then, so it's fine when it's convenient for you, is it?"

What are you talking about, Steven?

"Well," he lifts his head to the reflection, raising an eyebrow questioningly at Marc, as if punctuating the dark frames of his glasses. "Y'haven't slept in days."

Looking down again, he flips through the corners of the pages so that he can skim ahead to the next chapter. The title reads Oneiromancy in Egyptian Culture in thick, black letters.

Well, that’s a new one, isn’t it? Haven't read that word before.

"Hard not to notice your insomnia. Especially when I'm the one who usually wakes up in a state."

Not tired. Not until right now, anyway.

"That's sort of the point."

Kinda helping the process along here with … whatever it is you're reading. Looks boring.

Steven's eyes widen, staring incredulously now up at the mirror. "Marc!"

Oh, suddenly we're not being honest now?

"That's not—" Steven closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to control his impending annoyance. "You're supposed to be talking to me now, remember? You promised, back in Cairo, and we’ve discussed this."

There were a lot of things they purposefully chose to forget, after they left Egypt. Maybe that was their first mistake. Marc has been trying, Steven knows he has, it’s just… Slow going on some days, more so than others. With that, Steven has done his best to lean on his sense of patience, but again, Marc is… Well, he can be trying with that, too.

The dark circles under their eyes are quite familiar to Steven, but the worrying bit is that he isn’t the one who’s put them there this time. Each morning that Steven has awoken first, he’s noticed that they’ve become more distinct, a deeper shade of purple, carving a crescent moon just above their cheekbones. While he seems to feel particularly more refreshed mentally these days, the physical exhaustion on the body is starting to take its toll on the both of them.

“Something’s going on here. And I just want to understand, that’s all.”

I keep telling you, Steven, they’re just… They’re nightmares, they’re nothing. Marc drags his hand down his face, closing his eyes. I’ve always had ‘em, since I was a kid. There’s nothing to really talk about or explain, just happens.

“But they’re worse, and have kept getting worse since we’ve been back. We look like we might very well drop with the right gust of wind.”

Even if I said that, which I haven’t, by the way… Marc opens his eyes again to throw a stern glance in Steven’s direction. Steven thinks he’s supposed to be intimidated by it, but decides very quickly he isn’t. You’re not gonna fix it with your nose in a book.

“Think we both know I’ve fixed quite a lot with my books, mate.”

Didn’t say that either.

“Don’t have to.”

There’s a triumphant grin on Steven’s face that he can’t quite hide whenever he wins an argument. In the past, it’s always had the tendency to make Marc roll his eyes at him, never allowing him the satisfaction of being right. On his worst days, he’d even disappear from the reflection in a huff, shaking his head as he went.

But lately, things have been different. Better. It’s not that Marc doesn’t get frustrated anymore, — that’s a hurdle Steven expects them to be jumping for the foreseeable future. But Marc is more willing to give in a little, to actually listen, and it’s made it easier to pick away at his foundation day by day.

There’s something especially rewarding about the way Steven watches some of the tension leave Marc’s expression, his eyes softening at the edges, but still trying to keep up appearances through their glare. Stubborn, but not as steely as he used to be.

Sometimes, Marc still feels impossibly far away, even etched in Steven’s mind as he is. But in other moments, quiet ones like this, at night, when it doesn’t feel like they have to be anything but themselves, all Steven feels between them is a smooth panel of glass. Just a tool they use whenever they want to look each other in the eye, when occupying the same space and the same heart isn’t enough.

An echo of a memory passes between them. Steven’s memory. Hard tile under his feet and the tight coil of fear in his gut, slowly unwinding as a dark, unfamiliar voice spoke to him for the first time.

Let me save us.

“Let me help us, Marc.”

A flicker of recognition passes through Marc’s eyes then, and to Steven’s surprise, he actually smiles. It’s hesitant and unsure at first, the slow spread of it easing out the once seemingly permanent creases in Marc’s brow. There’s a warmth in the way he looks down at him then, and Steven can feel it spread out further from his ribcage.

You ever gonna tell me how you do that?

"What's that, throwing your old hero nonsense back at you?"

Marc lets out a laugh, soft and low, and Steven finds himself almost sad when it fades out.

It worked when it counted, didn't it? Wasn't trying to be a hero anyway, just needed to save our skin. They both go quiet at the memory, eyes shut as they remember the sound of the jackal screeching, echoing along the museum's empty halls. Pieces of broken porcelain scattered around their feet, the smell of dust and sand from the fabric pulled tight against their face.

There had still been fear, sure. But more importantly, there'd been comfort, too. Safety.

A thing foreign to them both, but welcomed all the same.

What I mean is … how do you know what to say? Even when I don't. They open their eyes again at the same moment, not needing to search for the other's gaze as they reach it, immediately, every time.

Especially when I don't.

"I don't always have all the answers, Marc. Thing is, I'd like to help you find them, if you'll let me."

I have a hard time with that, bud.

"Yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I'll stop trying, though."

Marc chuckles under his breath again, shaking his head. Okay, why don't you tell me about what you've been reading, then? That thing looks ancient.

"Alright, let's dive right in, yeah?" Steven pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and, in his excitement to show Marc his most recent studies, he flings his pen off the side of the bed where it clatters to the floor.

"See, the Egyptians believed that dreams were actually messages from the gods, and that inducing a vivid dream state gave them the blessing of divine revelation…"

~~~

Waking lately has begun to feel a lot less like a sharp fall. Now the sensation feels more like floating up to the surface, and Steven is grateful to discover the difference. As he creeps forward into awareness, he finds a gentle breeze blowing across his face, his dark curls brushing against his forehead as he comes to.

A heavy sigh escapes him, his warm breath a contrast to the cool air.

He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, actually. He'd been talking to Marc, leaning back against the headboard with his book, its old, yellowed pages held out in front of him. He’d been going over a particularly fascinating chapter about oracles and interpreting messages from the afterlife.

Marc had asked him to read out loud, and so he'd pleasantly complied, slowing his typical frenzied pace so that nothing was missed, and Marc could ask questions in between if he wanted to. And he did, to Steven's delight.

At no point did he feel rushed, or like he was being too much. It was quite nice.

He must've trailed off at some point, the rhythmic tone of his own voice mingling with Marc's occasional hum of encouragement, lulling him to sleep. Ah, well. He'd pick it back up again eventually. They had plenty of time for all that.

But gosh, it’s cold in here. Did they leave the window open or something?

As he opens his eyes, expecting to see Marc staring blearily down at him from the mirror again, he’s surprised to find not a reflective surface, but a starry night sky. A murky darkness, with a few scattered points of light.

Not even a hint of the dated wood that made up his London apartment, his home. Their home.

"What the—"

With a start, he scrambles to prop himself up on his elbows, only to find less than stable ground beneath him. Not their bed back at the flat, then, either. He digs his arms further down in an attempt to sit up, and slowly he starts to make out his surroundings. He feels a shift and flow that’s familiar, unmooring him and winding a tight knot of fear in his gut.

Like sand.

Now jerked into alertness, Steven practically throws himself to his feet, head whipping around to take in his surroundings. There’s not much to see: tall dunes of swirling sand, carried up and through the air by the same winds that seem to have brought him here. A deep purple sky, bearing down on him as his breath catches in his throat, heart rattling against his ribcage until it aches.

He feels himself begin to shake, his fingers twitching by his sides, and a roaring through his ears that he can’t explain. Like his whole body is rebelling against the memory of the last time he’d been in this place, against the cold and the fear and the quiet. Forcing him to move in tight, jerking motions, to remind him that he could. That he wasn’t frozen in place, looking after a boat that had long since left him behind.

I’m back in the Duat. I’m back here.

How is this possible?

Did I — did I ever leave, then? Was all of it… Cairo, Harrow, the flat… Was any of that real?

Was I frozen here this whole time?

Steven shuts his eyes tight against the memory, digging his fists into the sides of his skull, like if he could just create enough pressure, it might soothe his spinning thoughts enough to figure out how the hell he ended up here again.

And why, despite the whirlwind occupying every available space in his head, it somehow still feels quiet and empty. Like there is something missing.

Through the fog, he grabs hold of an anchor. A single word that enters his mind, yanking him back to the present.

A name he’s only just learned, but now can never forget.

"Marc?"

For a beat, he’s met with more silence in return. His blood runs cold in his veins as time seems to drift off into nothing. His vision darkens at the edges, tunneling further and faster still, ears ringing, until a voice, heavy and unfamiliar, breaks through behind him.

“Yeah, I was lookin’ for him too, and I found you here instead. Damn shame, I guess."

Turning to face the man speaking, Steven’s heart leaps into his throat. The feeling of unease and panic threatens to drag him down into the ground below as he takes in this … individual, whether he be man or ghost. It isn’t Marc, no, because he knows Marc’s presence by feeling alone, without ever needing to see him. However, this is exactly who he’d been looking for, in every word on the pages of that book. In every other dream.

They share the same face, Steven knows, but the way this man holds his features is so unfamiliar, Steven considers for a moment that he must be looking at a stranger. And he is, technically, because he’s never found this particular set of eyes looking back at him through the mirror. In fact, the man’s eyes seem to darken by shades the longer he stares in Steven’s direction. His mouth is set in a tight, thin line, and there is an unlit cigarette held between his fingers, hanging at his side. He stands stiff and at attention, his gaze never drifting away from Steven’s tense, wavering frame.

And he looks tired. More tired than Steven has ever looked, if that were even possible. And somehow more withdrawn than Marc, despite all of Marc’s struggles these past few weeks.

Steven takes a deep breath, and feels the thrum of his heart slow as his mind connects his racing thoughts back together. As the shock of recognition and fear fades into the background, it is replaced by Steven’s preferred state of being — that of inquiry and analysis.

“Oh. T-this must be a dream. Alright. Good. Very good.” His voice comes out shakier than expected, so he swallows against it, tries again. “Are you … the other one? Well, I think you might be, anyhow. Marc seems to think you’re a—”

“I’m a … what? Just a part of the nightmare?” The man makes a low sound in his throat, something that could be a laugh, but it’s trapped too deep inside himself to make out. Steven winces. "Yeah, guess he would think that. This ain’t your fight, hermanito. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Just a minute, that’s—” Steven clasps his hands together in front of him, a poor attempt at ending their shaking. “...that’s Spanish, right? Marc had said you spoke it once, in his last dream. So I’ve been practicing. It means little… Little what, exactly?”

"I bet you've got a book for that somewhere. Back at home. Maybe you should go find out."

“So you know what home is like, then? Have you been there before, or do you just…” He gestures meekly around them. “Stay here?”

“Missin’ the point here, Steven. That’s not like you.” His sentences are clipped, abrupt. He hasn’t been here long, but already he seems to be losing his patience.

He reminds Steven of Marc. Just a little.

“Oh! And you … you know my name already. Wow. I hadn’t even introduced myself yet. Guess we can skip that step, then. For m’self, anyway.”

The man sighs, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a small, black lighter. He flicks the edge of it to ignite a flame. A thought breaks through Steven’s nerves then; it seems that the flickering light is much like the thousands of twinkling stars above their heads. There’s something reassuring about those stars, however far away they might be. Still warm, even in the cold, dark night. Steven shivers but carries on, emboldened by the idea.

“Could you at least maybe tell me your name? So I know who I’m speaking to?”

No reply. Though the man hasn’t changed the subject, or walked away. Perhaps Steven just needs to give him time. He tilts his head, looking up at the sky for what feels like hours. Maybe time passes differently here; Steven’s not sure. Last time he was here, he certainly felt frozen for long enough, longer than anyone should. And he somehow came back feeling older from it. Maybe even a bit wiser, he thinks cheekily.

After an indefinite period of time, Steven glances back at the man. He looks like he’s contemplating what he wants to say … though there’s no telling whether he intends on speaking the truth. A muscle twitches in his neck and he sighs, looking back at Steven again.

“The name’s Lockley. That’s what I tell people when I’m working.”

“And when you’re… Not working?”

“Jake. Just Jake.”

“Well, Just Jake, it’s a pleasure. Now if you’ve got the time, I have a few ques—”

“No.” His voice is abrupt, sharp, cutting through the night air and right into Steven’s resolve.

“I-I’m sorry?”

The man named Jake begins to walk, moving with short, slow steps in a wide arc around where Steven stands. It seems to Steven that the movement is more of an anxious habit than a deliberate choice. He observes the way Jake makes a point not to look at him as he goes, choosing instead to fiddle with the lighter. The flame is close to his face now, illuminating one side while casting the other in shadow.

“This ain’t the place for your nagging. And I already said. You’re not meant to be here. Something must've happened. Messed it up. It was always supposed to be the big guy.”

“Do you mean Marc?”

“Yeah.” Jake eyes him from the side, tightening his jaw reflexively. “Marc.”

“That’s sort of what I wanted to ask you, actually. Y’see, he’s been having trouble sleeping, and it’s … it’s been causing us both a bit of grief, y’know? Same body and all that. And he… He can’t seem to stay out because, well…” Steven hesitates, unsure how his next sentence will go. Still, he musters up the courage to rattle it off anyway.

“I think you've scared him.”

Jake stops dead in his tracks, turning toward Steven again so fast it makes him jump. He’s angry, that much Steven’s sure of, but the feeling doesn’t quite meet his eyes. They look dull somehow, hollow almost to complete emptiness. It’s a deep enough sadness that Steven feels like he should look away. But just before that, if he looks closely, he can see a shred of guilt, just below the surface. But he waits too long to say anything about it, and it’s gone again.

“Hell, you think I’m not tired?”

He turns away from Steven again, lighting the cigarette he’s been holding; the end is a single point of dim light in the murky desert air. “And anyway, maybe I’ve got a better question. He apologize to you yet?”

“Apologize?”

“Marc. You know, el jefe. The least he could do.”

Steven tilts his head to the side, not quite seeing the point the man was headed towards. “You’ll have to give me a bit more than that, mate.”

“You know. All that time you thought you were sleepwalking? The fake shit he planted in your head? That he’s so sorry for what he’s done. It was all to protect you, blah blah blah. Like he knows what that word means.” He resumes his steady pace, his footprints blown away by the hastening wind. This time Jake’s eyes meet Steven’s as he goes, and Steven follows, feeling as if he’s sinking further into the sand as he turns alongside Jake’s steps.

"And what is it you're getting at, exactly?"

"He blew up your life, Steven. To shreds. Kept you in the dark to what was really going on. Marc’s in control, Marc knows best. Thought you would've figured that out by now." He says it with spite in his voice, and there’s something in the tone that’s familiar to Steven, an echo from the days when he truly didn’t understand. It’s the same venom that once coated his own words, back when he'd shouted from a mirror on a dark night in London.

But with the truth has come acceptance, and a companionship that he’s not sure he ever wants to do without, now that he’s felt it. There’s an honesty that’s grown between them that Steven believes in; he feels it deep in the marrow of his bones.

He trusts Marc, more than anything else in this world or the next. And if this man, this Jake, is truly a part of them, then they are a part of him too.

And Steven wants to understand. And needs Jake to understand. But Jake shakes his head.

“Don’t know about you, but it’s about time we make our own damn decisions around here.”

"He … is that what all this is about? Why you’ve been attacking him in his dreams? You think he…" He shuts his eyes tight, shaking his head before he opens them again. "Jake. This is our life. I know that now."

"Is it? Because something tells me it would've gone a lot differently for you if you'd known that," he inhales deeply from the cigarette, blowing a plume of smoke up and towards the stars. "A long time ago."

"No, you've got it all wrong. That was Khonshu he … he manipulated Marc, made him work for him. Made him do horrible things. And Marc, he did want to protect me. And he did, from Mum, from that old bird, from everything. But Khonshu’s gone, and things are better now. Much better. I didn’t know it then, but—”

“That’s the whole problem, Steven. Do I have to spell it out for ya? You didn’t know. You never knew. And didn’t you have the right? To decide for yourself?”

“Marc just wanted me to have a better life, better than whatever it was he got stuck with.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jake takes the half burned cigarette from his mouth, throwing it, still lit, to the sand at his feet. Lifting his heel, he grinds it down into the desert itself, the smell of smoke its only memory of ever being there at all.

“But you still don’t get the half of it, you know."

“Can you just… Can you tell me, then? Without lying to me? I’m trying here, really, I am.”

Jake laughs, the hollow shape of it echoing across the sands. “Everybody lies, Steven. Some of us are just better at it, is all. You being here? Not knowing me, what I do? Best lie I ever told.”

“So you have been around then, haven’t you?”

The dark smile that had crept across Jake’s features falls suddenly flat, his expression now tight and strained.

Gotcha.

Steven considers Jake for a moment as he chooses his next words, carefully piecing together the sentences in his mind before he decides to risk voicing them, trying to swallow the nervousness still vibrating at his core. "And anyway, isn't … lying not far off from keeping secrets? It's still an omission, if you get down to the bare bones of it. And you want honesty and choice. That’s what you’re so angry with him about, yeah? Because it seems like… You want me to be angry, too. So that I leave, maybe even fight with him myself. Is that right?"

"This conversation ain't about me. This is about you.”

"Alright, yeah, I can see you're trying to make it that. Your logic's a bit flawed though, innit? Can't really be angry with Marc if you're doing the same thing. Thing is, he's not the one tearing you apart in the desert."

“What happens out there’s got nothing to do with me. In here, I can do what I want."

Steven wants, more than anything, to break eye contact, to take a step back. Give them both some breathing room so that maybe he can de-escalate. But he's so close to really getting to the roots of this man… So, he carries on, almost pleading.

"He doesn't fight back, does he, Jake? What does that tell you, about what he thinks of everything he’s done?"

“Yeah, well. Maybe I’ve been shitty to him in here. But that’s only because I know he’ll wake up just fine back out there.”

Steven looks down at his hands, fidgeting under Jake’s intense stare. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that, like he's looking right through him.

“But he’s not fine, is he? And neither are you, Jake. You can't really believe that. I think… I think you’re one of us, and you don’t want to be in here anymore. You want out, and something’s stopping you, keeping you trapped in here. S’like your dragging yourself out.”

Jake's fists are tight at his sides, and Steven thinks they might be shaking like his own, but he can't be sure in the dim night.

"Can take care of myself, 'nito."

He bites off the words, trying to hold onto his anger but failing, letting it slip from his grasp as his eyes soften at Steven's words.

Steven takes a tentative step forward, bridging the gap that had been casually widening throughout their conversation. “You don’t have to, is the thing. It could be different. We’re different now, and we can help.”

Steven takes another step but stops when he sees Jake’s eyes dart down toward his feet. “You could be a part of that, if you really wanted."

"Got no issues with you, Steven. You’ve been in the dark on my being here just as much as the big guy. Was easier that way, 'til now."

“But you can’t just pick and choose who to be angry with, Jake. It doesn’t work like that. We're all here, making the best of it. We’re in this toge—”

“No. You two are in it together. I’ve been in here, rotting until you muck something up enough to need me.” Now Jake is the one to step forward, voice rising, coming towards Steven in wide, reaching movements.

 Steven thinks he should be afraid, maybe. But he buries it, as deep as it will go. He hesitates, not wanting to regret his words when he's not certain they'll ever speak again past this moment, but it’s no use. His anger gets the best of him. “We never asked you to do that.”

“You never had to, that’s the whole idea.”

“Bloody hell, for a man you seem to hate, you realize you sound just like him, right?"

Steven turns on his heels and starts walking. To where, he's not entirely sure. There's no discernable landmarks on the horizon, no figures in the distance, no sign of the gates of Osiris. But it's better than being here, arguing in circles again with a man he barely knows.

Once before was quite enough.

Marc was wrong, Steven is sure about that now. There is something here to fix, something tangible, and there’s certainly a lot to talk about and explain. But they’re not going to get anywhere while they’re both cheesed off, experience has taught him that. Broken mirrors have shown him that, more than once.

They’ll figure this out, they have to. They just need time.

And Steven … he needs Marc on this one.

Jake stays rooted in place, but his gaze never leaves Steven's retreating figure. Jake’s eyes soften slightly. If anyone were looking, they might even say that his expression is aching now, unsure. The mask seems to fall more easily once there’s no one around to see it. Jake looks toward the horizon, past Steven’s footsteps in the sand, watching as he goes but never making a move to stop him. Leaving him to his choices. 

His voice is quieter now, Steven near straining to hear him. "Where are you going?"

"Home! Have to wake up eventually, right?"

Steven turns for just a moment, looking back at the man he tried so hard to find. Jake doesn’t look that angry anymore, he just looks… Lost. Reluctant. But still he stands there, frozen, exactly where Steven left him in his anger. Steven almost goes back, then, if only to wipe that look off his face. To make him move.

He knows what it’s like, to be trapped in one place while you’ve tried desperately to find yours.

A man familiar, but just out of reach.

“I’ll be back, though. Now that I know you’re ‘round, it’s just a matter of … getting here. So when you’ve stopped being a git, call me, I guess. Or whatever it is you have to do.”

Steven smiles at him then, and Jake’s eyes widen at the sight.

“It was a pleasure, Just Jake.”

~~~

He’s a lot like you, back when we first met.

Marc is standing in the kitchen, eyes a bit blurry from lack of sleep but oddly enough, more rested than he’d been in days. That was Steven’s doing, no doubt. The guy saw a problem and dove head first into solving it, despite how much Marc had protested.

The smell of fresh coffee passes over him, and he’s reminded of the mug in his hand as the chime of the machine brings him back to his senses.

“Steven, that guy is nothing like me.”

Yeah, well. You would say that, wouldn’t you?

Marc opens the fridge, moving a few takeout containers around so that he can reach a tiny carton of cream he’d hidden at the back of the shelf. But just as his fingertips graze the edge of it, his arm freezes in place.

Not on our life, mate.

Marc sighs, his arm falling to his side. “Steven, I’m not above begging.”

And I’m not above blackmail, either.

“What are you—”

Listen, whether you believe it or not, Jake’s around, and he’s not going away as much as you’d like him to. Steven’s reflection in the glass of the coffee pot is stern, the most grounded Marc’s ever seen him. He isn’t going to let this one go, that’s for sure.

Why you’d want to bury another guy in our noggin like that, I’ll never understand.

“I dunno, maybe it’s because he’s spent our nights ripping a centuries old armor off my body, among other things.”

He wants to live, Marc. He’s angry.

“Yeah, I get that. Can be pissed without getting people hurt, though.”

Marc looks over after a beat of Steven’s silence, the man’s eyebrow raised in the glass as he stares back at him. Waiting.

“...okay, noted.”

Look, all I’m saying is… Be open to the idea, yeah? Some sleep and conversation might be good for us, for all of us, I think.

Yeah, definitely not letting that one go, then. As much as he’d like to go on believing the man called Jake was just a part of his own ongoing nightmare problem, Steven had made it a point to replay their entire conversation as soon as they woke up. All of which Marc had had no knowledge of. And here he’d just assumed he was lucky enough to have one blissful night of dreamless sleep. Guess there’d been a lot going on while he was out.

At least there’s comfort in knowing that their dynamic is the same, even after these new revelations that could have upended … everything.

He knows Steven means well, will always mean well, but he can’t help the worry making a home in his bones. After all, they’ve just started to figure this whole thing out, and it’s been… Nice. Things are good, minus the whole not sleeping thing. But he can deal with it, if it means not messing the rest of it up.

They’ve started to figure out how to make a life together, and the idea of adding someone else to it, someone he’d always brushed off as just a part of his very overactive imagination…

The whole thing just seems like a mess waiting to happen.

“Y’know, I’d be a lot more open to it if I could drink this how I want to.”

Alright, fine. But when you’re dealing with the consequences later, don’t come looking for me.

Marc picks up the pot and Steven disappears as he pours the dark, warm drink into his cup. But he’s not gone, not really. Not in the way he used to be. There aren’t walls anymore, nothing to break down, nothing to keep them from speaking to each other.

Steven is always there. And the thought is enough to keep Marc open to more, just a little.

#hey heeeeeere we go #mcu #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #fanfic #mk fic

[ncitygirls]

only - changbin x f reader

angst, fluff, suggestive, royal!au, cw: war, 5.3k

you were barely eighteen when you accepted the hand in marriage of the son of the duke and duchess of levanter. seo changbin - an affluent heir to an impossible fortune - almost had you surprised when you found his interest in you was unlike that of your fellow bachelorettes. naturally, their interest was fuelled by an insatiable greed and a hot desire for financial prosperity. as should yours, as was yours. not changbin though. no, changbin prided himself on many things unfitting for a man of his status, even his age. he wondered not of your family’s alliances or existing trading partners, but of religion and upbringing. he tsked at mention of your international estates, unless in regard to your memories there. he was complimentary of your attire, less in expense but rather in beauty. changbin wanted to know of your favourite season, and your preferred time of day. who was your favourite poet, and from them your favourite poem. he was obsessed with your knowledge of the world, or rather your interest in it. you had been to neo, but did you really see it, really explore? and if not would you care to? did you prefer sugar or honey in your tea? your bread buttered or oiled? to sleep bare or in silk? he wanted to know what side of the bed you preferred to sleep on, if you were adverse to cuddling and if so, if you could be persuaded.

to be fair, he only spoke with you like this for two reasons. the first being your shared upbringing. after almost two decades of friendship, having you enter his home in the prospect of being his wife didn’t come as a surprise to the young bachelor, but rather a relief. he spent days in and days out discussing family politics, ancestry, and accounts. he chose to ignore the blatant issue there, sharing the intricacies of his family’s wealth and heritage with these ladies from kingdoms and countries he’d been too busy to pay any mind in schooling. he knew his ignorance could come back to bite him and it did, especially as you entered his home looking far prettier than he had ever recalled you looking. he held his tongue before he could whistle, but you could see his smirk all the same. it softened into a grin as he bowed, you returning the pleasantry with a lot less pleasantness than he offered you. he welcomed it all the same. it was why he could be free on this day. speak about the things that would effect you two as one another’s, not you two as one.

your presence also meant he didn’t have to pussyfoot around. he didn’t have to fear your hatred, nor your judgement. though your eyes rolled more than the actual number of potential brides he had become acquainted with. he let f bombs slip, and his guard down. he frolicked with you through the grounds you already knew so well, and guided you through the parts once forbidden to the rambunctious children you once were. he walked you to the kitchen and asked for bread, as opposed to stealing it like you both once would. he tried to describe the estate’s chambers as best he could, detailing the art a then prince hyunjin had gifted him and your childish scratchings still on his door frame.

‘you can see it one day,’ he had whispered under the willow tree on the grounds, watching the way your fingers clung loosely to the weeping leaves. ‘it’s still as it was when we were children.’

‘and how would i do that?’ the question is valid enough, though he frowns, tilting his head. ‘i did not realise i had uttered a riddle, my lord.’

‘well neither had i,’ he tutted, moving to latch onto the same branch you once held. ‘and here i was, assuming you to be the smart one.’

‘i am the smart one.’

‘then answer me this,’ he began, pausing to firmly elaborate, ‘plainly.’ your eyes roll for the umpteenth time at his silent warning before you concede with a nod. ‘how might you see my bed?’

with a sigh you deadpan, ‘if you were to make me your wife.’

‘so to see my bed, and your vandalism-’

‘scribbles.’

‘i must make you my wife.’

‘it seems quite the extreme just to see some old scribbles.’ if changbin senses the hidden meaning to your words, he gave nought away. ‘mightn’t someone just bring me a piece of the bed? i’m sure it’s almost past its use, just peel the pane off. and why still the same bed? you are a young lord of age now, don’t you think-’

‘you know you prattle when you’re nervous?’

‘i do no such thing-’

‘it’s cute.’

‘changbin! how are you so sure i want to be your wife, hm?’ you half questioned, moving away from his looming figure. ‘i only came because your parents asked me here.’

‘y/n, i have known you a long time,’ he punctuates his reminder by closing the distance you so bravely placed between you. ‘if you wished not to be here, you would have found no greater pleasure than to decline the invitation.’ that much is not only true but undeniable. the seo’s was your third courting invite this month alone. you knew, and worse, changbin knew. ‘is it so hard to admit that i might have soften that hardened heart of yours?’

‘i find no pleasure in your games, changbin.’

‘what game, y/n? can a man not just want you?’ your eyes betray you as you try to expel the softness conjured by his taunt. a taunt that is starting to sound less like a taunt, and more like a confession. ‘can i not just want you?’

‘how do i know you want me, bin?’ you pressed, pressing your back to the leaning trunk of the all encompassing tree. ‘how do i know you don’t just want a way out of this endless cycle of mindless heiresses?’

‘you said my parents asked you here?’ your head bobbed as he approached you, nodding in time with you before he stopped a foot before you, smiling eyes gazing right at you. ‘who do you think asked them?’

you were married that fall. under that same willow tree, in the presence of his royal highness and his kin, your family and the seos. the affair was small like you both wanted. small like your needs. you joked marrying you was a cop out, as he spun you around the gardens, escaping the intimate celebrations in the grand banquet hall to enjoy the breeze on your skin and feel the wind in your hair. it was the first time he held you since your dance lessons as kids. where you would lead and he would follow. he once swore he would follow you anywhere. both literally and figuratively. around the grounds of your childhood home, in all your beliefs and ideologies. he filled his mind and self with your gospel and truth, infatuated with your manner of thinking, how you arrived at conclusions. changbin spent his whole childhood falling in love with you.

‘you weren’t a cop out,’ he breathed into the shell of your ear, humming as you lay your head on his shoulder. pressing his lips to your temple he confessed, ‘you were my only choice.’

that night, the two of you consummated your marriage under that same willow tree. his hands clinging to your waist as he ground his hips into you. his tightened breaths filling the drum of your ear with every snap, his lips closing around the skin of your jaw, summoning the most satisfying whines he could draw from you. his lover. his friend. his lady.

in his absence, you remind him of this night. how biting the bark had been on your skin, the autumn air stinging your already teary eyes. his last letter arrived over a fortnight ago, it spoke of his fears at battle, the treacherous methods of his enemies. the only face he prays to see again and until that day, the only face he will dream of. you have sent a handful of letters since then, yet still sour as you awake another day to no news. you sigh as you grab your quill, letting the ink drip before signing off your letter.

‘my dearest, changbin. a season separates us, but only a season could.’

it isn’t long after you seal it that you are summoned to the hwang holiday estate. the royal family have a long history of retreating to the country when the weather is a touch higher than that of luke warm water, or near cool cinder. the seo’s residence is but a short carriage ride from the estate, though a tad longer walk. you often opt to walk as you do today, taking no larger than foot long strides between the cobbled paths. your guard walks in time with you, though no more than a few feet behind. he had never been one for small talk, you quickly came to realise. though, since neither is your husband, you feel an odd sense of relief, normality, even in his absence. you try and enjoy the song of the breeze through the willow, the scent of the king’s rose garden carried on its back. it’s hard over the creak of your guard’s hurried stomps, his pace doubling with every corner you take. you only verbalise your awareness of his impatience when he arrives beside you, hastened to strike the door to announce your arrival.

“master yang,” you call softly as you two await entry. “if i did not know any better, i would say you were rushing me.”

“apologies, my lady,” he confesses, stepping back at your side without any question. though, when he gulps, you eye him with a softened concern. “i was informed you were summoned due to a grave emergency.”

“worry not, jeongin.” you chide, recalling your highness’ idea of an emergency. “the king often calls when the queen is away and he is tasked with matters such as assigning dinner seating.” jeongin looks as if he is about to ask when you add, “she says his involvement humbles him.” when he nods, you straighten as the door swings open, a servant welcoming you in. “yes, there is nothing to fear, master yang.”

only, falser words had never been spoken.

you are quick to note the tremor in the king’s frame as he hurries to stand upon your arrival, rushing you through the official pleasantries of an official summoning. “lady seo.”

“your highness.” you reply, your knee bending as you politely lower your head. “how are you on this fine afternoon-”

“i apologise, y/n. but as you know, i didn’t call you hear on matters of leisure.” he politely interrupts, a flush of embarrassment flooding his cheeks as you frown. “when was last you heard from him?”

“heard from who?”

“from—” hyunjin’s confused gaze cuts to his informants, a few members of his court shying away from him before he marvels at them. “has lady seo not been informed?” when he receives no reply, you feel yourself shrink as the gentle king bellows, “why has lady seo not been informed?”

“informed of what—”

“the order of information begins with yourself sire, before reaching the court, the council, the lady and then the people.”

“i specifically requested she be kept informed. why has she not been kept informed?”

“well, your grace, the lady of a knight is only to be informed once official word is received from the battlefield and delivered to you sire.”

“official word of what—”

“which came through this morning and you are about to deliver the information to the lady.”

“king hyunjin!”

gasps fill the room from all but the king himself. he doesn’t falter, instead he turns to move towards you, his eyes growing more fearful, more earnest as he approaches. he shudders at the thought of delivering this message. he even scolds himself for attempting to delegate such responsibility. you are a friend. not only to the crown, but to the royal family itself. before heavy crowns kissed their heads. before rings ever kissed your knuckles. you were his friend. you had always been a friend to him, and the only time you had ever needed him was now and he had let you down.

“we received word that neo soldiers stormed our fortress in miroh. while we have received word from a few troops who were able to escape, we have yet to ascertain who of the full fleet have made it to safety.” when he pauses to gulp he sees your eyes gleam, breaths shallow. his hands then find yours, gripping your shaky, sweaty digits tightly. “we have received no word from changbin’s troop,” he stops when you gasp, your tears falling, cascading down and around your stained cheeks, your lip trembling. “but we have been able to track a number of our men back through the yellow wood, south of levanter.”

“i-is he there? is he okay?”

“we are yet to hear word,” the tears continue to fall, and he hates himself but all he can do is continue, divulge everything he knows. “they plan to set up camp on the edge of the wood, so i will make my way there now and have word sent back to you as soon as i find him.”

“no,” you refuse, snatching your hands away to drag them over your stained cheeks. “i cannot wait, i will join you.”

“as will i,” jeongin pipes up behind you, his voice an odd comfort once more. “your grace.”

“it is no place for a lady,” hyunjin tries, sighing when you just scowl, already mid curtsey as you preempt his agreement and dismissal. “i will have a carriage sent for you at once.”

“would taking just a horse quicken my arrival?”

“i-it would,” he discloses reluctantly, watching you ready yourself to decline the carriage. “for my sake though,” your scowl returns, ignoring the concern from the king. “i implore you to take the carriage. the yellow wood is far from kind..” you decode his meaning before he ever finishes speaking. the yellow wood is far from safe.

“but is this not the same wood my husband’s troop plans to take, sire?” hyunjin’s nod comes seconds later, shame tensing his jaw. hyunjin is visibly trying to appreciate your patience after having all this information dumped on you. but hyunjin also recalls the threats you readily made and followed through on in your younger years. so much so, he fears the worst of you when you bow before slowly approaching him, voice but a decibel higher than a nat’s buzz to threaten him. the king. before as many witnesses as it takes to have your head. “fine. i will take the carriage.

“but i regret to inform you i have fallen victim to the sick allure of hope. so if this carriage takes him from me? if i am too late? i will burn your kingdom to the ground, jinnie. mark my words.”

only once you leave does hyunjin breathe, noticably shaken by the violent rage existing within the women of his kingdom. “ready her carriage.” he suddenly commands, terrified of letting you down. “i want her there by nightfall.”

hyunjin had not embellished the treachery of this road. you had halted close to ten times in the first six hours of the journey. thanks to forewarning by the king and his council, your guards were prepared to be extra vigilant. weary from all sides of the carriage, bandits who fell from the trees and ambushed from the sides did not live long enough to prevail. from dawn til dusk, the wood falsified night with its woven rotted branches and the gradually setting sun, seeing was becoming more hopeless yet more crucial. without a maid for travelling company and jeongin busy guarding your personage, you were once again left with your thoughts. in times of dire woe, you called on memories of your love, though they read more like dreams. this dream is one that only longing for the man you prayed awaited you on the end of this perilous journey could conjure. because not only do you miss him, you fear for him. not much has changed.

‘you think i am going to get myself killed?’ he breathed, nipping at your clavicle as you rest in his lap. ‘have you no faith in me?’

‘of course i do,’ you defend, gasping as he clamps down, teeth rolling your skin. ‘i just-’

‘you just.. what?’ he doesn’t expect an answer. or so you suspect. especially following a slow drag of your thinly veiled heat over his firmed thigh. ‘you think i would ever abandon you?’

‘no, binnie,’ you start, rising from him with a sigh. ‘i just know you.’

‘you do?’ he ponders sweetly, gazing up at your shining eyes. ‘and what is it you know?’

‘you’re powerful, but far too stubborn.’

‘you know,’ he hums, crossing his thick arms as a small pout steals the lips of the strongest man in the kingdom. ‘for someone who claims to adore me, you tend to speak ill of me every chance you get, my lady.’

‘must the two be exclusive?’ when his frown only deepens, his folded arms tightening, you sigh once more. returning to his spread legs, you perch yourself on them, raising your steady fingers to the creases painting the forehead of the most stubborn man you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. he softens only slightly, his pouted lip closing around yours when you lean in, silently asking his forgiveness. ‘for every ill spoken word, i make up for with countless good, bin.’

‘such as?’ he huffs, knowingly egging you on.

with a small smile, you offer a final peck to his lips before praising the knight beneath you. ‘i know you will fight valiantly.’ you admit, pride permeating right through you to the man you call yours. ‘you will bring honour to your family, to your country.’ with the pads of your fingers, you tuck his hair behind his ear, cooing as he relaxes at your touch. ‘you will be a hero, my love.’

‘and this all worries you?’

‘do you know who will keep your legacy alive, changbin?’ his frown returns at concern for your quivering lip, a sudden fear seeping into your tone. ‘me. your widow.’ he begins to shake his head, a half assed assurance on the tip of his prideful tongue when you remind, ‘it may vex you to hear this, but please remember your knighting was in part an award for your bravery, but also in large part to hyunjin’s love for you.’

‘how can you say that-’

‘since bang chan the brave, name a knight who lived to see his knighting. just one, bin. name one who knelt before their king and felt the sword atop their shoulders. name one who did not die in battle, leaving their grieving widow to accept a meaningless commendation of his honour?’

‘you call your father’s commendation meaningless?’

‘don’t make me laugh, bin.’ your scoff would wound him had you not uttered, ‘i would have rathered he be the one to walk me down the isle the day i married you. knowing my father loved me enough to protect his country is a nice sentiment, but don’t you dare assume i would take that honour over his life.’

‘hey,’ he calls, holding you in his lap as you try to move from him. ‘my love, i didn’t mean to offend.’

‘i know,’ in these seconds you see past the facade, the knight that your husband is. you only see what you fell in love with. you see the compassion, the understanding. ‘bin, i need you to understand. really understand.’ with his cheeks cradled in your palms, you plead with your love. ‘you mean everything to me, seo changbin. before i ever realised you did. i will not let this mindless war take you from me.

‘don’t be a hero, changbin. leave that to some village boy with a chip on his shoulder, with something to prove.’ he nuzzles into your palm as he listens to your plea, gazing into your warning eyes. ‘just come back to me, okay? don’t make me beg.’

‘what if it helped your case?’ he mumbled into your skin, his lips gently puckering as his palms glide up the side of your neck. his tongue slid betwixt your parted lips, trying to exorcise any and all tension from your trembling frame. with another soft pucker of his lips, a suck on your wet muscle has you loosening, falling into him as he moves to embrace you. ‘would you?’

‘do not mock me.’

‘i would never,’ you find this hard to believe as he smirks like a man with ten knives readied for your back. they come as kisses instead, they line the column of your neck, followed closely by his thumbs as he angles your head toward him. ‘you just seem ready to, so i would love to hear it.’

‘perhaps i will marry that lee boy, with the speckled cheeks. i hear the maids think he’s a descendant of fairies, born from the very stars that kiss his face-’ the words halt in your throat as he flips you, firmly pinning you to the goose down.

‘you seem to have thought this through..’

‘have i much choice?’ you huff, glaring at his thoughtful gaze. ‘one tends to ponder such things when faced with their husband’s imminent demise.’ he only sighs, eyes rolling skyward as he asks the gods, old and new, why they ever chose you for him. ‘i hear his line is filled only with beautiful men. who was his ancestor again? minho the something.’

‘you know,’ refusing to come to your aid, he gathering up the hem of your silks. ‘most men would have your head by now.’

‘-magnificent! it was minho the magnificent!’

‘maleficent.’

‘hm?’

‘his name,’ nipping at the exposed skin of your chest, his hand tugs at the starched fabric as he corrects you. ‘it was minho the maleficent.’

‘oh,’ you breathe, less in defeat but rather in sweet contentment. ‘and why is that?’

‘because, my sweet,’ he huffs into your chest, resting on the heels of his palms planted either side of your cushioned head. ‘he burned all of levanter to the ground when his queen died.’

‘yes, he did.’ changbin only strokes the skin of your cheek as you pout, his eyes rolling at your uncanny ability to bring everything back to his encroaching departure. ‘and my husband will not even skip one war for me.’

‘’one war’?’ he smirks, dropping his lips to your exposed breast, tongue sweeping over your teased nipples. ‘you speak as though war is like an evening in a tavern.’

‘both tend to end in regret,’ you jest, or attempt to. it is growing increasingly difficult to barter with him as he presses his lips to your stomach, his body lowering in kind with his touch. before he can disappear entirely from view, you rise. as he rises with you, you are stunned by his rosey cheeks, the flush journeying to his neck as you rest on your elbows. he sees your turmoil. your clear desire for him shadowed painfully by your love and fear. he drops a kiss to your hip, his knuckles dusting the veiled bead of your heat, eyes hard on you as you falter, head lolling to the side before you regain your strength. ‘bin?’

‘hm?’

‘stay.’ it’s faint. so faint he barely recognises it as a plea. he only sighs, his forehead pressed to your abdomen as he purges your wet eyes from his memory. ‘please say you will stay. i cannot bear the thought of a winter without you.’

‘my love,’ changbin speaks into your skin, lowly beseeching your understanding while praying for your peace. ‘a season might separate us,’ he hums, expertly parting your thighs as he offers a lone kiss to your mound. ‘but only a season could.’

“my lady?” jeongin’s voice is first to break you from your nostalgic nightmare. the second is the cries of injured men. “we have arrived.”

the edge of the wood is a wounded minefield. limbless soldiers, knights and footmen alike, are dotted around the dimly lit field. your eyes gloss over at the heaped bodies, and water at the stench. “how long have they been here?”

“just under a week,” jeongin recalls, holding his hand out to stop you as medics pass with a burnt body on a stretcher. “it is hard to believe this is the winning camp.”

“there are no winners in war, jeongin.” you whisper, watching a man close the eyes of his fallen comrade a pair approach to drop his body in a mass grave. a fight ensues. “only loss.”

“y/n?” you halt at the call, half sprinting at the sight of han jisung, wearing a smile warm enough to light the night. “i thought his highness was jesting when he said you’d be here.”

“han!” you cried, latching onto him with a grip that nearly winded him. “thank god, thank god.”

“more like thank changbin,” he wheezed, squeezing you back just as tight, lifting you a few feet off the ground. “had he not been here, i would have surely-”

“where is he?”

“-died.” he only grins as you stiffen, recognising his part in your terror a second too late. “oh! no! he isn’t dead! he is alive! very alive!” his eyes flicker to a scowling jeongin, gulping down an apology as he gestures to his left. “come.”

further from the wood and slowly decaying corpses are the tents. some somehow less grand than a teepee, some spacious enough for a few hours sleep. jisung guides you both up to the largest of the lot, where you find an ill tempered king hyunjin growing increasingly more so. “no, leave him be.”

“had we known you were coming your grace- we can have him moved immediately.”

“your king gave you an order, soldier.” jisung chimes in, tongue slotting into the swell of his cheek as he gestures to you over his shoulder. “now move out of the way or i’ll have you explain to lady seo why she can’t see her husband on account of your insubordinance.”

“yes, sir.”

hyunjin bristles at jisung’s ability to command his men with little effort before he softens at your restless gaze. “he’s been asking for you.”

the grandeur of the king’s tent suits changbin well, you think. a fire crackles at the furthest end, masked only by a large canopy where you know he rests. the four poster bed takes up most of the space, and around it lays tin bowls, rags, blankets and water. the room seems barely lived in bar the knight whose faint breaths float toward you through the warm air. you feel yourself stalling, too busy taking in the space to recognise your fear. what will you find when you pull the curtain away? what remains of your husband, your lover, your friend? will he still have the same warm eyes and full cheeks? will his hands still fit in yours? his feet still step in time with yours? will he look the same, sound the same even? you swallow down this fear, and instead bask in the joy that he’s alive. your husband is alive. and nothing separates you. not a season, nor a wood. not time or conflict. only your fears.

and then they don’t. when you pull back the veil, nothing separates you but air. a soft man made gust as you reveal the man you’d once called your friend, only to call your betrothed and then yours. the fire barely lights the room yet still he glows. he lies bare from the waist up, his abdomen bandaged in rolls of cotton, his chest exposed. you watch it, the slow rise and fall of the place you longed to rest your head, you dreamt of dreaming on. before you realise, you have lowered yourself beside him, careful not to disturb him, nor his wound. before you can call for him he smiles. even in his state of slumber, he leans into your touch. before you meet his eyes, you feel his on you.

“you came.” he whispers, a heavy breath of relief escaping him as your thumb dusts his cheek.

“of course,” you try, before taking your lip between your teeth, fearful your tears might dampen his skin. you kneel at his side, carefully ridding yourself of your outer garments, before returning your hand to his cheek. “how do you feel?”

“now?” he smirks, wincing as a laugh runs through him. “wonderful.”

“and before?”

“so, so.” he murmurs with a kiss to your palm. “a sword to the stomach will do that to you.”

“do i have han jisung to thank for that?”

“no,” he coughs, recalling his sacrifice. “only me.”

“well that’s good,” you hum, employing the upmost care when leaning over him. “because i would hate to think my knight was blindsided.”

“never,” his assurance fans your lips, as yours hover over his. “only by you.”

you almost forgot how it felt to kiss him. the feeling only coming in dreams. there was no memory strong enough to conjure the feeling of his lips pressed against yours. the slow melt of tender skin on skin, the warmth, his gentle caress. his kiss is slow, but even in his prime he took his time. his lips close around yours with such timing and precision, ushering a slow burn of desire from the heels of your feet all the way up to the crown of your head. he knew how to expunge pain and fear from you, to free you from your demons, to reinvigorate you. to love you.

he’s weak. in all the worst ways. his body, his will. he raises his hand to your neck, pulling you closer as he presses his tongue between your lips, connecting the muscles with little intent of parting. he swallows around you, drinking you in, keeping that same, slow and teasing pace. only to pull you closer.

“you need your rest,” you pant into his mouth, resting all your weight on your arms as he pulls you back down, pinning your forehead to his.

“no,” he refuses, sweeping his thumb along your jaw. “i need you.” his voice shakes then, unlike him. unlike the man you know. “only you.”

“is that why you called me here?” you tease, silently wiping his tears away, silently reading the fear in his eyes. he begs them away though warms at your easy dispelling. “to use me?”

“my love,” he laughs, ignoring the pain in favour of basking in your smile. “you know i did not call for you.” when you move to argue, he recalls, as if he were there, “‘would taking just a horse quicken my arrival?’”

“i might have been here sooner if-”

“this,” raising his other arm, he gathers your face in his palms, “is soon enough.”

safe.

“okay.” you agree, allowing him to tug you closer once more. you let him kiss you without restraint. you let him curl his fingers into your neck, ignoring his wincing and kiss him through it. you let his grunts mask his pain, his teeth rolling your lip between the rows, you let him share it. you let him have you, because despite the odds he stayed alive. he stayed alive for you. and that was enough. “i love you.”

he blinks up at your shining eyes, guiding your wet cheeks to his puckered lips. “i love you,” he whispers back against your lips, feeling himself heal at just the touch of your hand. “only you.”

because only a season separated you. but now, not even a season could.

#so #changbin #seo changbin #changbin smut #changbin fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #dno if it counts as angst #stray kids au #ncitygirls #skz au #skz smut #skz changbin #lol it is angst #skz angst #changbin angst #stray kids angst

[kuroopaisen]

brat || gojou satoru

➵ gojou wants you to pay attention to him. and no, he doesn’t care about how annoying he’s being. 

wc: 2k

warnings: gn!reader, gojou is Annoying, mild spoilers i guess? 

a/n: hi welcome to my gojou brainrot i would like to escape and yet i cannot,,, will i deliver more mindless fanfic? who knows! 

You sigh, turning the page of your book with an exhausted kind of resignation. Had you even comprehended what’s in the last paragraph? Or had you just let your eyes gloss over it, admiring the shape of the letters without actually taking any of them in?

Reading a book isn’t so difficult under normal circumstances; sure, you’ve got your own concentration to wrestle with, but that’s an (occasionally) tameable beast.

The man sprawled on the couch next to you, however, is not.

“Are you done yet?” Gojou hums, sticking his legs straight up in the air.

“I’ll be done sooner if you shut up,” you mumble, starting from the top of the page for what feels like the thirty-second time in the past five minutes.

Gojou’s not handling the boredom well. He’s spent the past five minutes cycling between humming Danse Macabre in an octave too high to be comfortable while swinging his legs in circles and poking your cheek as he crouches next to you on his knees.

“You’re the one who said I could come over,” he chirps, completely unfazed by your words.

“I never said that,” you mumble.

It’s not a lie. Earlier today, Gojou’d asked if you were going out tonight. You’d said no. He’d decided to take that as permission to crash at your place.

Although the onus is at least a little on you; he has a habit of doing things like this. You’ve got to be one step ahead of him if you want to win against him on a petty debate like that.

A head of white hair wriggles its way onto your lap.

“Satoru?”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m bored,” he hums.

That much is obvious. But you know it’s not that simple; he’s bored, yes, but more importantly, he wants your attention. Even your chest flutters at that.

“You’re a grown man,” you smile. “Entertain yourself.”

A well-worn coquettish smile plays on his lips. “I can’t tell if you’re being lewd or not.”

You slap his chest.

“Ow!” He gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “I can’t believe you’d be so cruel to me!”

“Then stop being annoying.”

“I’d like to think I’m ‘charmingly playful’.”

“Do you take constructive criticism?” You tilt your head at him, biting back a smile.

“I would,” he muses, “if I weren’t already perfect.”

“That ego of yours is going to get you into serious trouble one day,” you grin, flicking his forehead gently.

He lets you, grinning back. “Ah, but you see, my dear,” he hums, grabbing your hand before you draw it away and lacing your fingers with his. It’s a bit of an awkward angle, but you don’t mind.

“I’m simply stating the truth.”

“Well, the truth hurts,” you mutter, “so it’s no surprise no-one wants to hear you gassing yourself up.”

Gojou laughs. His hair tickles your inner thighs and you’re almost convinced to give in. But it wouldn’t be good form to feed his ego after chiding him for it.

You’re well-aware his ego’s already gotten him in trouble – many times, in fact. But Gojou seems to have a way of wheedling his way out of anything.

And, of course, you know that his ego doesn’t come from nowhere.

Doesn’t stop it from being annoying, though. The fact it’s at least partially well-founded makes it worse.

You take a deep breath, turning your attention back to this blasted book. Gojou will just have to wait.

“Why are you even reading that brick?” He muses, tapping the bottom of the book’s spine with one long finger. “You look bored out of your mind. And, you’ve been on the same page for the past five minutes.”

“You know,” you tilt your head to the side, a sour look on your face. “‘Adult stuff.’ Upskilling and all that.”

“Ah,” Gojou grins. “Career work.”

“Mhm,” you sigh. “And some of us can’t just learn on the job.”

Although, you ponder, the thought blurred with gentle melancholy, some of us aren’t constantly risking our lives.

Gojou always tells you not to worry; he’s the strongest jujutsu sorcerer there is, after all. But even that’s not enough to lull you into an uneasy sleep, to bring you warmth when your bed is cold.

You’re never truly at ease until you feel him slip into your bed in the early hours of the morning, his arms slinking around your waist and pulling you towards him. It’s like clockwork how he buries his head in your shoulder as every muscle in his body relaxes. He always thinks you’re asleep – and honestly, it’s easier to let him keep believing that.

What you’ve got isn’t exactly a ‘relationship’. At least, not in the most traditional sense of the word. Gojou’s never pretended to offer you that. But it’s not so simple as a ‘friends-with-benefits’ arrangement.

Gojou Satoru doesn’t suit the domestic. But he relishes in it, the same way a child might enjoy playing at high tea with little plastic teacups and cupcakes made of playdough. Some might find this frustrating – the idea of existing in this grey, a dark, nebulous unknown stippled with moments of affection and vulnerability.

But there’s still comfort in it; a sense of understanding, a place to let loose and relax. Being part of this world is hard. It’s so cruel – sending children out to fight things they barely comprehend, letting them suffer and even die. And what do they have to show for it? A future of doing the same thing while also having to navigate just how shit the world of sorcerers truly is?

Why aren’t more of your colleagues angry about this? One counsellor isn’t enough to maintain the wellbeing of these children. Do the higher-ups even care? Well, you know the answer to that question – it’s enough to make you want to throttle each and every one of them—

“Hey.”

You clatter back to earth, met by a pair of electric blue eyes. It’s easy to forget just how striking they are; it’s like they can stare right into your very core, laying out secrets you never even knew you had.

“Hm?” You blink at him. You can’t risk him knowing you’re worried. He doesn’t stand for that sort of thing; he’ll just tease you for being concerned about him. Though, you’re well-aware that he enjoys being doted on.

“You’re spacing out,” he smiles. “Again.”

Sure, he sounds like he’s joking. But even he can’t disguise that little flash in his eyes, the slight tension in his face. It’s the same expression he has when he talks about that new student of his.

Gojou understands you better than you’d like. Every little tell, every tiny hint towards what you’re actually thinking. It’s near impossible to hide anything from him; it’s irritating, really.

But, at least he’s got the decency to leave the direction of the conversation in your hands.

You weigh it for a moment, deciding how exactly to respond. Should you play it off and throw his brattiness back in his face? Or should you pry open that conversation like the doors of an old temple?

Today’s not the day. Neither of you are ready for that.

You stick your tongue out at him. Perhaps it’s not how an adult should behave, but you don’t care. Neither does Gojou.

“I think,” he sighs, plucking the book out of your hands and tossing it across the room, “it’s time you took a break.”

You yelp a moment too late, watching your book slap against the wall and flop to the floor. It’s only a paperback – thank God – but you’re not ready to fix another dent in the wall caused by the force of mayhem known as Gojou Satoru.

“And I have been waiting long enough,” he grins, wrapping his arms around your neck and launching forward.

“Satoru—”

It’s too late. He’s got you pinned beneath him – and not in a sexy way. All six feet and three inches of him is laid flat on top of you, your face smothered by his chest.

You punch his side weakly.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he laughs.

“Fine,” you try to say. All you get is a mouthful of Gojou’s shirt. You slip your hands up said shirt and tickle his sides.

“Hey, hey, hey—” He splutters, grabbing at your wrists.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” You smirk, continuing your assault.

Gojou whines, propping himself up by his palms and arching his back like a cat in an attempt to shake you off.

“Get back here,” you grin, lifting your torso in response.

His arms are immediately wrapped around you, pinning your own arms to your sides. You yelp in surprise, finding yourself laid gently against the couch with your face pressed against his neck.

“Much better,” Gojou chuckles, still on top of you as he nestles his head into your shoulder.

It’s not the most comfortable position, but that’s rarely a priority when it comes to Gojou. You wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t just his way of goading you into relocating to your bed for ease of cuddling (although you have your doubts that it’s the only thing on his mind).

“You want attention that bad, huh?” You chuckle, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.

“Mhm,” he smirks, bringing his head up to get a proper look at you. “I’m a busy man, you know. I don’t think you’re appreciating my free time enough.”

“And yet, you never seem to leave my damn house,” you muse. “I’m starting to think you don’t actually have a job.”

Gojou laughs, leaning down and kissing you properly.

“That’s not an answer,” you say against his lips.

He ignores you, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You sigh, conceding. His lips are so soft yet so persistent, somehow both desperate and playful. He’s aggravatingly good at this sort of thing – before Gojou, you didn’t really understand what it meant to be a ‘good kisser’. But of course, he manages to excel at this, too. And annoyingly enough, he’d been right to brag about it.  

He brings one hand up to cup your cheek and moves another down to your waist. It’s a surprisingly chaste move for him, but you don’t mind. You tangle your own hands in his hair, resisting the urge to tug it. If you do that, you’ll officially lose any chance of getting more reading done tonight. Although your ability to focus on anything other than him is waning quickly.

When Gojou pulls back, he’s got that look in his eyes. The one that always makes your cheeks flush, makes your heart feel a little lighter. The one that almost makes you say something stupid.

Thank God you always have your wits about you.

“You get five minutes,” you sigh. “And then you’ve got to let me finish the chapter I’m on, okay? Then I’m all yours.”

Gojou’s grin blossoms with delight.

He slots himself beneath your chin and rests his cheek against your chest. A hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You smile, propping your chin on the top of his head and wrapping your arms around him.

Despite all his big talk, his irksome demeanour, even his obnoxious height, Gojou Satoru loves to be held.

You always oblige. He never asks – that’s too close to admitting weakness.

But you understand. He needs this. Sometimes he just wants to be tended to.

Being let in like this is an honour. He’s letting you be part of his life, despite his grand plans. Plans that, when he’d told you them, shifted your whole understanding of him.

Gojou represents change.

You have to have faith in him. You have to believe he’ll make good on his promises and turn the sorcerer world on its head. It’s no easy burden; and despite what he claims, even he falters in the face of something so monumental.

But despite all that, he’s still him. He hasn’t let the weight of his goals crush him; at least, not entirely. He finds the little joys, indulges in mundane delights, sees the humour in things.

Gojou Satoru wants to change the world, but he still lets himself be a part of it.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so easy to love him.

Even if he can’t offer the stability and promise of a stable relationship.

Even if he’s a little brat.

#gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo saturo x reader #gojou x you #gojou staoru x you #today on: rowan can't shut up! #free me from this hell!

[alch3mic]

Cheshire please.

“Are you sure you’re alright dear?”

Your eyes gazed up from the floor to glance at your elderly neighbor who seemed to stare you in concern.

Well, you certainly couldn’t blame her for asking considering you were still probably flushed with the fever that caught you by surprise this morning- all of which was neatly wrapped underneath your face mask, glasses and hood that had been pulled up over your head and tied tight.

Your ensemble of slippers, sweatpants and that dingy old hoodie also didn’t help to dissuade the fact you looked absolutely terrible, especially under the harsh hallway lights of your nice apartment building. You smiled regardless though, forgetting she might not see it.

"Yes, I'm alright," you said brightly, though your voice clearly strained as you bent down to take the garbage bag near her door. "I'll get these to the trash shoot and then climb right back into bed, so please don't worry about me Mrs. Chaput."

She at the very least smiled at you too, concern still aching in her brow, but she seemed to let it go. You had been taking the trash out for her and the rest of your elderly neighbors for the past two years now anyway, rain or shine, and you certainly weren't about to let some fever stop you from helping them today.

It was just in your nature to persevere.

"I'm grateful as always," she said softly, "but are you absolutely certain you don't need any help? No offense dear but you look scarier than usual! I believe that new tenant is all moved in, the one next to you? I finally saw him the other day! He's a young looking fellow, much like yourself. Perhaps he could give you a hand with all of those?"

"It's fine. Wouldn't want to both him since he's just moved in," you said with a shrug, trying to ignore that 'scarier' comment. You already knew you weren't exactly a bundle of smiles and joy.

Besides you hadn't even had the chance to meet your new next door neighbor, the last thing you wanted to do was show up to their door and ask them to help you take a bunch of garbage...

That just had awkward encounter written all over it.

Personally, you'd much rather die of a cold than over social embarrassment, so you'd suffer through the walk to the trash shoot.

"Aright, I won't argue," your neighbor sighed, "that'll just keep you out of bed longer. Go on now, shoo.... and thank you."

"Anytime Mrs. Chaput," you said, giving her a small nod as she smiled at you again and closed the door.

Seems like your sickness got you out of another cheek pull from her at least. She always liked teasing you like that, but really you didn't mind. It was nice to have what felt like family when you were so far from home..

A sigh slipped out as you tried to chase away those thoughts, turning to waddle your way through the rest of the hall.

There was just one last trash stop back near your own apartment where Mr. Salt lived. Despite his name he was a kind man if... not a little forgetful. He often forgot to put his trash out for you to take, so you usually stopped there first to knock on his door and remind him and then made it your last stop on the way out.

...He always seemed to jump in your presence too... probably because you were so much taller than him and had a resting bitch face only your mother could love, but before long he’d always melt back into that friendly personality of his.

After rounding the corner and glancing down the hall you could see he finally set a few bags outside. Thank goodness, you really weren’t in the mood to remind him again with how awful you felt. Slowly you trudged over, letting out a small groan as your muscles ache with fatigue, but you kept pressing forward.

Another step. And then another.

Almost there.. just.. keep going!

Then you can head back home and flop yourself into bed without a care in the world!

..Maybe after you took some cold medicine..

Finally you managed to make it down that endless hallway, giving your arms a small break by setting everything down and leaning against the wall.

Man, screw being sick This shit sucked! You could hardly believe you just stumbled around most days perfectly fine without properly appreciating it!

..Right now you’d give anything to feel better again...

If your mom were here she'd probably be scolding you while making something like.. a warm batch of potato soup..

...Maybe you'd call her.. when you're feeling better...

.......

......Ah.... You were.... dozing off a bit.

...That’s... not good.

C’mon wake up, you’re almost done.

You let out another groan as you barely managed to push yourself up off the wall, bending down to pick up all the bags including Mr. Salt’s and—

Holy shit it was heavy!

Your whole face scrunched, your arms barely lifting up the bag while letting out a painful, straining grunt. What the hell was in there!? It was double.. no.. maybe triple bagged? How were you supposed to carry this by yourself?

“Fucking hell..” you hissed, trying to take a deep breath and just coughing instead. “I swear of all fucking days to pull this kind of shit.”

Ugh, you felt too awful to knock on Mr. Salt’s door to complain.... not that you’d do that even if you were feeling well, but.. You’d like to think you’d give him a piece of your mind in your fantasies.

“Maybe then next time he won’t decide to dump an entire goddamn body out...”

Somehow not even your darker jokes could make you feel any better, especially with how much you were sweating with the added labor. You turned with all the bags in hand to head back down the hall and-

...Hm?

Someone was standing there.

.......

You couldn’t really tell who it was through the haze of your fever, but you squinted at them regardless, thinking if you stared at them harder you might be able to identify them.

That’s when you realized three things.

Number one, they were a monster.

.....Or at least you thought they were? It was a little hard to tell with their hood up.

Number two, you had never seen them before in your life.

And number three..

They looked....

...terrified.

......

Wha..?

“H-Hey...” you said between labored breaths in some kind of greeting.

The monster jumped, now looking a bit panicked as they retreated farther back.

"...Wh-what are you..?”

“don’t..!”

Their voice was so quiet that you barely managed to catch on to what they were saying, confusion now mixing in with the fever and irritation inside your head.

“What?”

Well that came out a lot harsher than intended. Nice job.

It's no wonder the skeleton squeaked, nervously pressing themselves to the apartment door next to yours.

‘I believe that new tenant is all moved in, the one next to you?’

.....Oh.

Oh no.

“You... I know you...”

Again, delivered much more abrasive than you would have desired, especially with the way it made them flinch again, now fumbling with something.

...This was bad.

Clearly you were scaring them, and the logical part of your brain told them to just leave them alone because there’s no way you could salvage this encounter with how much of a feverish mess your head is.. but the other, much more controlling part of your brain, just told you to keep pushing forward and clear up this little misunderstanding.

“Wait.”

The monster froze at your tone, staring at you with widened eye.... sockets?

“You..”

C’mon dummy, use your words!

“You’ve got the wrong idea.. this.. isn’t what it looks like.”

......

Well it’s no wonder the skeleton doubled down on their efforts to get the key into their lock before slipping through their apartment door with how stupidly awful that statement was. The click of the door closing was immediately followed by the sound of several locks being put into place, cementing the fact that you somehow really fucked this up.

...Wonderful.

Just stellar.

Your very first interaction with your new neighbor and you don't have the slightest doubt in your mind they think you're some kind of criminal body collector.

....So much for not dying of social embarrassment.

check out my other writings | feel free to drop me a ko-fi!

#how about their first meeting? #it didn't... go well #neither did their second one considering cheshire didn't realize that heavily breathing shady human is his next door neighbor #but things work out in the end! #cheshire!sans #sans #undertale #underlust #lust sans #sans x reader #reader insert #undertale au #wickedtale #alch!writes #alch!answers #anon

[abraxos-the-phantom]

Scum Disciple Deleted

-scenes. Here you go @vodkassassin. Unformatted and mostly unedited save for some awkward phrasing I fixed as I skimmed through it. I have a habit of merely taking out scenes rather than straight deleting them when I don't think they work out so if you see it on the fic shhh I probably just found a better place for it, but for the most part I think these are unused

TLJ + MF; Flashback/Illusion

[Log: File:Save_??-???.?.????.log]

“You know, for a man so keen on maintaining the preference of a dignified cultivator, you are fairly quick to disband such things as you see fit,” Tianlang-jun mused.

Ming Fan threw a dirty look to the former Overlord of the Demonic Realm over his bowl of beef stir fry lily bulbs. It was a specialty in this region, boasting a sweet lily bulb due to the length of time the farmers around the area spent cultivating the plant. In other words, it was delicious and a welcome change to the guilt trip galore that was eating Lou Binghe’s cooking.

Oh to eat that delicious snow congee without feeling the compulsion to throw it all back up-

Well, no use dwelling on such things.

“Most of anything could be considered vulgar when in close proximity to you,” Ming Fan quipped, taking a generous helping of the stir-fry between his chopsticks. “If you had as much sensibility as you had sensuality, I guarantee that people would be more fond of you. Unfortunately, it is too late for me.”

“Hoh? Is that so?” Tianlang-jun’s lips curled in a smirk in spite of the fact that Ming Fan had no interest looking his way, regardless of the other demon happened to do. Some odd five or so years have taught Ming Fan that there were times when the best move for dealing with the other was simply ignoring him.

Ming Fan maintained his bland tone as he briefly paused to speak, “Yes.”

Tianlang-jun shook his head, “Honestly. Are all disciples of Cang Qiong like you, or are you just the special one.”

Said disciple only gave Tianlang-jun a significant dirty look, “You’d have to actually behave yourself to get to know another disciple of Cang Qiong.”

“Eh,” the Heavenly Demon leaned back against his chair with his hands crossed behind his head. “Too boring.”

Ming Fan made a noncommitting sound as he finally ate the last of his order, letting out a satisfied sigh as he leaned back in his seat.

“Ming Fan, a question if you are so gracious enough to grant me such a thing.”

Ming Fan only raised a brow, “You may ask, whether I answer is not on the table.”

“Why?” Tianlang-jun paused as he attempted to think about his question. “Why do you maintain this relationship of ours? It’s not as if you’re on any obligation to maintain basic relations for a political reason, and you hardly ask me anything so you aren’t after my wisdom. With Lou Binghe going in and out Cang Qiong Sect, it’s not as if I can threaten your Sect any more than I could try and fight with my son.”

Ming Fan crossed his arms, humming for a moment tilting his head just enough to convey thoughtfulness he turned to look the demon lord in the eye, “If you were to be confronted with a former enemy of a war without meaning, what would you do?”

Tianlang-jun hummed, “I wouldn’t care.”

“Exactly,” Ming Fan pointed out. “Now what would you do if you discovered you were on the wrong side of that war?”

“…I still wouldn’t care.”

“Would you?” Ming Fan hummed, “Well, that’s your choice.”

“So is that all? You pity me?”

“Not quite,” Ming Fan shrugged, idly arranging the finish plate on the table. “More like my recompense of sorts.”

Tianlang-jun’s expression was unreadable as he stared, quietly adding, “You realize that I’ve killed hundreds of cultivators like you. Your age, younger- older. It didn’t matter, they were obstacles in my path and I removed them.”

“Of that I do not doubt, but these days- the line between righteous and mad is thin,” Ming Fan snorted. “I stand at the meager in-between myself. But what else can I do? I am but a mere mortal, attempting to right his wrongs.”

Ming Fan took a final sip at his tea, “Sometimes, that is all one can do without going well and truly mad.”

Tianlang-jun chuckled, “I suppose that’s true.”

The hours seemed endless after that, a moment in time felt like hundreds upon billions as the two simply- existed.

“So,” Tianlang-jun said after an eternity’s moment. “What are you doing here Little Cultivator?”

Ming Fan blinked, “Is this not one amongst our many meetings?”

The world seem to blur around him like ink amongst a pool of water. Fading into implied images as the sky and trees distorted. The sounds of the earth quieted to a hushed whisper. Ming Fan’s eyes casted around in confusion as the lively village dulled into a dead silence.

“It isn’t,” Tianlang-jun leaned back, smirking. “You’ve spent so long with me that I am now here with you- in limbo. I’m flattered Fan-er.”

Ming Fan narrowed his eyes, scowling, before looking away, “Definitely. Tianlang-jun never called me that to my face.”

Ming Fan twisted away from the…demon for some time to think.

TLJ + MF - Actual Flashback

“You look like you went a round and three more with a golem,” Tianlang-jun tsked at him.

“Are you going to lecture me about coming out while I look like I lost against said golem or are you going to sit your ass down and have some tea like we agreed?” Ming Fan snapped, wincing as he sat.

Tianlang-jun whistled wolfishly. “Why, I never took that War God to be the kinky type.”

“Don’t be so obscene,” Ming Fan rolled his eyes. “He landed me flat on my ass almost a dozen times. Of course sitting down would be a pain.”

“You know there’s this flower that-“

“No.”

“But I hurt just looking at you,” Tianlang-jun whined like a particularly annoying brat. “One tiny little adventure to look for a flower that heals bruises instantly, it’s a Lotus of a blue hue, I hear those people from the far West have been using it for some time.”

“And then Liu Qingge will have me spar against him, again, and this hellish circle will repeat itself. I am only saved by the fact that my cultivation is not as advanced as one of a Peak Lords, otherwise I would be healed by the end of the week and my pain begins anew,” Ming Fan shook his head. “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but no.”

“Aww, well since you’re being so polite about it…” Tianlang-jun sighed and sipped from the tea. “Mn- this is good. Where did you get it?”

“Shang-shishu taught me how to prepare lemon tea before the fruits go out of season, apparently there is a sweetened-cold version of this as well, but he has yet to refine the technicalities of the ingredients. I worry for him, he always seems so busy.”

“He looks like a rodent who accidentally ate a pepper, though I suppose in this case it would be a block of ice what with Mobei-jun being his lover and all.”

“I did wonder how that happened, and worried a brief time. An Ding Peak’s disciples had said that their master would occasionally come home bruised and barely able to walk, they were rearing to go to war with the Northern Demons far before everything else happened.” Ming Fan sighed, “Well, it isn’t any of my business. I’m sure they’re dealing with the situation in their own way.”

“True that, those An Ding Peak children…physically they are weak, but it is always the weaker ones that surprise you the most. Especially when angry,” Tianlang-jun smiled as he mused. “Afterall, hornets don’t seem like much at first glance. That Mobei-jun has his work cut out for him, ah, speaking of. What of those two? Surely the boy is tip-toeing these days.”

“He tends to keep to the bamboo house, and we tend to stay far away from the bamboo house, especially at night.” Ming Fan raised his hand to drink. “That is all I will say of the matter.”

Ming Fan sighed, rubbing a hand against his eyes, “I am getting far too old for this.”

“Oh please, you’re not even a century old.”

“Hm, and yet somehow I am still significantly more mature than you. Have you reached the regression stage of life Tianlang-jun? I must say, I’m rather peeved that it’s a mental deterioration rather than a physical one for you demons.”

“Hoh?” Tianlang-jun leaned forward, smirking. “Wish to test how youthful I can be Little Cultivator?”

Ming Fan raised a hand idly pointing at the silks of Tianlang-jun’s clothes, startling the heavenly demon as he wondered just what the other had found on his clothes.

Then Ming Fan flicked up, hitting the former Demon Lord up the lip and under the nose, causing Tianlang-jun to recoil, sputtering from the unjust attack. The audacity.

“I’m sure you’d at least warm the bed,” He deadpanned, sipping at his tea without a care as Tianlang-jun sputtered indignantly.

NMJ/MF - Original Re-meeting for ch 52; added here for my convenience (cus i don't wanna make another post)

“Gather everyone who can fight!” One voice called. “Sect Leader Nie is being surrounded by a pack of hell hounds! They need help.”

Ming Fan was out and running before anyone could even blink- with only Liu Qingge and Tianlang-jun holding enough time to react by following him.

-

“Shit-“ Mingjue cursed, swinging around Bàxià to hurl one attacking hound over to the side. “Meng Yao- you alright?!”

“Could use-” Meng Yao grimaced as he had to back off to avoid the snapping jaws of another hound. “Some help.”

“Reinforcements should be on the way!” Mei Lin cursed venomously under her breath. “Just where the hell did all these damned dogs come from?!”

“We’re being overrun!” Lang Fengyi yelped as he narrowly avoided claws.

“Fuck-“ Mingjue gathered his energy, willing it to fill him once more. “Get ready to run! I should be able to distract them long enough to-“

“Don’t worry about that.”

The disciples of Nie turned to find a man arrogantly walking through the field, the hounds yipping in fear and running from him, as well as another man clad in white and silver who eyed the hounds back.

Tianlang-jun stood before the disciples of Qinghe Nie with a bright smile, “Relax now, everything will be fine.”

Liu Qingge huffed, drawing his sword, “Says you. We have to make sure he’s not overworking himself remember?”

There was a distant rumbling- an ominous presence that washed over them to the point where all the hounds began to shudder and shake in fear as they too yipped around fearfully.

Descend with great speed. Swift and merciless. Run my enemies. Leave none left alive. May death greet you well.

Formation formed.

Ming Fan dropped his sword with militaristic precision, tilting all the swords generated by his power towards the ground in varying angles.

Heavenly Wrath Formation.

Tianlang-jun looked up in the surprise, “Don’t tell me that’s-“

“It is,” Liu Qingge scowled.

“Who-“ Nie Mingjue began- before all hell broke loose.

Liu Qingge’s expression was thunderous as he swept past rows of demonic hounds, tilting on hand and waiting-

Another man dropped from the sky not a second later, catching Liu Qingge’s robes and righting him before swinging his legs on the man’s waist to get around and jab another hound in the back- Tianlang-jun was swift to join the fray, allowing the shorter cultivator to move around him to get at all the lucky hounds who managed to move away from Ming Fan’s deadly aim fast enough.

While Tianlang-jun added to the deadly partnership with his own flare, it was the pair of Ming Fan and Liu Qingge that showed the obvious years of partnership between them- for the two had years of spars and night hunts to guide their blades where they need be.

Heads flew, limbs joining them as the immortals of Cang Qiong Sect and Tianlang-jun of the Heavenly Demon Line slaughtered the feared and the rowdy- leaving those of Qinghe Nie in awe.

“..Wei…” Meng Yao said, knees beginning to grow weak. “Wei Fan?!”

The man abruptly froze, glancing towards their direction before seeming to move on instinct- the War God sensing the sudden change and using his arm to propel him outward, allowing the man to fly across the air and land his sword true through the skull of the hell hound that was just about to take a chunk from Nie Mingjue’s side.

Ming Fan, not upset as he was, barked at them venomously, “Just what do you think you’re doing?! Fucking move! You’re in a battle field! Fight damn you! Are you not of Qinghe Nie?!”

“Teacher Wei!” Mei Lin cried- openly actually, crying.

“Oh for the love of-“ Ming Fan cursed. “I’ll take your crying and yelling and cursing later, lift your sabres and fight!”

“Xiao-Fan!”

Ming Fan turned, grunting as he launched his sword in the Heavenly Demon’s direction and skewering the hound. “What?!”

“Lower your blood pressure!”

Ming Fan felt his blood pressure rise out of sheer spite. “Fuck you!”

“A-Fan,” Liu Qingge growled. “You just performed one of the most powerful formations while silent. Calm down.”

“I can’t!” Ming Fan caught himself with a scowl. “But I’m not upset!”

“For the love of-“ Liu Qingge turned to Tianlang-jun. “Can you handle the rest?”

“Yeah I got it,” Tianlang-jun batted away a hound with his bare fist. “Just take care of our pissed off little horse first.”

Liu Qingge wasted no time, grabbing the now fuming Ming Fan, his nose beginning to trickle with a line of blood and generally causing the already shocked disciples of Qinghe Nie to panic.

“Hey,” Liu Qingge’s voice was soft as it was firm. “Calm down. Calm. That’s not a request.”

“I’m trying,” Ming Fan hissed. “You try doing this in the middle of battle.”

“Alright back up plan,” Liu Qingge turned to the still shocked Nie Mingjue. “You. Make yourself useful. He needs a distraction.”

“Wha-“

Liu Qingge shoved Ming Fan into Nie Mingjue, the taller man abruptly catching the man by the waist to steady him before something else caused him to loose balance.

Forgot one: Deleted Extra feat. Yang Yixuan + MF; written with it's og formatting since notes preserved my italics somehow

Cold wind swept past the ravine.

Shaking trees and rustling branches provided the background noise for the twittering creatures who lived in the back mountains. Within this quiet land was a surrounding of high elevation mountains spanning all around the mountain side.

There, Ming Fan sat quietly. Watching the creatures bellow- there were no humans for miles save for those few people within the Ancient Sect, and they were hardly just human anymore.

“So, you’ve finally decided to get off your ass.”

Ming Fan stiffened.

Yang Yixuan’s arms were cross across his breast, idly looking down from the view of Qing JIng Peak.

The landscape had changed much since Ming Fan had last come here, it was greener. With the trees far taller than when Ming Fan had last seen them, the older trees cut down by the ravages of war and time- but new ones taking their place. The silence too, was new. With no disciples Cang Qiong Mountain was a far quieter place than it had been during the height of its Sect Years. Some ascended, some peacefully settling into their next life, and some sticking around. Going to and fro the place carrying out errands and enacting a firm hand where the average Cultivator could not handle. The war had put a damper on such things, what with their stance of neutrality, bu it was no less somewhat of a sobering surprise that those of Cang Qiong Mountain had seen what was happening and judged it would be better to remain quiet.

He knew why of course, it was more practical in the long run for a mythical Sect, they were not here to force the future into their own hands- merely to counter the monsters of the yester years. Still. He wondered.

“You’re thinking so loud I could practically here it,” the former head disciple of Bai Zhan peak, the former Peak Lord himself, continued with a raised brow. “You’re normally quick to empty your mind and dump it onto others.”

Ming Fan scoffed softly, “Normal is a poor basis to use to pass judgement at the moment, even a Bai Zhan Peak buffoon like you should realize such.”

“…”

Ming Fan pursed his lip, anger simmering.

Settle.

Settle.

Settle.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” He said softly, allowing his fist to slack from their death-like grip.

“You just lost your brohter,” Yang Yixuan said bluntly. “You were a raving asshole when Liu-shifu dragged you here. Pretty much spat at Luo Binghe’s feet and insulted just about everyone.”

Ming Fan restrained the urge to flinch at every word.

“I’d be more than a little troubled if you didn’t act like that after losing your brother.” Yang Yixuan continued with a shake of his head. “It’s good to know that our illustrous Ming Fan is still a human.”

“Have I not proven that time and time again?”

“Dunno,” Ming Fan turned his head, the Bai Zhan Peak’s former sole disciple’s voice turning uncharacteristically soft. “You were doing a pretty good impression of acting like an immortal before.”

#Scum Disciple's Adventures Into the Unknown World #SDAUW #BTS I guess #Are there actually behind the scenes for writing idk #I'll see if I have time to write one since I do have a lot of notes from when i planned this fic #and maybe some bits of the history referenced in SDAUW #MDZS x SVSSS Fanfic #One that is tbh really out there in terms of concept ngl lol #Scum Disciple BTS

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: mentions of sex, suggestive conversations, fluff, fingering, soft smut

A/N: A little treat for the horndogs <3

"O-oh god! It's too big Nev, 's not gonna...c-can't-"

"Oh It's going to fit, don't worry pretty girl. Daddy's gonna fuck you so good. You want that, don't you baby?" He asked, cooing as she nodded frantically, tongue lulled out the side of her mouth. Neville had barely gotten past the tip before she began whining, crying about how big he was. He couldn’t help but lose control, shoving himself deep inside her, pistoning his hips at an ungodly pace. His eyes lingered on her chest, entranced by the hypnotic sway that they had due to his thrust. Pinning her hands to the bed, their eyes locked in an intense moment. 

“O-oh fuck princess, you’re so tight. You gonna cum? Hm? Gonna make a-”

“Nev?” he snapped up, a heavy gasp leaving his lips as looked to his side. (Y/n) sat there, a confused look on her face. “Are you alright? I think you were having a nightmare. You kept making a bunch of noises in your sleep!” he felt his face flush, clearing his throat as he looked away from her. His heart began to race as she climbed into his lap, turning his face towards hers. He looked at her, hoping his nerves weren't clear on his face. Due to the snickers he heard in the background, he was certain it was obvious to just about everyone but her what the issue was. 

“Hey um, petal, you might wanna move.” he whispered to her, trying to keep her hips from his troubled area.

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head once more as she moved back. Her eyes widened at the newfound breeze on her rear due to her skirt being lifted up. Not sure of what the cause was she moved back slightly, gasping at the feeling of something hard and long against her ass. Suddenly it all set in, he was- “O-oh. I’m sorry Nev.” she squeaked, quickly hopping from his lap. She smoothed down her skirt, clearing her throat as she eyed everyone in the room awkwardly. While the pair seemed flustered, the team couldn’t get enough of the interaction.

“Well I guess it’s clear why you’re the boss now.” Fred said, laughing as he motioned to the large tent in the man’s pants. George gave him a low five, joining him in his laughter as Neville glared at them all. Who were they to make him feel embarrassed? Standing up he adjusted the tent in his pants but despite his efforts, his dick was still prominent through his slacks.

“Poor (Y/n). She’s not gonna live to see another day after that thi-”

“Would you lot quit it?! When the fuck are we landing?” Neville growled at the bunch, causing the laughter to cease. Everyone knew what it was like to deal with an enraged Neville and that was the last thing they wanted. If the plane hadn't already landed, he’d shoot it right out the sky.

“We’ve actually just landed, boss. I was going to tell you before this little…situation that just occurred. Your bags have already been brought to the villa to ensure we have maximum time to scope out the museum.” Harrison said, giving the man a nod. He hummed, giving him a nod. “In the meantime, the city is yours to roam girls. We’ll be sending two men with you for your safety.” he snapped his fingers and two tall men appeared, their scary appearance paired with “tourist” clothing. What was supposed to be a disguise was just a funny sight of two muscle heads in brightly colored floral shirts. The (h/c) haired girl walked over to the leader, tugging on his sleeve some. He looked down at her, face softening at the pout on her face.

“Will we be able to spend some time together eventually? I know this is technically a work trip for you but I-I’d really like to spend time with you.” she said, making his heart melt. She never failed to make his heart burst, unreasonably cute without even trying. He had already planned on making time for her but now it wasn’t just something on his list, but his main priority. Stroking her cheek gently he put a soft kiss on her forehead.

“ ‘Course petal. In the meantime,” he leaned down sucking on the skin below her ear as he let out a chuckle, “Why don’t you go buy yourself something pretty for me?” her eyes widened but she nodded regardless, looking at him with a shocked expression as he pulled away. Before she could respond Twyla began to drag her, yanking her down the stairs of the jet.

“Come on babes! We’ve got some shopping to do.”

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

“Was it really necessary to send them with us?” (Y/n) whispered, looking over her shoulder at the two large men that had been following them from a distance. “I mean, everyone’s looking!” she hissed, pointing to a group of people that were pointing and whispering to them. Twyla shrugged, a subtle skip to her walk.

“Just means we look important! You worry too much, babes. We’re on an expense paid trip to Italy and we don’t have to pay for any of these clothes? There could literally be an angry mob after us and that still wouldn’t kill my mood!” she sighed, still noticing the girl’s tense mood. “Plus, Neville would want you to enjoy yourself. Speaking of him…” she grabbed the girl’s hand, walking into the lingerie store on the left. She looked at her confused.

“Why are we here? Nev already bought me underwear.” she asked, following Twyla as she began to grab different sets off the racks. Another layer of confusion was added on when she noticed that she wasn’t grabbing her own size. Twyla let out a snort, throwing the small pile that she had somehow amassed into her arms.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re telling me after today’s little ordeal that you haven’t noticed? Your hottie has definitely been thinking of banging your brains out.” she said, giggling at the girl’s bashful expression. “I’m only telling the truth! And judging by your reactions, you’ve been thinking about it too.” she pondered her words for a moment. It wasn’t not not true. She most certainly had thought about Neville in more unsavory ways. Even before their reuniting, (Y/n) always thought about him as she attempted to get herself off, imagining they were his hands touching her bringing her to a well deserved climax. However anytime she’d get close, she’d become overwhelmed with the thought that what she had been doing was shameful. Masturbating to her old crush from school? What could be more dirty?

“I-I guess I have thought about it once or twice..” she admitted. “B-but I don’t have the balls to just walk out in something like this! What if he laughs at me?” Twyla gawked at the girl, blinking repeatedly. She could not believe her ears.

“Are you kidding me?! The only sound that will be leaving that man’s mouth is the sound of him telling you to get on your knees.” she responded, turning back around to look through the racks for more. “Plus, it’s not like you have to pounce on the man. All I’m saying is wait for the right time, maybe after a nice dinner or something then boom, whip out the goods. You’ve got everything to gain and nothing to lose. If that’s all then let’s check out then go get massages! I’m making you pamper yourself this trip. Merlin knows you need a break.”

(Y/n) was thankful for Twyla’s pep talk knowing the blonde was right. Neville would like anything she did; it was just a matter of when she should do it.

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

And pampering they had done. (Y/n) and Twyla had been to just about every ritzy spot Italy had to offer them. After their shopping trip, the taller girl had taken them to get massages. It was funny how the masseuse instantly knew it was her first time from the abundance of knots in her back and when the man was done? She was most certainly an inch taller! They also had gone for manicures (despite having done that a few days ago..). Being bold she decided to get a set out of her comfort zone which she was beyond satisfied with. But the hot Italian sun combined with all the running around had tired her out, resulting in the driver bringing them to the villa.

The villa wasn’t as big as Neville’s second manor but was still insanely big. After the bodyguard had carried her bags to her room for her, she climbed into the brand new silk robe she had gotten, laying on the bed drinking the smoothie the maid had gotten for her. It was nice, just being able to relax. Throughout her years of working, (Y/n) rarely took off days. A lot of the time she’d even cover shifts for employees that couldn’t make it and even when the bakery was closed she would come in, fixing things up and tidying up mindlessly. Numerous times Twyla had caught the girl there when she wasn’t supposed to be and forced her to go home out of concern for her health.

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of the bedroom door opening, widening with enthusiasm as she saw the tattooed man in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Hopping up she ran over to him, jumping into his arms which he gladly accepted, holding her tightly. “I missed you.”

He smiled, setting the flowers down to hold her better before placing a soft peck to her lips. “I missed you too, love. I left early so I could spend some time with you.” his eyes moved to the bags in the corner of the room, chuckling at the large pile. “I’m guessing your shopping trip was successful?” she felt her face heat up at his lack of knowledge of the lingerie that lay within one of them.

“I guess you could say that. Come, come! I wanna relax with you.” she began dragging him over to the bed, straddling him once he was situated. They sat in a comfortable silence with Neville holding the girl close to his chest, just appreciating the closeness he had with her. Since they’re reunion, every intimate moment, be it sexual or not, had been interrupted by some instance where he was needed somewhere else. He hadn’t been able to spend nearly as much time as he wanted with her but now he had her all to himself. His hands rubbed at her back gently until he got bored, deciding to test the waters. He knew it’d take a while before they’d get anywhere near what happened in his dream but he was willing to wait. He’d do anything to be able to touch her, feel her in a way that was less than innocent. As he gripped at her ass with one hand he brought the other one up to her cheek, cupping it as he pulled her into a deep and sensual kiss.

She gladly accepted, kissing back as she brought herself closer to him, playing with the bits of loose hair at the base of his neck. He began to nibble on her lip before pulling away, trailing open mouthed kisses down her neck. A mewl sounded from her, causing him to pull away slowly. Gripping at her waist above her robe, he gazed into her eyes intently. “You wearin’ anything under here?” he asked, watching as she looked down, shaking her head. “No? God you’re making it so hard for me to not just fuck you right here.” he sighed some, reaching for the ties on her robe. He stopped, looking at her once more for confirmation. She nodded frantically before stopping, feeling slightly embarrassed from how eager she was. With one soft tug, her robe was undone revealing her soft supple breast which he instantly went for. With his lips wrapped around one he began to lick and suck at the other, both of them moaning in unison. After a while of him teasing her sensitive nubs she began to grow impatient, rocking her hips against his gently as she let out a soft whimper.

“P-please..” she moaned breathlessly, not too sure of what she wanted. All she knew was that she wanted something, anything. Everything he did had her near her edge, from his kisses to his tongue and she needed to feel more. Pulling away he looked at her, thinking for a moment before pulling the two of them up.

“I wanna try something,” he said, positioning in front of the mirror. “He pushed back the fabric of her robe, putting her pussy on full display. His pants tightened at the sight of her glistening folds which she avoided in the mirror. Neville gripped her chin gently, positioning it to look at her bits in the mirror, chuckling at her wide eyes, pupils fully blown with arousal. With his other hand, he began to massage up and down her thighs. He watched as her legs grew weak, shaking with anticipation. Trailing his fingers near her sex, tracing small patterns on the inside of her thighs. 

He patted the side of her cheek with two fingers, pulling her attention away from herself to make eye contact with him through the glass. “Open up.” he whispered, small praises of approval leaving his mouth as she did. He took his thick digits, slowly pushing past her kiss stung lips. His eyes watched in the mirror as they entered her wet little mouth, groaning at the feeling of her soft tongue gliding along the underside of them. Pushing them a little further, she gagged, eyes tearing up. She looked so pretty with tears in her eyes, already fucked out before he had even put them in. It was hard to tell who wanted it more at this point but as Neville finally slid a finger into her folds, it was obvious. Hot tears fell down her face, already overwhelmed from it all. Pumping his finger in and out, his eyes flickered between her fucked out face and her pussy, juices already coating her thighs. Moving his face to her neck, he began to suck and kiss on her neck.

(Y/n) was becoming more and more desperate by the moment. She had subconsciously begun to play with her tits, rubbing and tugging on her nipples. “M-more, Nev please!” she begged to which he instantly complied, sliding another finger in. He began to work her open more, scissoring and stretching his fingers inside of her. Once her muscle had relaxed once again, he began to speed up his moment, the heel of his palm creating a slapping noise each time it’d meet her pussy.

“Merlin, baby, you’re soaked. Your messy little cunt’s just eating my fingers.” he purred out, chuckling deeply as he felt her clench at his words. Who knew his pretty little princess would get worked up so easily, slowly reaching her peak just from a few fingers and words? He used his other hand to rub at her clit, causing her knees to buckle, falling back onto him for support. He loved how much she relied on him, becoming a needy mess just for him. He curled his fingers up, aiming for her spot until he found it causing her to let out a loud cry, gripping onto his arm tightly. Neville watched as her face scrunched up, tears streaming down her face.

“N-need to….need ta….O-oh god Nev! I’m gonna-” before she could finish her eyes widened before snapping close, head falling back onto his shoulder as she rutted her hips against his fingers, whimpering as she rode out her high. He continued to rub at her clit, fingering her cunt until she began to whine, pushing him away. He smirked some, admiring her fucked out expression in the mirror. Her eyes were shut, pants  puffy lips. He licked his lips at the sight of her cunt, sensitive and fucked out, messy and cum covered from her orgasm. As he pulled his fingers out, he had to stop himself from letting out a string of curses at the way her cream began to run hot down her legs along with the bit that had gathered on his fingers. Lifting them to his face he wasted no time, sucking and licking on them. He moaned softly, continuing to clean them thoroughly, not stopping until the only thing that remained was the salty taste of his own flesh.

“You look so pretty when you cum, flower.” he muttered, smiling as the girl just let out a soft ‘mhm’, half asleep and barely able to process his words. He took off her robe, lifting her up as he began to carry her to their private bathroom, letting out a content sigh at the events that had just happened. Although he hadn’t been able to get off himself, he was more than happy being able to just please her. 

Afterall, it was what he wanted more than anything, to have his flower live in absolute happiness and pleasure.

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#Neville Longbottom #neville x reader #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x you #neville x you #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #Harry Potter #harry potter x reader #mafia!neville #mafia!au #mafia

[refiwrites]

Time to ourselves

Keigo Takami x reader

Word count: 1,520

Warning(s): Swearing, bit of slightly suggestive themes at the end!!

A/N: WOOWHIEE I can't get him off my mind so I went ahead and dumped this, enjoy!

Also, GIF not mine!

You slowly blinked your eyes open, hand reaching up to rub the haziness from your eyes. The last thing you remembered was snuggling in bed in the afternoon after you’d just gone done writing loads of paperwork that was due in the next three days. Why you ask? Because you wanted to make time for a certain someone.

You took a small glance at the wide window that stood next to the bed, giving you a clear view of the city lights, which were bright. Wait, you glanced just a bit up and saw the moon. It was night.

Fuck, I forgot to make dinner-

You bolted right up out of the messy bed, wanting to make it in the kitchen in record time as possible. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side since you happen to slip upon a blanket that was just randomly strewn on the floor.

THUD!

Everything happened so fast, from when you were standing to where you landed, pushing out your arms to brace for impact as you face-planted on the smooth marble floor of the apartment, almost hitting your head on the edge of the drawer. You let out a loud groan, pain immediately shooting its way to your temples, as you laid stomach flat on the floor. A sound of a door sliding open occurred, but you were too accompanied by your suffering to notice.

“Fucking fuck!” Hissing, you slowly got up to your knees, your hand cradling one side of your head. You kept your eyes shut since the impact left you dizzy. Well this was one way to wake up.

A pair of hands slowly grasped at your shoulders, making you open your eyes and almost having a whiplash from whipping your head up too fast from your sudden alertness, yet you didn’t even have the time to look since another wave of dizziness hit you automatically making you shut your eyes again.  

You were about to blindly hit with the thought that it was an intruder that managed to get inside past your security but strong hands and a voice proved you otherwise as your muscles seemed to relax immediately.

“Hey, hey kid it’s me. You alright? You took quite the fall there.” Oh great, he saw.

Keigo tried to block out a laugh by loosening his grip on one of your shoulders to quickly place on his mouth, playing it out as a cough but you already heard.  

“You’re a dick.” You huffed, the dizziness of yours seemed to reduce at his touch that kept you steady, blinking your eyes open and seeing his face adorning new scratches. Some were old, unnoticeable from the countless missions that the commission gave him endlessly.

Your snarky attitude was quickly thrown out the window and was replaced with shock and concern. Your hands gently grabbing his face and turning it sideways slowly. His grip on your shoulder loosened at your touch, crimson wings of his flapping lightly at the edges.  

You frown at the sight but you tried hiding it but he caught on quick.

“This is nothing that your man can’t handle.” Keigo was quick to reassure you as he smiles down at you, the pads of your thumb brushing his face and over his stubble.  

You sighed, letting your bottom lip jut out into a pout. You sighed, nodding but still scanning his face. He looked pretty fine but you just wanted to take care of him, that was what you had planned earlier in the afternoon after you finished a fuck-ton of paperwork, that you were going to take a quick nap and when you wake up you were going to cook him dinner. You just wanted to take care of him since both of you were too busy and barely even had time for one another, you just had to mess it up and slip instead of that the two of you could’ve been eating dinner right now.  

You didn’t notice your visible frown until a pair of lips molded against yours for quite a few seconds. Gazing at Keigo, you sighed, stroking his cheeks as he helped you stand up again. “How about you? You alright? Feeling dizzy?” You shook your head, feeling a bit better. “I’m okay now, my dumb ass just had to trip when all I wanted was to make you dinner.” You rolled your eyes, kneeling and bunching up the blanket in your hands before placing it on the bed, turning to face him again.

He has a smile on his face which made your heart flutter. “Dinner, hm? I won’t say no to that.”

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

So after a few moments of fixing yourselves, you headed into the kitchen as you advised Keigo to take a shower and that you were going to spoil him tonight with love and affection. Don’t tell anyone but you even noticed how his wings perked up after hearing that and the thought made you giggle as you cooked.

“What’re ya laughing about, kid?” You jumped a bit at the sound of his husky voice, turning your head to him to be graced at the sight before you.

There stood Keigo leaning against the doorway, a few damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead. Also mentioning the fact that he was shirtless and was only wearing sweats, his face being littered by a few band aids but he still looked damn fine. Oooh now that’s an image that’s not leaving your mind anytime soon.  

You tried to help your gaze not to wander down but it was too good.

He lets out a chuckle, standing straight before sauntering towards you. You snapped your gaze back to the meal you were preparing for the both of you, cheeks flushed red.

Strong arms wrapped around you from behind as his face immediately made home in the crook of your neck, sighing heavily which sent heavenly tingles down your spine.  

You shivered at the contact of his lips ghosting kisses over the exposed part of your neck accompanied by his heavy breathing, you even noticed how his wings puffed up, as its shadow loomed over you.  

“Baby..” He cooed out, to which you responded with a hum, urging him to continue.  

“Commission called again...” He started, but your heart already sank after you heard the first word.  

“Oh... What did they say?” You tried to mask the sadness in your tone by acting curious, but you couldn’t help but stutter lightly towards the end.

He squeezed your hips as he littered a few kisses up and down your neck.

“I won’t be occupied in the next few days...” You could practically feel the smirk that etched its way onto his features, you also felt yourself grinning at the news, happiness replacing what once was sadness that filled your heart.

“Means...?” You urged on, wanting to hear the words coming from him.

“We have all the time to ourselves, baby bird.”

You let out a giggle, nodding and placing the both of your meals on a plate.  

“God, you don’t know how much that makes me happy.” You said, moving over to the table to delicately place the meal.

“Me too, kid. Practically shot myself over here after they called, mind you, I almost rammed into our door there.” He says, nodding towards the big glass door.  

Imagining if he did ram into the door sent you into a laughing fit, he huffed, just shrugging it off as a payback for laughing at you earlier.  

“Come here,” You spoke, tugging on his hand and pulling him close. He leans down as you left feather light kisses on his lips before sitting down to have your meal.

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

After a delicious meal and Keigo hurriedly telling you to leave the dishes and come cuddle with him on the bed, you obliged. You were now in your pajamas with your upper half neatly pressed against his chest as he leaned back on the bed, wings sprawled, a feather occasionally finding themselves in the middle of cuddling. Your heart was swelling with happiness at the earlier news, you couldn’t help but hug him tighter. You didn’t pay attention to the show that was playing in the background, but Keigo seemed interested.

You just listened onto his heartbeat, along with the heaving of his chest every so often. You inhaled his scent once more, loving it.  

His hand that rested against your skin began tracing mindless patterns, which tickled you from time to time.  

“Hey, Kei?”

“Yes, (Y/N)?” His attention was now zeroed on you, lifting your face up to his.  

“I’m really glad you have some time off, and I’m hella glad to rush that paperwork.” He cocked a brow and you smiled again, leaning and capturing his lips in a kiss, his body instantly leaned in, hand brushing up your sides and squeezing.  

“I love you so so much.” He uttered under his breath as your lips ghosted one another.

You sighed as his voice yet again sent tingles down your spine.

“I love you too, now why don’t we make those days count? Hmm?”  

#hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #hawks imagines #keigo takami imagines #mha #my hero academia imagines #mha x reader #fanfics #fanfiction #mha imagines #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #x reader #imagine #hawks x you #hawks x y/n

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - Glacier Navigation

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets, 冰川行舟, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

This R&S features S2 Shaw

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s first S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

On this rare break, a phone call from Shaw brings me to the entrance of Loveland University.

At the school gate, a huge “Welcome New Students" banner waves in the wind. The osmanthus petals at my feet exude the unique scent of late summer and early autumn.

I follow Shaw through the bustling crowd and towards the graduate student registration point.

MC: The registration office... this should be it.

Shaw: Are you sure it's here? Just look at these registering students - how do they look like graduate students?

MC: You’re clearly the one who doesn’t look like a graduate student, okay?

Shaw glances at the long line outside the door of the office. Clicking his tongue, he eventually stands at the back properly.

Not having to wait for long, the both of us reach the head of the line.

MC: You don't need me to accompany you for the registration, do you?

Shaw: What are you thinking? Are you treating me like a kid?

MC: Then why did you drag me along to school...

Shaw: I just took you out for a breather after seeing you squatting at home for a few weeks.

He waves his hand at me in self-assurance, turning his head and entering the office.

I lean against the wall, waiting for him. As soon as I take out my phone, the tall figure walks out of the office fiercely.

MC: ...how did you settle it so quickly?

Shaw doesn’t respond. He suddenly leans forward, his eyes almost within reach. His half-squinting eyes contain slight irritation.

MC: W-what do you want... Ah! Don't touch my hair!

I raise my hand to protect my hair, but my cheek ends up getting pinched twice by two of his fingers.

Shaw: This is your punishment for leading me to the wrong place.

MC: No way, we really went to the wrong place?

Shaw: This is the registration point for the Chinese Department. The Archaeology Department is in Zhi Hua Building.

MC: Zhi Hua Building... I remember now. I think we passed by it earlier.

Shaw: Really?

Knowing that I was in the wrong, I quickly lift both my hands up as a guarantee.

MC: Really, I definitely won’t be wrong this time!

Shaw: Fine, I’ll reluctantly believe you this time. The last time.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

Since heading to the wrong place led to quite a delay, the door to the registration office of the Department of Archaeology is completely empty.

Shaw knocks on the office door. Inside, there’s only one middle-aged teacher who is currently reading the newspaper.

Teacher: A freshman? Come, fill in this form. Did you bring a copy of your ID card? If you didn’t bring it, give me the original. I'll make a copy for you.

Shaw: I brought it.

Teacher: What about the one-inch photo?

Shaw: Here.

Teacher: Oh, the boy's ID photo is so handsome! Sit for a while, I have to make a record.

Shaw: Mm, thanks for the hard work, teacher.

The teacher sits in front of the computer leisurely, then casts a curious glance at the door.

Teacher: Is that young lady outside your girlfriend?

Shaw: No.

Shaw pauses, then adds on.

Shaw: Just a friend.

Teacher: Oh... I understand~

The middle-aged man reveals a meaningful smile, and can’t help but gesture at the young man in front of him

Teacher: Young people have to be braver. How can a boy be so shy!

Shaw suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, squeezing out words one by one from between his teeth.

Shaw: Teacher, are you done with the registration?

[Note] There are different ways of saying “you” in Chinese, depending on formality! When being polite and respectful, especially to an elder, 您 (“nin”) is used. When talking to friends or someone younger, 你 (“ni”) is used. SHAW USES 您 HERE BECAUSE HE IS A POLITE BOY

Teacher: Yes yes, sign here. There’s one more thing I have to tell you. Because you filled in your identity as an Evolver on the form, I’ll have to trouble you to submit a copy of the Evol inspection report.

Shaw: The notice didn’t mention that I had to bring it.

Teacher: It’s a new requirement. It conveniences the school in terms of management, so I hope you can understand. Last semester, an Evolver lost control of his ability and almost lifted the entire classroom. The STF were called down for a day, and it was very troublesome. 

When he hears the term “STF”, Shaw’s expression stirs slightly. Then, he clicks his tongue impatiently.

Shaw: So troublesome...

Teacher: What did you say?

Shaw: Nothing. Can I hand it in another day?

Teacher: It's fine, just come back within five working days. Here, your notice.

Shaw: Thanks.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

Schoolmate A: Schoolmate, want to check out our e-sports club? We organise competitions every month, and you can receive exquisite merchandise!

Schoolmate B: Schoolmate, come take a look at our basketball club! Handsome guys and beautiful girls gather and keep fit...

Today happens to be the club recruitment day. When Shaw and I pass by the public square, students constantly stop us, asking if we wish to join their clubs.

I look at Shaw curiously, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in any clubs. He walks quickly, not even giving them a glance.

When we’re about to leave the public square, we are once again stopped by a student.

Schoolmate C: Schoolmates, I can tell at a glance that you’re both from the Arts Department, right? Tsk tsk, your outfits have such an artistic quality. I’m from the rock club of our school. Even though the club was only established this year, I believe we have great potential! Usually, the club will organise activities introducing various instruments and music appreciation for hobbyists. Our club president even formed a band himself! They’re performing over there. Do you two want to have a listen?

I initially thought that Shaw would once again ignore him and leave. Unexpectedly, he suddenly stops in his footsteps, then arches his eyebrows with interest.

Shaw: Oh? You guys have a band?

Schoolmate C: Of course! We don't do covers. They’re all original songs!

Shaw: Let’s have a listen then.

MC: Do you actually want to join this rock club?

Shaw: We’ll talk after listening.

After saying this, he walks towards the area surrounded by a cluster of people.

The venue is simple, but there’s a sizeable number of audience members. The band members in the middle are wagging their heads while performing a song.

The vocals are discordant, and the sound quality is inferior. I’m unable to hear the lyrics clearly, but the melody is really catchy.

MC: I didn't expect them to look like an actual band... Shaw?

Shaw: ...tch.

Shaw grabs my arm, leaving the scene without saying a word.

MC: What’s wrong?

Shaw: Hearing plagiarised songs dirties my ears.

MC: That song from before was plagiarised?!

Shaw: They copied an unpopular old song from the 80s. No wonder these people didn’t realise it. You should also improve your musical literacy so you wouldn’t be confused by copied songs.

MC: So what you mean is... I should listen to your band’s songs more?

Shaw: Of course.

I burst out laughing, and Shaw raises his eyebrows in dissatisfaction.

Shaw: What are you laughing at?

MC: No, no, I just think that you’ve always been very serious about your band...

Shaw: You seem pretty concerned about my band?

MC: Mm. I know that you really like this band.

Shaw glances at me, as though verifying the sincerity of my words.

Then, he turns his gaze away, and sunlight touches the corners of his sharp and slightly raised mouth.

Shaw: Even if it’s just for fun, I’ll do even better than everyone else.

He says these words matter-of-factly, as though so long as he’s willing, every difficulty can be stamped out by him.

Shaw takes a final look back at the noisy public square. Retrieving a pair of earphones from his pocket, he hands it to me.

Shaw: Wear it properly. I’ll let you listen to truly good music.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Shaw: Let’s go. Also, we’ll stop by the supermarket along the way. I’m buying some daily necessities.

MC: I really couldn’t tell that you’d be willing to stay in a dormitory.

Shaw: Who said so? I don’t plan to stay in a dormitory.

MC: Huh?

Shaw: I never stay with outsiders. 

Shaw: Anyway, there’s a small room in Live House, and I plan to live there. Rehearsals will be convenient too.

MC: Oh... but your place is really too empty. Aside from a bed, it doesn't look liveable.

Shaw: Hm? How’d you know that my place is empty?

MC: I...

I bite my tongue, hurriedly tossing out a reason to muddle through it.

MC: I don’t even have to think about it to know. Judging by your personality, your house definitely has nothing but bare walls.

Probably because of my self-assured tone, Shaw retracts his scrutinising gaze, pursing his lips. 

Shaw: That’s not how you use “nothing but bare walls”. Did you even pay attention in school... Let’s go.”

[Note] The reason why Shaw says this is because what MC used was 家徒四壁 (“jia tou si bi”), which is an idiom literally translating to “nothing but bare walls”. However, this idiom is supposed to describe someone who is very poor!

Shaw has always been very proactive. When he finishes speaking, he quickly takes me to the nearest supermarket from school.

After a short while, the shopping cart is stuffed to the brim.

Shaw: ...wait. I asked you to get a washbowl for me. Why’d you get me three? Do you need to use three washbasins to wash your face every day?

MC: These three washbasins have their respective uses! This one is for washing your face, this one is for washing your body, this one...”

Shaw: Washes what?

MC: Fruits!

Shaw: So troublesome. I might as well buy fruits that I can eat directly without washing.

MC: This is a refined life, okay? If you think it’s too much, then I'll reduce... Hey, what did you put into the cart?

Shaw: Daily necessities.

Lowering my head to take a look, I see three boxes of animal-shaped clothes hangers. The chubby little animals have their cheeks puffed out, lying in the washbowls I’m buying.

MC: Wow, so cute! You’re quite good at picking things too! ...but why are you buying three boxes?

Shaw: I learnt from you. One box for clipping towels, one box for clipping clothes, and one box...

MC: Huh?

Shaw doesn’t finish the second half of the sentence, and I subconsciously look up at him, meeting his sly eyes.

Shaw: Since you came out to run errands today, I’ll give it to you.

-

Shaw leans against the door of Live House, quietly watching the taxi drown in the neon glow. Suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrates slightly.

An unknown number appears on the screen. Shaw frowns, then lifts his hand to tap the answer button.

?: I heard you reported to school today?

Shaw: Looks like you guys are really free. You even have to bother about my enrolment in school?

?: How is it? Is everything going smoothly?

Shaw: It’s fine. Some situations cropped up, but I’m still in a pretty good mood. Also, you guys have to help me with something. The school wants me to submit an Evol inspection report. Forge one for me.

?: No problem. You can collect it from the usual place. Is there anything unusual about Nox from BS recently?

Hearing this alias, Shaw subconsciously glances into the distance. However, all that is visible is the gorgeous night of the city.

Shaw: She's been very busy recently, and seems to keep working overtime. That's it.

?: You know that’s not what we’re asking about.

Shaw: ...what’s the rush? I haven't finished investigating what you guys want to know.

?: Let me remind you not to mix in unnecessary emotions. Don't forget your mission either.

Shaw: I know. I'm hanging up.

The streetlights lining the long street light up in succession, dyeing Shaw’s hair in a warm colour.

He looks at the phone for a long time, and an untamed smile surfaces on the corners of his lips.

Shaw: I have the final say on how to deal with her.

He takes the long skateboard he had set by the side, lifts his ankle slightly, and skates into the night without hesitation.

More from S2: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc shaw

[jojoboisimagines]

Snippets Ch.4 : Johnny and Josuke (4) with the Same Crush (3)

Previous Chapter

A set of multiple drabbles/oneshots combining characters (i.e Jojos) from multiple parts and AUs.

.::.

"That guy...do you think--" Josuke started.

"That's their boyfriend? No idea." Johnny quickly answered, trying to play it off as if he didn't care.

It was quite the opposite. He may have cared too much.

To say Johnny was jealous was an understatement. But it seemed like Josuke was feeling some of the heat too, seeing you hanging out with some guy and proceeding to talk about him with Josuke when the two of you went to lunch the other day.

Josuke was still in the dark about Johnny’s own crush on you, which was a relief for the jockey, but it was hell for him, having to be afraid of either guy winning you over first.

He just needed to muster up the courage to talk to you again, but it was a lot more difficult than he thought it’d be. You two always seemed to be busy when the other wasn’t. Of course he still had Gyro (and occasionally Josuke and Hot Pants) to keep him company, but he missed you.

The little spat the cousins had was forgotten for a while. They didn’t exactly apologize to each other, but just starting to talk normally again was enough sign there was no hard feelings. The younger teen was still very confused about Johnny’s intentions that day.

‘ Was he trying to be a good role model or was he just mad I was leaving him at home?’ he thought. It didn’t really matter to him anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about what Johnny must’ve been thinking, and if he still did feel that way.

They sat at a small table on the far side of the kitchen. Josuke, looking rather bored, held his head on his palm, while Johnny was playing on their shared Switch. Or at least, was pretending to be after Josuke brought up the subject.

“Hey, can I ask you an honest question?” The Japanese teen breaks the icy silence once again.

Johnny merely raises an eyebrow with a low ‘hm’ that was barely audible. His heart silently raced thinking of what the boy sitting across from him had on his mind to ask.

“(y/n)...how long have you known them?” 

A simple enough question to start off with, Josuke thought. Yet Johnny’s lips still pursed.

“Uh...about half a year now. We got really close in that time I’d say.” That last part wasn’t even to get a rise out of Josuke, he just genuinely thought so. He really cared about you, romantically or not.

Meanwhile, Josuke had only known you for the duration of the summer, which was about to end in a couple of weeks. Perhaps if he’d beg Johnny to let him stay he’d have more time to bond with you, but there was also the issue of him feeling homesick from time to time.

God, if he could take you back to Morioh with him..it’d be like a dream come true.

They both had quickly forgotten about whatever guy Josuke was referring to earlier, mixed up in their own thoughts about their relationship with you. Besides, he had only ever seen the guy once, there was no way you’d switch up on him that quickly.

He had no dates or anything planned with you like he usually does, though. Not that he didn’t want to spend time with you, he just felt as if he was coming off as a little...clingy.

Higashikata had been trying to drop hints that he liked you, such as buying you things, having heart-to-heart conversations as he’d walk you home, calling you pet names, and ending his goodnight texts with a little heart emoji. He considered himself a romantic, but when it came to your reactions, you kinda brushed them off platonically. Perhaps you’d never been flirted with before?

His texts were still frequent, making sure you were having a good day and all, but he figured maybe he should start being a little more risky..

“What do you like about (y/n) anyways?” Johnny asked.

There was a pause for a couple of seconds, before Josuke scooted back in his chair and got up from the table, intending to retreat to his room for a couple of hours.

“The same things you do, probably.”

.::.

“Ow! Gyro, what the hell was that for?!”

“Because, idiota, you need to confess already.” He hovers over Johnny like a judgmental parent.

Josuke had left the house to get some groceries, and in that time, the jockey called Gyro over. Not for advice specifically, but that's what it had eventually turned into. Sitting on the floor of Johnny’s room (where it was painfully easy to find porn magazines, Gyro won’t let that go as long as the two of them live).

“Like seriously, this is getting embarrassing to watch, just do it already.” The Italian pointed a finger at his friend. “Sooner or later you’re gonna do the thing where you get the girl drunk and then sleep with her regardless of feelings.”

“Ugh, I’m not like that anymore Gyro!” Johnny folds his arms with a pout his friend knows all too well at this point. “I’ve never committed to anyone before, so of course this is a little more awkward for me than it is for anyone else, you know this!” 

Indeed he did know. It was somehow one of the things they always ended up talking about.

“Listen, I know how this is gonna end. Its gonna end with you in this same room, bunched up in several blankets, listening to Fleetwood Mac on repeat with 3 pizza boxes to make yourself feel better.”

The American scoffs.

Gyro sits upright on his bed. “I’m right. Look, this gal means a lot to you, I know. I’ve seen it. You’ve never stared at someone with such a…not hateful look in your eye.” It was half a joke, half truth. “And I don't wanna see you sad, so you’re just gonna have to pull yourself up, grow some steel balls, and ask them out. For real. For both of our sakes at this point.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Wow, Gyro wants me to be with a girl? Pigs must be flying.”

“You are so not funny.” The Italian’s teeth flashes for a moment as he scowls.

“Alright, since you’re such a casanova, why don’t you tell me what to say to them?” At this rate, there was really no other choice for Joestar to take. He could ask Hot Pants, but knew she would give him similar advice.

“Nyo-ho! I’ll show ya! All you gotta do is gimme your phone.”

As soon as the word ‘gimme’ was uttered, the jockey clutched his phone as if it was a baby. The last few times he lended his friend his phone, it didn’t go so well.

Gyro would’ve snorted if he wasn’t serious about this.

“Come onnn! It--”

“Won’t go like the last three times, right? Fat chance.”

“Just hurry and hand it over before I tackle you!”

The larger man did that far too much already, much to Johnny’s dismay. Once Gyro had him in a headlock, there was no getting out of it. He defeatedly raised his phone up to the man for him to take.

“If you ruin anything, I’m doing the same thing to you, AND taking your damn horse.” The Italian waved him off as if he was merely an angry toddler. As he typed, Johnny tried to peer over and see, but his friend was too adamant on turning side to side so he couldn’t. The expressions Gyro was making wasn’t a good sign either. First confused, then mischievous, then looking a little too proud of himself. The jockey’s hands could start sweating at any moment from the sheer anxiety this was giving him.

“Aaaaaand done! There we go, all set!”

Johnny reached for his phone as soon as the words left his mouth, unapologetically in a snatching manner to immediately read the text sent.

::‘Hey This is Johnny darling. Hope your day has been as beautiful as your smile. I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow by 12pm. I have something very important to tell you. See you soon xoxo.’::

Alright, so it wasn’t as bad as he thought itd be (not nearly as bad as the time Gyro dared him to send a ‘send nudes’ text to you) but god, it would look suspiciously out of character for you to see. He can’t even remember the last time he typed ‘darling’ instead of ‘darlin’ and actually bothered to punctuate his texts. And who even used ‘xoxo’ anymore?

His friend looked at him with a big grin, waiting for his reaction. A slightly more pure smile than if he were waiting for Johnny to get a joke.

“Soooo what do you think? You gotta pick some nice clothes out for your date.”

The shorter man sighs.

“Its...passable.”

.::.

 Josuke got home a little later than he expected. He was surprised to see there was still Prince CDs in stock at the store. Thats one of the perks of coming to America, he guessed. He was more than ready to put them into one of Johnny’s old CD players he had found. It was already hard for him to listen to pretty much anything without thinking of you. At least if it was Prince specifically, it would help him feel better and he could jam out to it.

Finally finding the track he wanted, he grinned, letting the music play out loud and hopping on his bed. It was a good few minutes before he had started getting that feeling in his gut again.

..Crap, this wasn’t helping either.

The teen felt that he couldn’t endure this much longer. Love was something he took very seriously and to be so unsure about your relationship just made him feel funny. He had to at least know for sure if the both of you were on the same page. Josuke was sick of being so anxious about it.

Josuke laid down flat on his back, pulling his phone out.

“You know what? I’m gonna ask them out.”

#jojo #jjba #jjba x reader #Josuke Higashikata #josuke x reader #josuke higashikata x reader #Johnny Joestar #johnny joestar x reader #jojo x reader

[m3kuroshirt]

House of Assassins Part Four

links to Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Word count: 1944

warnings: none

The kitchen was warm and inviting, especially so cold and late (early?). Ichigo seated himself at the table, and Grimmjow busied himself with the kettle. As he waited, Ichigo could feel tiredness seeping into his bones, but he knew that if he went home all he would do was stare up at the darkened ceiling, a restlessness running rampant in his mind.

Finally, Grimmjow sat himself down with two mugs of tea. He slid one to Ichigo, and took a sip from the other. “So,” he started. Ichigo bit the inside of his lip as he wrapped both hands around the warm mug. “What’s on your mind? The stuff you can talk about, anyway.” His voice was gruff and tired, but there was no impatience in it. Ichigo took a sip of his tea. It burned the tongue a little, and washed a path of heat all the way down to his gut.

“…I…does it sound stupid if I say ‘I don’t know’?” he mumbled, running his thumb over the smooth ceramic of the mug. Grimmjow shrugged. He ran a hand through his bright blue hair.

“I don’t think so.”

Ichigo gave him a small smile. “Thanks.” He sighed and leaned on the table with his elbows. “I guess…I’m just conflicted. The guy I was talking to…he’s an old family friend. Or rather, an ex-family-friend. But I’m going to be helping him out for a bit. Just…have some mixed emotions about it, I guess,” Ichigo admitted. He took another sip of tea.

“Fair enough. You seem pretty close to your family, it would be weird to work with someone they don’t like,” Grimmjow replied. Ichigo shrugged.

“I guess. We all have varying degrees of…dislike…for him. Rukia doesn’t really mind him, but then her brother works closely with him. And Orihime couldn’t hold a grudge against anyone, even if they tried to kill her.” Ichigo stretched his arms over his head. Grimmjow frowned.

“Hold on…wouldn’t Rukia’s brother also be your brother?” he asked, head tilted to the side and an adorable confused frown on his face.

“Hmm? No. He adopted her. So like, he married her older sister, right? But Rukia and her sister were separated in the foster system early on and never reunited. So Rukia grew up with us instead. But apparently her sister was trying to find her. She married Byakuya and died before she could find Rukia, but Byakuya kept looking. And when he found her, he offered her to be a part of his family. She only agreed as long as he let her stay with us, though.” Ichigo yawned as he finished talking. He rubbed his temples and drank the rest of his tea. “We’re pretty mis-matched for a family.”

“Gotcha.” Grimmjow finished his tea as well, then picked up the mugs to refill them. “So, what did that guy do then? Is that something you can talk about?”

Ichigo stretched his neck from side to side, and definitely snuck a glance at Grimmjow’s backside. He only answered when the other man set both their mugs back on the table. “I…guess, a little. Basically, he tried to get me to work for him. Without really disclosing all the details of the job or how dangerous it was. Kisuke was pissed when he found out.” He rolled his shoulders. “Really, I was fifteen and stupid and eager to make a buck. I took a job, because I figured Kisuke was overreacting, I figured I was fine. Shunsui didn’t do much for teaching me, he figured I should be able to do most of it because I was learning with Kisuke, and I was too naïve to actually realize that I didn’t know everything. I ended up in a coma in the hospital for four months.”

“Fuck. That’s awful,” Grimmjow murmured as Ichigo paused to drink some more. Ichigo nodded.

“Yeah…I wasn’t there when Kisuke confronted him, of course, but I heard he almost killed him.” He ran a hand through his orange hair and scratched his scalp a little. “And that pretty much ended all our contact with Shunsui up until recently.”

Grimmjow leveled him with a look. “And you think it’s a good idea now to do work for him? What changed?”

Ichigo sighed. “It’s not so much that it’s a ‘good idea’, as it is necessary. I’m older now, I’ve got the skillset and the proper teaching. And I’m the only one he can ask to help. It’s not so much for him as it is for Aunty Retsu, anyway.” Ichigo made sure to use her casual name rather than ‘Unohana’. Grimmjow seemed like a nice guy, but he could never be certain what would come up in conversations others had, and he really, really didn’t need his target getting any wind of the job.

“She his wife?”

Ichigo was in the middle of drinking his tea when Grimmjow dropped that question. He coughed and spluttered a laugh. “Oh fuck no!” he gasped, setting his mug on the table. “I mean, she’d keep him in fucking line if she was, but no…no, ew, that would…ugh. No. She’s another friend of Kisuke’s.”

“Hm.” Grimmjow sipped his tea again. Ichigo propped his face up with his palm, leaning more onto the table. He kept his eyes glued to the amber liquid in his cup, since Grimmjow’s piercing gaze felt as though the other man could see every secret if he kept looking in his eyes. “This job is dangerous then?”

“Yeah.” Ichigo didn’t dare lie about that part. Besides, it’s not like his was the only job in the world with risks.

“…be safe, then…” The words were quiet, barely there. But Ichigo heard them. He looked up and met the other’s serious stare.

Ichigo smirked. “Aw, worried about me?”

“Of course I am, idiot. You’re the first friend I’ve made here. Actually, first one I’ve made in years,” Grimmjow muttered into his cup as he turned his face away. He took a long sip, cheeks burning pink.

Friend. The word tugged at Ichigo’s heart, unleashing a barrel of mixed emotions. On the one hand, a warm feeling, recognition that Grimmjow thought of him as more than just ‘a neighbour’, the comfort of having someone he could go to and hang out with outside the little family he’d found himself. On the other, a brief but sharp sting, the worry that this might be all there ever is, that maybe ‘friend’ is all that Grimmjow would ever be willing to associate with him. Ichigo shoved those worries down. I should be grateful he thinks of me as a friend. Especially when I’m keeping so many secrets from him, and he knows I am. He closed his eyes and let the warm scent of the tea seep into his body, surrounding him and bringing him comfort. “Friends, huh?” he murmured. “Friends are good.” It was more to convince himself than anything, but Grimmjow overheard.

“Yeah. I mean, I guess? Like I said, haven’t had many,” he replied in a nonchalant voice. Ichigo gave a non-committal hum.

“They are. Especially nice when it’s someone outside your family, someone you can talk to,” he replied, opening his eyes. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, though, and he had to blink a few times before his eyes would focus on the man in front of him.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Grimmjow raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “You’re looking pretty played out…are you sure you’re good to go home?”

“Hmm? It’s right next door,” Ichigo mumbled, moving to stand. He managed to get upright, but then swayed and stumbled back onto the chair. “Oh damn. More tired’n’I thought.” Grimmjow’s expression morphed from amusement to concern.

“Shit. Don’t try and walk home, ok? You can crash here on the couch if you want, alright?” He stood up and helped Ichigo stand again. “I’ll help you there. Come on.” Ichigo steadied himself on Grimmjow as they walked into the living room. The couch looked incredibly inviting and soft.

Laying on the couch was like sinking into a deep dark warmth. He thought he heard a distant yelp and someone saying ‘wait let go’, but that had to be someone else’s problem. He was tired, too tired to do much of anything let alone help. The inky darkness surrounded him, caressed him, and enveloped him in a gentle warmth and firm embrace. Ichigo gladly let it carry him off to sleep.

***

Grimmjow helped Ichigo to the couch. It wasn’t overly big, and didn’t really look all that comfortable, compared to a bed, but it would do. He eased his friend onto the cushions, then made to move away. But the arms that had been using him as a stabilizer tightened around him and dragged him down. Grimmjow yelped.

“Wait! Let go!” he hissed, but Ichigo didn’t seem to hear him. Grimmjow hesitated to be any louder, lest he wake Nel. Not that she would be angry. But he would never live down the teasing if she saw him like this with their neighbour, especially since she knew all about his crush. His only hope was to extract himself carefully…

…he hadn’t counted on Ichigo being quite so strong. Like, he knew the other man could lift his fair share, had seen him carry things most people would need a partner to handle, but overpowering Grimmjow and trapping him in a hug? In his sleep, of all things? Grimmjow grumbled under his breath as all his attempts to wriggle away were thwarted by a completely oblivious, sleeping, handsome idiot. With all his efforts proving futile, Grimmjow gave in and opted to simply lie there, held firmly on top of Ichigo. He couldn’t see the other man’s face, as his own face was turned to the back of the couch, head resting on Ichigo’s chest, listening to his rhythmic breathing and the gentle thumping of his heart. Their legs were entangled, and Grimmjow tried not to dwell too much on that fact, his face burning. He clenched and unclenched his hands before softly, hesitantly, moving them upward, behind Ichigo, wrapping around his torso slightly.

Why did I call him a ‘friend’? This isn’t how friends react, Grimmjow thought to himself. He was wide awake, and with no reprieve in sight, his mind decided to wander down what had become now an all-too-familiar path over the past couple of months. Dammit. Why can’t I just make the words come out right?

Ichigo’s arms tightened around him briefly, then relaxed slightly, but not enough to let Grimmjow actually worm his way out. Are you even sure he likes you, though? The thought crept into his mind unbidden, for what had to be the millionth time that week. Are you sure Jinta wasn’t lying? Are you sure anyone at all would like you?

Grimmjow grit his teeth and unconsciously tightened his grip on the other man. He only realized how tense he was when he heard a sleepy “…’s tight,” mumbled above him. He relaxed instantly, fear catching in his heart, convinced Ichigo would wake up that instant, throw him off of him, call him a freak, and storm out of the house. He waited for his inevitable fate…one…two…three…

…and nothing happened. There was a soft sigh, and Ichigo’s breathing resumed its steady rate. He hadn’t been fully awake, then. Grimmjow couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. He sighed and resigned himself to being stuck there for now. He might as well try and get some rest if he was going to have to face the rude awakening of the morning. So he closed his eyes and drifted off.

#grimmichi #jaegerjaquez grimmjow #kurosaki ichigo #m34gswrites #house of assassins #au #found family

[thefallennightmare]

Vas Prizrak-Nineteen[END]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 2140

Warnings: swearing, some smut if I’m feeling frisky, tiny bits of fluff, and a whole lot of angst.

Summary:  Bucky and Reader’s life in Wakanda had been everything they ever wanted. But when they are told about the fight that was on it’s way to them, they fear that life would be dusted away for good.

A/N:  I can’t believe the end is here for this trilogy! I loved writing it all so much and I’m thankful for everyone that took time out of their busy lives to read it. It means so much <3 Thanks again to @lovelyladymayyy​ for all of the amazing ideas! Please enjoy the ending of something that means so much to me as it does to you! 

TAGS: @mggpleasedontlookhere @grey-force-jedi @austynparksandpizza @lovelyladymayyy

Loud music echoed throughout the empty home and I moved my head to the music as I walked inside from my previous spot outside. Bickering voices yelled at the far end of the house so I followed while a huge smile spread to my lips.

“I don't have it! You were the last one to use it.” 

“It was right there on the table and now it’s gone!” 

I leaned up against the doorframe, the smell of fresh paint engulfing my senses, and chuckled at the two men who continued to bicker not noticing I had been watching them. 

“Bucky?” I finally spoke. 

When he looked my way, I merely pointed to his back pocket. “The paint brush is in your pocket.” 

“I told you I didn’t have it,” Sam grumbled. 

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered, continuing to paint the wall in front of him now that he had his brush back. 

“I can’t believe how great it’s all looking,” I marveled at how well the house started to look with only a fresh coat of paint. 

“I can’t believe you convinced Bucky into painting your walls black,” Sam said. 

Shrugging, I walked towards Bucky and left a soft kiss on his cheek.  “That’s what people in love do.” 

It had been a long month with us fixing up our house. We were here every day, all day, restoring it to its former glory. You could tell in the way that Bucky’s eyes lit up that he was ecstatic that our plans were starting to come to life. 

Sam offered to help on one condition; I would buy him lunch and beer every day and at the end of the work day he could ‘kick back on the couch and watch T.V on our 70 inch in the living room’. I agreed, more than thankful for his help. 

Our long list had almost been crossed off, two more things on it; paint the master bedroom and build the deck. The last one on the list wasn’t important, knowing that it would be a long task. I was happy enough that the inside of our home was almost finished. 

Today was the last and final day, Sam and Bucky nearly finishing painting the walls in our bedroom. Furniture had started to fill our home, giving it a more homey feel then the day prior. All we had left was to put our bedroom furniture together. 

“How’s it going outside?” Bucky questioned. 

“Good,” I nodded. “Majority of the trees are cut down, only a couple more and we’ll be able to see the lake when we wake up tomorrow morning.” 

“Can’t wait,” he smiled while placing a kiss on my forehead. 

Strands of his hair kept falling out of the low bun so I quickly fixed it for him, which only earned an annoyed sigh from him. 

“Are we sure we trust him with a chainsaw?”

Bucky and I looked from Sam to the man outside, who had spent all afternoon cutting down the trees. I offered to help but he merely waved me off. He could do it on his own. 

“I trust him more with a chainsaw than painting my walls,” I admitted with a giggle.  

Our old grandfather clock in the entryway rang six times, indicating that it was just after six o'clock and it was time for dinner. 

“The usual?” I asked the two men, who nodded eagerly. 

“Let him know that I’ll be back with food from Izzy’s in twenty.” I nodded to the man outside. 

“Love you!” Bucky called from behind me as I walked down the hallway. 

“Love you sugar bear!” 

I laughed loudly at Sam’s voice, letting the yellow front door shut behind me. 

A deep loud belch erupted from Bucky’s chest and I snapped my head over to him, a disgusted look on my face. 

“Gross.” 

Bucky simply smiled before placing a kiss on my lips. His open arms was an invitation which I took, cuddling closer into him. Our bones were tired from all of the work, finishing putting our bedroom furniture together, so we celebrated with beers and Chinese on the couch. 

I looked around our home with a very proud smile on my face. We did such a great job fixing up the old home that no one would have guessed that there used to be a giant hole in the room Bucky and I now share. 

“I cannot wait to sleep in an actual bed tonight,” I mused. 

Bucky and I had been sleeping in a pile of blankets on the floor for the last month and my back had been screaming for the memory foam mattress that I had purchased yesterday. 

I felt Bucky tense next to me, knowing that he would rather prefer to sleep on the floor. It was something from his past that we were slowly working on. Even though we both felt we were in a good place in our lives and our relationship, there were a lot of issues that we needed to work through; together. 

He felt that if he slept on something soft, that it would be more uncomfortable for him than the floor. So I made a deal with him; if he gave the bed a shot tonight and still didn’t like it, I would make him a comfortable bed on the floor. 

I even mentioned that clothes were not allowed in the bed, hoping that would help ease his concerns. 

“Doll?” 

Snapping back to reality, I looked back towards Bucky. “Hm?” 

“I need to grab some beers.” 

I gently pushed him back towards the couch. “You relax. I’ll get them.” 

My bare feet trekked along the new floors, still creaking along with the old bones of the home. I quickly grabbed three beers and headed back into the living room, hearing the men bicker about what movie to watch tonight.

I handed one to Sam, Bucky, and the blonde that sat comfortably on the recliner chair. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at me. 

“No problem, Stevie.” I returned the smile as I sat down back in my previous spot next to Bucky. 

A soft knock sounded on the open door but my back was facing the door so I called over my shoulder. “Come in!” 

“Y/N?” 

I spun so fast on my heels that the hammer fell from my hand, bouncing loudly to the ground. His blue eyes shined from the setting sunlight and his blonde hair was brushed neatly back so I could see his face clearly. 

“Steve?” I breathed, unsure if he was actually standing in front of me. 

“I was in the neighborhood so I figured you guys might need some help.” 

I never ran so fast into his open arms, ecstatic that he had decided on coming back to me, to us. 

“You didn’t stay?” I asked while pulling away from his arms. 

Steve shook his head. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had more to live for here than I do in the past. Bucky, Sam, and you.” 

Our smiles mirrored one another and I pulled him in for another hug. 

“Thank you, Stevie.” 

“Are you sure you guys don’t want to crash here again? It’s late and I would hate for you guys to drive across town to the hotel.” 

Sam and Steve both nodded. 

“It's your first official night in your home, we don’t want to interrupt whatever is going to happen,” Sam suggested with a wink. 

“Goodnight you two,” I rolled my eyes at his comment before giving them a hug goodnight. 

Once the door was shut and locked, I called out for Bucky and heard him yell back from our bathroom. 

He stood in front of the sink, shirtless, and I could see in the mirror that he had a troubled look on his face. I then took in the variety of tools on the counter, knowing exactly what he was going to do. 

“Are you sure about this?” I questioned, leaning against the door frame. 

Bucky nodded. “I can’t handle it anymore. I need a fresh start.” 

“Want any help?” 

Turning his body towards me, he pulled me into his chest and my hands sprawled on the bare skin of it. We shared a deep, loving, kiss and when he pulled away, Bucky nodded towards the brand new tub. It was filled with bubbles and unlit candles surrounded it. 

“It would be more romantic if I could light the damn candles but I can’t find a match anywhere,” Bucky admitted with a sigh. 

“Want to see something cool?” I asked with a smirk.

When he nodded, I stepped back from Bucky and closed my eyes. The thought of the unlit candles were heavy on my mind and when I heard him gasp, I knew it had worked. 

The candles around the tub were now lit with bright flames. 

With the help of Bucky, I striped down in front of him and once I sunk deep into the tub I groaned out in pleasure. The warm water immediately eased my sore muscles. As I enjoyed the hot waters, the sound of a hair buzzer played in the background.

“How does it look?” 

Opening my eyes, I marveled at the new look of Bucky, a gasp falling from my lips. Gone was the long hair, the old strands littering the bathroom counter and sink, and Bucky stood in front of me with short hair. A look on him that I had never seen but one that I found myself falling in love with. 

“You know there is a reason why I chose a double person tub,” I expressed while lifting my bare chest out of the water. 

Bucky lips spread wide in a smile and hastily stepped out of his pants. The water sloshed around when he sunk his body deep into the waters. I squeaked out a large giggle when he wrapped his vibranium fingers around my ankle, pulling our naked bodies together. 

“Which one are you thinking?” I pondered as we walked together down the long halls, metal cages surrounding us. 

Bucky’s lips were pressed in a thin line, the decision weighing heavy on his shoulders. We were nearing the end of the hall and I had a gut wrenching feeling that we wouldn’t find the one he was looking for. 

“Wait,” Bucky grabbed my hand to stop me. “This one.” 

I looked from the cage to him a couple times. “Are you sure?” 

He nodded eagerly while bending down in front of the cage, the tail smacking hard against the walls of his cage at the possibility of a new friend. Bucky’s vibranium fingers scratched happily at the ears of the furry pup on the other end of the metal cage. 

Bucky woke this morning, wanting to adopt a dog from the local shelter. He grew up with one so not hearing nails running down the halls were so foreign to him. 

The dog was a mutt, mixed with a bunch of different breeds but we didn’t care. We wanted to give him a loving home. There was something special about this pup that drew Bucky to him. 

The dog was a tripod, missing his left front leg. 

“Let’s bring Ivan home then,” I smiled brightly down at the two. 

“Bucky?” I called out while entering the house. 

A gasp left my lips when I took in the scene around me. Lit candles were scattered throughout the living room along with the fireplace. The lights were off but the flames were enough to cast the room in a deep orange glow. At the sound of my voice, Ivan came running down the hall happy to see me. 

He never let having only three legs slow him down. 

“Hey you, where’s dad?” I cooed while bending down to give him his usual greeting. 

Two scratches to his ears with a kiss on top of his head. 

“Dorogaya?” 

Hearing the deep voice behind, I stood while spinning on my heels. Bucky was standing in front of me, short hair slicked back. 

“What’s all this?” I asked. 

Suddenly, the tune of our song sounded throughout the home and Bucky extended his hand towards me. 

“Can I have this dance?” He asked. 

“Always, Bucky. Always.” I answered, accepting his hand. 

Our bodies swayed together along with the music. It was still so foreign feeling his skin under my fingers, his lips on mine, and his breath against the skin of my neck. For years, I had been dancing with his ghost in my dreams or thoughts but now I had his actual body in my hands. I laid my head against his chest, letting the tune of our song guide us in our dance. Our first of many dances in a home that we created together; our home.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes and reader #marvel #avengers #captain america #captain america and reader #steve rogers #steve rogers and reader #soldat #dorogaya

[kuroopaisen]

quiet hymns. (kuroo tetsurou)

➵ kuroo can’t fix your problems, but he can be there for you. 

wc: 1.3k

warnings: direct depiction of depression! it could potentially be triggering for people who’ve experienced it. also, there’s christian imagery; not direct reference to faith, but the symbolism’s there. 

a/n: unbeta’d. this was just a little cathartic piece, and it’s quite heavy, so please please don’t read this if it’ll trigger you. but, i hope it can offer some people a sense of understanding (especially my fellow ex-”gIfTeD” kids)

You can’t sleep. 

Kuroo lies next to you, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. He dozed off hours ago; he’s never had trouble sleeping. He’d been spooning you when he first went to sleep, but you’d rolled him onto his back and away from you about half an hour ago. Part of you just felt suffocated. Another part of you felt like you didn’t deserve his warmth. Not when you feel like this.

Those same few thoughts play over and over, an echoing hymn of your most pervasive flaws.  

Ungrateful. Worthless. Unlovable.

Little fears, little inadequacies sprint through your mind, circling round and screaming at the top of their lungs. These demons will not rest, even in the quiet hours of the morning. You don’t dare check your phone, in fear of the number that will stare back at you.

And things had been going so well. You’d felt like you were on track.

But, it feels like you’ve been slipping. Like everything you’ve built towards is beginning to crumble, the flimsy veneer you’d placed over your own inadequacy tearing like the veil in the temple.

Everything was falling through your fingers. You couldn’t stay on top of university, no matter how hard you tried. You keep losing track of time, the days bleeding into an endless expanse of grey. You can’t even text your friends without feeling like they hate you; they’ve done nothing, said nothing to make you feel that way. You know it’s all projection, that these thoughts have no foundation.

But knowing is not the same as believing. You’ve known for a while. You’ve tried to practice a whole range of coping strategies, of fighting back against your own thoughts. But in the darkest hours of the morning, the hopelessness always sets in. You always feel most unlovable at 2 AM.

You were heralded as having such promise, too. Told that you were destined for ‘great things’, that your bright mind would take you to places you could barely even imagine. Your parents lament the loss of the ‘bright young thing’ you used to be, eight years old and untouched by misery.

What sort of parent let their child feel like a failure, simply because they had some demons? You want to find that joy you used to have, to make space for it in your heart. But it’s hard. Instead, it feels like you’re wading through purgatory, reaching for heaven while the demons grab at your ankles.

That promise was gone, now. Flung to the wind. You felt little more than worthless, these days.

You still don’t know where it started. It’s been half a decade, now. You don’t remember much of your childhood or your adolescence, but most of it is marred by melancholy. Your adolescence and early adulthood have been spent in darkness, fighting against a self-loathing that’s left room for little else.

It’s a cycle. Every time you drag yourself back up through the eight circles, you beat yourself back down. It’s on you, every time. Sometimes you wonder if you’re strong enough to fight off the sadness for much longer.

And yet, you feel guilty. You’ve been blessed. Had opportunities. A roof over your head, an education, a loving boyfriend. Feeling this way is wrong. Ungrateful. An expression of privilege.

You don’t know where you went wrong. When you started to rot inside, losing yourself to your own tempest.

You’re young – so, so young – and yet you feel like you’re past your peak. That everyone has passed you by. That they’re all moving on, climbing higher, making something of themselves. And you’re here, sat at the dinner table with the same demons you met when you were fifteen.

Ungrateful. Worthless. Unlovable.

You can’t find the strength to stop the tears.

You cover your mouth, hoping to choke back your sobs as quietly as you can. You don’t want to disturb him.

But these demons are stronger than you. They ring in your ears, prick at your eyes, scratch at your throat.

There are darker thoughts, too. Angrier voices, goading and taunting and coercing. You don’t want to entertain them, to let them take up space in your mind. Perhaps that’s why you’re so exhausted, these days; you’ve spent so much energy pushing them back that you don’t have the reserves left to do anything else.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, laden with sleep and concern.

Shit. You’d woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, smoothing a hand over his bare chest.

“Don’t apologise,” he murmurs, moving his hand over yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head.

There’s a lot you can’t – won’t – say to him. Things that you don’t want to burden him with, things that would give him reason to worry. That’s the last thing you want to do – worry him. You don’t know why you matter to him. Why he bothers with someone like you.

“Hey.” He’s persistent, as always. He shifts onto his side, the bed

He’s right here, and yet you feel so lonely. So far away.

A hand on your cheek. You brave a look at his face.

He’s looking at you so tenderly, his expression so vulnerable and full of affection. Affection that he’s given you time and time again over the years. Affection you feel you don’t deserve.

“I love you.”

It’s so honest, so sincere. He loves you. Somehow, you’ve gotten this wonder of a man to love you. To cherish you. To care about you. And he’d been here for the past few years, holding your hand and telling you that you were one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

How had you fooled him so well?

Your words catch in your throat, carrying the weight of unspoken sins.

“I don’t deserve you,” you choke. You don’t let the moment sit, rolling over to bury your face into his chest.

“That’s not true,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You press yourself against him, seeking his warmth, his light, his comfort. You don’t feel like you deserve it; but you need it.

“I love you.” His voice is gravelly, and you can tell he’s barely awake. And yet in this barely lucid state, he still seeks you out. Still gives you comfort.

You take a deep breath, feeling it shudder through your body . “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t apologise.” He always says that. No matter what, he doesn’t want you to apologise. Not for feeling like this.

He’s so warm. He lifts his leg up and drapes it across you, running his fingers along your spine. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You think about it for a moment. “Not tonight.”

“You sure?”

You nod, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I just want to go to sleep.”

You know he wants to support you, to hear you out and fight these demons with you. But you had to speak to someone else about this. Someone who knew what to do. Someone who would help you love him with everything you have, unfettered by the demons clawing at your ankles.

 “I’ll stay up with you,” he hums, running his fingers through your hair. “Until you fall asleep.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you choke.

“I want to,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m here for you, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s been with you through everything, never wavering. He’s always reaches out a hand in the darkness, looking at you with nothing but sympathy and adoration. ‘I’m here.’ That’s his hymn, the one he repeats over and over again. Sometimes you try to push him away, afraid that he’s wasting his time with you. Feeling that, if given the chance, he could do better.

But he stays. He gives you everything he can. And when the day is over, he tells you that he’s grateful; that he feels honoured that you would trust him like this. That you would let him take up space in your fragile heart. That even when you push him away, he knows it’s because you’re afraid. He tells you that, if he has anything to do with it, you won’t ever be alone.

Kuroo Tetsurou has never once made you feel worthless. Never once made you feel ungrateful. Never once made you feel unlovable.  

Maybe you don’t deserve him. But you don’t know what you’d do without him.

“Tetsu?” Your voice is frail, delicate. You don’t trust it to express what you want to say.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He smiles, his golden eyes roaming your face. “I’m a very lucky man.”

He means it.

He can’t fix you. He’s only human, and he wants to do more. To soothe the ache in your heart. And yet, he knows he can’t; it’s not his battle. All he can do is lie here, by your side, doing his best to provide you with some small comfort.

He’s here. He’s with you. He’s not going anywhere.

And maybe, if you can make it through the evening, you can make peace with the fact that you’re not alone. That you won’t be alone; because there’s something important that you have to remember.

Someone loves you.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou imagine #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsurou #depression tw #tw depression #nothing dark happens it's just the thought patterns

[alighieri-sparda]

I’m keeping your promise | Vergil x Reader

Summary: Vergil promised he would see you soon. But you got tired of waiting for him.

Kindly requested by @blackenedskykai​ ♡ | Masterlist | Rules | Read on AO3! 

Hello, Kai! I missed writing your requests, my dear. They are always so nice to write down the first ideas and complete it, so thanks a lot! Hope to see you here again. ♡ This prompt didn’t exist on the original list, but I wrote it anyway because your idea is amazing (and very cute!).  And... I’m sorry for the delay, again. xD 

By the way, I made some changes to my posting pattern. Let me know if you liked it or if you have any suggestions.

- - - - - - 

These warm sheets were no longer effective in keeping you comfortable. You tried to relax your body and mind once you decided to rest your back in some pillows and read a book, but it was all in vain. Your mind quickly diverted your attention out from those old written words in your book, of which you couldn’t understand any of the meaning they were trying to convey, no mattered how many times you read the same sentences.

To make that situation even worse, your kitty Shadow suddenly showed up, crawling her little claws on the mattress and meowing to get your attention. That little black cat was probably wanting something from you.

You sighed, taking that chance to finally give up on your attempt to read that book. Shadow kept her constant meow until you got that little feline body in your hands, gently carrying her in your arms to pet her in the bed.

“You’ve been so noisy those days, Shadow.” You softly baby-talked to her. Your heart melted in love when Shadow started to purr, slowly blinking that little green eyes to enjoy your coziness. “What do you want, hm? Tell me.”

But she suddenly started to gradually shake her body in your arms in a silent ask to break free from your touch. You frowned in confusion, but you quickly understood what was going on with her once you noticed what she did when she left your arms.

She arranged herself on Vergil’s side of your shared bed, resting her little body on his pillow.

“Oh… Yeah, Shadow, I miss him too.” You murmured, petting her head again.

This situation made you remember the promise Vergil made to you before he went to his office two days ago: “Don’t worry, I’ll see you again soon.” Having Vergil with you every day, living and sleeping together at the same apartment became part of your routine already; so, you were pretty used to see Vergil constantly busy. But you never got accustomed to dealing with the lack of his presence when he needed to go to his office at Devil May Cry.

It all started because of research that Vergil needed to do for a job that Dante recently accepted. You held back your complaints when you first heard Dante asking for his brother’s help, but Vergil knew that you were bothered about that. Therefore, before he left, he kissed your forehead and promised those words in a soft tone.

But you got tired of waiting for him.

Before doing anything, you checked the time. It was still early at night — it wouldn’t be awkward if you showed up at the shop at six, right? — and Dante wasn’t accepting any customers after 5 PM anyway. The shop wasn’t that far from your house though, so it wouldn’t take you more than ten minutes to be there safely.

And once you were sure that you wouldn’t bother anyone going there now and that the time was safe enough for you to walk the streets alone, you quickly got out of your bed and started looking for some clothes to deal with the cold outside.

Shadow seemed to guess that you were about to see Vergil and went behind you, following your steps with her little fleet-footed paws. She was meowing again, but this time, she sounded almost happy to you.

“Don’t worry, little one.” You smiled at the kitty right behind your feet as she meowed back. “I’ll let him know that you miss him too.”

 […]

 Just like you expected, you arrived at Devil May Cry in ten minutes. Along the way, you became more and more anxious as you were getting closer to the shop; and once you knocked twice on the front door, your heart raced at full speed. You knew that Vergil wouldn’t answer the door, and it made you feel even more impatient to see him.

You felt your body even colder than before, and an intense shiver ran down your spine to remember your condition. Not only because you were feeling anxious, but also due to the cold weather. Although you were wearing a comfortable coat and jeans, a scarf, gloves, and boots, they didn’t seem to be enough to keep you warm.

“We’re closed!” You heard Dante’s voice shouting from inside the shop.

“It’s me, Dante!” You answered his warning in a happy tone. When you finished your sentence, you immediately heard quick footsteps coming from the inside and getting closer to the door.

“[Name]?” He asked when he opened one of the doors, only wearing sweatpants — you knew Dante didn’t feel cold due to his demonic blood, but you couldn’t help being surprised. He clearly wasn’t expecting anyone to visit him. You also noticed Dante was happy to see you but seemed sort of confused as well. “Good evening, pretty human. Lost your way back home?” He grinned at you, resting his weight on the door.

You laughed back. “Good evening, Dante. I… came here to see someone, actually. Hope you don’t mind me.”

“Nah, don’t worry. It’s always good to see you here.” Dante moved aside, silently asking you to enter the shop. “Come inside. You’ll freeze out there.”

You stepped inside the main hall and took a deep breath when you felt a sudden warmth embrace your cold body. The room was quite dark, the only intense light was coming from Vergil’s office, passing through the door openings. Dante closed the front door behind you and started making his way back to his bedroom.

“His office is unlocked; I just spoke to him.” Dante yawned, lazily stretching his body. “That nerd is damn focused on his books so take care not to scare him.”

He winked at you before locking himself in his room again. “Or maybe not.”

And then Dante closed his bedroom door, leaving you alone in the hall.

Spending no more time, you took some quiet steps towards Vergil’s office door. You even raised your hand to knock on the door once you got in front of it and announce that you were about to join him, but you abruptly prevented yourself from knocking on it.

It would be way more fun if you just surprise him, right?

To be sure you wouldn’t get caught before the right time, you gently held the door handle and moved it down as carefully as you could, pressing the door with your weight to open it gradually. When your gaze caught the sight of Vergil, you realized that Dante couldn’t be more certain about what he said: Vergil he was standing in front of a bookshelf, his back to the door, clearly interested in what he was reading.

You closed the door behind you with your feet as your body quietly slid into the room. When you noticed that Vergil didn’t move anything but his fingers to go to the next page of his book, a content smile crossed your face. He was probably going to be sort of annoyed because you went there alone, but you needed to keep the promise he made to you.

After some steps, you were finally close enough to Vergil. You thought of hugging him from beside and try to support your head on his shoulder at first — and you were going to need to stand on tiptoe to do so —, but you were just a few steps from his face. And when you realized that, a better idea crossed your mind.

This time, you didn’t even worry about not making any noise. You placed a hand over his arm, and before he could react to it, you finally faced him, cupping his face with your other hand and finally kissing his lips. You needed to stand on tiptoe anyway since Vergil usually curves his body a bit to kiss you, but you didn’t mind it at all.  

Although you could feel a little surprised gasp coming from him, Vergil just replaced the book back on the shelf whilst he joined your kiss properly, holding his arms around your waist to bring you closer to him. The cold sensation of anxiety started to leave your body, relaxing your muscles as you enjoyed the taste of Vergil’s lips again.

It was only an extended peck, but the sensation of his soft and warm lips over yours was pleasant enough for a ‘hello’ kiss.

Vergil was the one who separated the kiss. He looked at you with a soft smile on his lips, yet he frowned his eyebrows.

“What are you doing here, [Name]?” He asked softly, brushing his fingers through your hair.

“I’m keeping your promise, Vergil.” You touched his lips with yours again, but quickly this time.

“Excuse me?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“You promised me you’d see me soon, but I got a little impatient and decided to keep this for you.”

He chuckled.

“I see. I was expecting to finish the research tomorrow morning, but I think I’m finishing it tonight… With your help, of course.” Vergil winked at you, and couldn’t help but giggle when you grumbled at his words.

He left your hair and started to caress your cheek with his thumb, knitting a brow as he felt your skin colder than normal compared to the temperature of the place.

“Why are you that cold? Are you sure you were wearing this scarf since you left home?” His tone was concerned, even though it sounded almost like a complaint.

“I took ten minutes to get here, and it’s really cold outside. But it wouldn’t stop me from seeing you.” You sighed. A sudden wave of desire sprawled through your body, and you couldn’t help hugging the man in front of you, missing his embrace. He quickly realized that and held you tightly. His lovely warmth comforting your body made you sigh cheerfully. “I missed you.”

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, love.” He kissed your head, leaving his lips barely over your hair. “But don’t expose yourself like that again, okay? I wouldn’t like to see you in danger just because I took too long to come back home.”

This sentence of his proved that you were right about his discomfort about you going there all alone, but you didn’t expect him talking about that in a so gentle tone.

“I will always keep that promise to you, [Name]. No matter how long it takes, I will always come back. Don’t worry.” His whisper sounded like he was speaking from the bottom of his heart. He spoke to you sincerely a few times during your relationship, and you could tell that was another one of them.

You stepped back only to kiss him again. You knew that you were going to read a lot of old books to help him with his research, so you wanted to enjoy that moment as much as you could. This kiss wasn’t different from the previous one, but this time, Vergil held you even closer, with one hand holding your waist and the other touching the backside of your neck.

You took a bit longer to separate this kiss. Both you and Vergil could stay like that for hours, but he still had some work to be finished.

“Guess it’s time to read some books.” You giggled.

“Precisely.” Vergil grinned at you, finally breaking the embrace completely to go back to the book he was reading. “I’m not far from finishing it though, so I think we’re coming back home in one hour.”

“I hope so, because Shadow is missing you as much as I was.” You quickly checked out the content of his book by looking at its cover and then started to look for some similar ones. “She has been such a noisy kitten since you left. Probably calling for you.”

You heard a heartened hum coming from Vergil. That little black kitty was a weak spot of Vergil as much as you were, and you knew that pretty well.

“Dante needs some help with old demonic rituals. Better check that another bookshelf, because I want to see Shadow tonight.” He explained, pointing to the shelf beside which he was standing.

While you were searching for the right books on the shelf Vergil pointed, you couldn’t stop thinking about what Vergil said to you. Well, now you were sure that he would keep his promise at any cost.

You smiled unconsciously. Although you couldn’t see it, Vergil was doing the same.

#almost 2100 words oh gosh #i love fluff :c #also KITTY SHADOW!!!! #yea i'm a cat person don't mind me #dmc #dmc imagines #devil may cry #devil may cry imagines #dmc vergil #vergil x reader

[scullydubois]

baby, in your kingdom (for valentine’s <3)

read on ao3   tagging: @today-in-fic @iusedtoknowwhatawishwasfor @scullllaaaaayyyy

Mulder proposes to Scully during the Requiem bed scene.

So you may have seen the text post I wrote imagining a version of Requiem where Mulder proposed and didn’t go off to Oregon at the end...I couldn’t stop thinking about that, so it turned into this. This is my favorite prose that I’ve written for a fic, and it might turn into a series someday because this concept is just so rich and worth diving into. Happy Valentine’s Day, and enjoy a treat on me to numb the pain hehe. 

T, 1.7k, more angst than fluff (oops) but the tenderness is there too 

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

He needs to tell her one thing and ask her another. Should be simple enough, except it never is when it comes to words passing between them. It's in both their natures to leave the sweetest sentiments unsaid lest they lose their luster when voice meets air. And what he has in mind is not exactly the easiest of utterances, neither the former nor the latter. One is the kind of admittance we fear when the phone rings unexpectedly, the other a declaration the unluckiest people go to their graves without getting. Delivering both at the same time is a sin if he’s ever committed one. And for once, he cares what count God has against him. What if he isn’t able to see her again, even in the afterlife? 

He’s been weighing one decision for awhile, looking for the balance between his conviction and her virtue. He could have done it when she came back to him with her baby-faced blush, accepting the cross he clung to in lieu of her. Or when she showed him the x-rays, and they spelled out no hope. When he cried by her bedside and she didn’t stir--he could have done it then, she wouldn’t have known. But it means nothing unless it means everything to both of them, and she wouldn’t have--no, couldn’t have--given him the answer he wants back then. He holds this as the sacred truth that governed him then and will govern him now. He has no room for regrets.

The scuff of their shoes against the baseball diamond was the first time he realized that maybe, maybe this manic impulse of his had some basis in reality. Not a solid one, nothing they could cross a canyon with, but in time…

And then he was inside her brain, privy to her thoughts, and what was an unsound bridge had become a stairway to Heaven only they could climb. Fuck a safety net, he wouldn’t be needing that anymore.

Then he got the call from Billy Miles, and he thought of her ouroboros, and isn’t that what they’ve been doing this whole time? Circling some greater truth that they’ve always known? 

Every circle ends where it begins and begins where it ended. This is what he’s thinking when he spots Billy’s badge, and they glide over the X he painted when they didn’t yet trust each other (but so badly wanted to), and when he lays eyes on Teresa Nemmans and she is not Nemmans but Hoese, and there is a child in her arms. 

Seven years. And what do they have to show for it? What they mean to each other has changed, but it’s not like anyone can tell. He called Scully his partner then, and he calls her his partner now. Oh, the time they have wasted.

But it will be wasted no more. Seeing her with the Hoese baby, cooing a lullaby into its precious ear…seven years ago, he told her of the government’s conspiracy and how nothing else mattered to him. That is no longer the truth.

There is a truth they both know that is stronger than anything. When she appears at his door, flushed and shivering like a puppy left out in the cold, his head and his heart finally hit the same wavelength. He will shy away from fate no longer.

She doesn’t wait to be invited in, she knows his bed is hers for the taking. He lifts her shoes off her feet like he’s kneeling at an altar, wraps his arms around her as if it’s what he was put on this Earth to do. Contrary to popular belief, he has quite a reverence for domestic bliss. He’s been searching for it since his own reflection of it was shattered at twelve years old, and it has finally come to him.

He is scared to death that he’ll fuck it up, but not so scared that he’ll back away. In other words, his approach to everything in his life. It occurs to him then, with his lips on her temple, that he would set his own flame to the office and every X-File in it if she asked him to. If that’s what she wanted. He wouldn’t even have stepped foot back in that haunted place after its first burning if she’d given him an indication that it was not her desire.

“Scully,” he starts, nuzzling her neck, “I was thinking about when you asked me if I ever wanted to stop...if I ever wanted to get out of the car.”

“Uh-huh,” she breathes so faintly that he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t felt it in her lungs. 

“Well, I do want that. I’ve always wanted that. Remember when we were in Home and I said I’d like to settle someplace like that?”

Scully chuckles against him.

“Obviously not in Home, but you know, some place with the small-town sentiment without the, uh, familial connection.”

“Mm-hm,” Scully murmurs, sensing a larger point that he has strayed from.

“I just never knew how to get to it--I never thought that I could get to it, because I grew up thinking my parents had that, and then I saw they never did at all.”

Scully tucks his open palm under her chin, listening contentedly. 

“So I spent my time chasing apparitions,” he continues, “things I couldn’t see, because I stopped believing in the things that I could. It’s like…the invisible things could surpass my expectations easily, but the visible ones could only disappoint.”

Scully feels cocooned, protected, and warm. She latches her attention to Mulder’s voice to keep from drifting off, kissing his knuckle to show that she’s listening.

“And I’ve realized, Scully,” he says, an edge in his voice, “that it’s a fucking waste of time to live like that. Like doing laps on a lazy susan and wondering why you’re never getting anywhere.” 

“I know,” Scully says, her voice quiet but certain. 

Mulder laughs lightly. “I know you do, that’s what you’ve been saying all this time...I just didn’t see it before.” He kisses her shoulder, lingering in the final moments before doing what cannot be undone. “And so I have something to ask you, but there’s something I have to tell you first.” Rawness permeates his voice. 

At the sound of this, Scully cranes her neck, her gaze falling upon his face for the first time since they laid down. She can barely see his hazel irises through the reflecting pool in his eyes. 

“What is it, Mulder?” she asks, concern pressing up against her urgent need to know.

He closes his eyes, the sight of her too much for him in this moment. What he wouldn’t give to feel like he could live with himself if he kept this a secret.

“I’ve seen a neurologist, I’ve had MRIs, it’s all conclusive. My brain is diseased from whatever Cigarette Smoking Man did to me. Fatal, my neurologist says.”

“Mulder…” Scully sits up, her whole being gravitating toward him. She runs her fingers along the space where she knows he bears his scar. 

“Who told you this? And when? Have you had symptoms…?”

Clearly, she does not want to believe him, and he understands.

“I’ve been going back and forth to appointments for a few weeks. It was just confirmed the other day, I didn’t want to worry you until I knew more.”

“And your symptoms?” 

He recognizes the darkness in her eyes and pucker in her forehead that forewarns tears. “Disorientation, dizziness, memory loss...sometimes I feel like I sleepwalked right through my day. “

‘Why didn’t you tell me?” her voice crackles.

He kisses her hand. “I thought you might go to some dark places if you tried to diagnose me.”

“Well, you’ve just turned the lights out on me with no warning!”

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...I didn’t know how best to approach it, I just knew I wanted to cause you the least pain possible.”

“You wanted it to be nothing so you wouldn’t have to tell me,” she notes, not accusing, just speaking plainly.

“Well, yes. That would have been ideal.”

She swallows back tears, wrapping her arms around his neck with grave sincerity. “But now I’m here to fight right alongside you.”

This is what they do--have done, for years. Make his pain her pain and vice versa. Hurt hurts less when shared.

Mulder pulls away first, and it feels like peeling off a layer of his skin. Still, this is as necessary as anything he has ever known. 

“That’s why I was wondering--and listening to it now, I realize this is probably the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t know, I thought you might understand...will you marry me, Scully?”

Her breath catches and before she can think of anything else, she is careening toward his t-shirt to cover her tears. She clutches at the material, pulling it from his midsection to her face.

As far as Mulder’s concerned, there’s an elephant stuck in his throat. “I really don’t know what that means,” he stammers.

Scully lets him see her, tear-stained skin and all. “Yes, Mulder, my god yes! Do you honestly think I’d say no to you?”

“I would, especially in this situation.” 

It’s a classic Mulder comment, but Scully’s not laughing. She pulls him in again, just wanting to feel his skin against hers. Their breaths slow in time with each other’s, their heartbeats matching pace. Scully’s lips brush his mole.

She speaks into his skin. “You saved me when it was impossible. I will do the same for you.”

Mulder thought he might hold it together until those words slipped from her lips. The elephant in his throat turns to stifled sobs. 

With silent tears still streaking down her cheeks, Scully runs her thumbs along his lips. Just as she did when they thought his brain was getting better. The love in her eyes is equal to then too.

“My constant, my touchstone, remember?” she professes. “Then, now, and always.” She presses her lips to his forehead, and he thinks she must be healing him.

#yes it's valentine's but it's a pandemic valentine's #so have some angst with that fluff #the x-files #txf fic #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #mine #requiem

[spacestationdaedalus]

stay with me, my darling

Jon nods. Conversation, right. "Tim said- he asked, if there was anything we wanted to tell our future selves. And the- the Gertrude tape I played for you. I was just...thinking."

"That's not a good sign." Martin replies, and it could have had humor in it, another day, another time. But now it's mostly truth.

or: reminiscing, and hope for the future during the apocalypse

thank you @entitynumber5 for this prompt!! I love it and you to bits

ao3 link here!

...

There are moments, right before the nightmares and right after them, when Martin can sleep. There has to be space to breathe, between the fear and dread. How else will you really know what you've lost, know how afraid you are? Or maybe, even now, the fears are bound by the limits of human physiology, the nature of REM sleep and dreams. It's something Jon can't Know, but even if he could. It doesn't matter.

But there is something he could Know, if he wanted to. With Martin within arms reach in the bed next to him, Knowing if he was awake would be as easy as breathing. Maybe easier, now - a reflex, poised and ready just beneath the surface of his skin, just behind his eyes that don't blink as much as they used to.

He doesn't. He owes it to Martin. That sense of normalcy, however small.

Jon takes a breath, holding the compulsion at bay, locked tight in the back of his throat. He'd already slipped up, forced more than one answer out of Martin since they fled from London. Like hell he'll do it again.

"Are you asleep?"

It's no more than a whisper, ragged and sad sounding even to Jon's own ears. But it might as well be a scream compared to the muted terror outside, the solemn creaking of the boards beneath and around them.

It's quiet for a beat, then Martin shifts. He makes a little noise of coming to awareness - the same one he'd made every morning, when there were still mornings to wake up to. Jon didn't think it was possible to feel nostalgia for something that happened so recently. But the pang, the loss of soft morning sunlight and warm blankets and clumsy, sleep-mused hair and hellos sinks deep into his stomach, and he lowercase-k knows he's wrong.

"J'n?" Oh, but his voice still has that quality to it. When he's just woken up, unguarded, a smile when his eyes find Jon. The sound eases just a bit of the awful tightness in his chest. Not much, though, because Martin doesn't smile as he blinks away the sleep from his eyes. He fumbles for his glasses as he sits up, brow furrowed. Jon can't blame him.

"Is something wrong?" Technically a question, but not phrased like one. Martin’s voice matches Jon’s for pitch, quiet and soft.

Jon looks down at his hands, flexes his fingers. His mouth is dry. He feels guilty, for waking Martin up from the only rest he can get for something so silly . But it's hard to distinguish between shades of guilt these days, carved out of his chest and curled up where his lungs should be.

He almost says nevermind, go back to sleep, but that would be worse, waking him up for nothing. And Jon is nothing if not stubborn. Words are hard, but he gets them out.

"I was- I was thinking about the tape, that I...about what Tim said."

Martin sighs. It's not annoyed, or sad. Maybe fond? Jon isn't sure - you could be sure, you could pluck every thought from his head like grapes from a vine. The thing that only watches trills at the thought, buzzing anticipation and thirst filling his skull and he digs his fingernails into his palm until it hurts, stop stop stop-

"Jon?"

"Hm?" He comes back, with the extra volume and concern Martin adds to his name. Had he really drifted that easily, that far, that quickly?

Martin takes one of his hands, unfurling the fingers that he'd clenched. His nails leave crescent moons in the skin of his palm. Martin delicately runs a finger along them as they fade, and it tickles just enough to be both pleasant and distracting. "I said, the one at your birthday? The tape?"

Jon nods. Conversation, right. "Tim said- he asked, if there was anything we wanted to tell our future selves. And the- the Gertrude tape I played for you. I was just...thinking."

"That's not a good sign." Martin replies, and it could have had humor in it, another day, another time. But now it's mostly truth. "Jon-"

Jon shifts to face him. It's not a sudden movement, but it's lightning quick compared to his syrup-thick movements of the last few so-called-days. "I know, I know it's not- it's not healthy to dwell on it, on… It's just… there's so much I would, would tell myself if I could."

"Even if we couldn't avoid all of it. Maybe it could have been easier."

"Jon…"

"Martin, please ." It's the most emotion he's been able to get out of his voice since he stopped sobbing after the statement that got them here. It hurts. It hurts and he knows it's what he deserves.

Just let me have this , he wants to say, but can't bring himself to. He leans forward instead, just barely. Not for any reason other than his head is tired , but Martin pulls him further, touch gentle but firm. He wraps his arms around him, so easily, so Jon's head is resting on his shoulder, eyelashes brushing like butterflies against the crook of his neck.

"Alright, alright. It's okay."

Martin whispers into his hair, and for all Jon can See, he can’t imagine anything that would take the comfort of it away. They stay like that for a moment, a while. There’s a lot that Jon wants to say, and even though he started the conversation he doesn’t know where to begin. Everything is tangled like overgrown weeds in his mind, like boxes of cords with no purpose that sit in jumbled piles, wrapped around the things he’s trying not to Know and the things he wants to forget and the things that hurt to remember. But then Martin breaks the silence for him.

“For one thing, I wouldn’t…" Martin seems hesitant, like he's not sure he should say what he's about to say. "I wouldn't have let Biscuit into the archives.”

Jon stops. It's quiet for a moment, in a way he forgot it could be. Martin stills next to him, anticipating.

“Wh...what?”

Marin breathes out a small chuckle, almost with a nervous edge to it. “Y’know, the dog I let in? On my first day?”

Jon is something close to comfortable against Martin's shoulder. But he can't stop himself from pulling back far enough to see his face.

"You named the dog?”

“Oh,! No, that was on his nametag. Had a phone number too, that’s - that’s how I got him back to his owner."

I love you I love you I-

That might as well have been a decade ago. Jon can’t stop the quirk of lip, however small, at the ridiculousness of it. “I never knew that.”

Martin cocks his head, hint of a wry smile playing at his lips. "Well, yeah, it’s not like I was going to bring it up to you again. You looked like you were going to fire me on sight for weeks.” His face falls, slightly. “Although, I guess you wouldn’t have been able to, even back then."

Jon sighs, heavy as it's dragged out of his lungs. “I would have, though, if I could. All of you.”

The silence is thick, but not unbreakable. So Jon does just that.

"Maybe we could have ended up at a normal office job."

"What, like a...bank, or something?"

Jon smiles, wider, even though it feels like his face forgot how. Like riding a bike, maybe. "Yes, something… dreadfully boring."

"A boring job does sound pretty appealing."

"At least, them, I wouldn't have had to tell myself to stop pushing the whole, skeptic thing." Jon can't help but recall the conversation, in the storage closet with the man in front of him and what should have been certain death waiting outside. Even that seems so much simpler, now.

Martin makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat. "Maybe I would have told myself to confront you sooner. A-about the statements, I mean. Could have had that whole-"

Martin deepens his voice in what Jon realizes is an imitation "- heart to heart thing sooner."

"I'm not sure if it would have gone over well.” Jon can't help but be honest. Old and new shame bubbles up in his throat, and he has to say something. "Martin, I'm- I'm sorry for the way I acted, back then. I was… god, I was such a prick to you. It wasn't fair, or- or right ."

Martin barely lets him finish before he's saying, "Yeah, you were pretty… prick-ish? I forgive you though. I don't really think about it much anymore, if it means anything.” He breathes out a quiet laugh. “It's kind of funny, actually. In hindsight."

Jon can't stop the look of disbelief. "Really."

Martin smiles. "I mean, yeah? And gosh , you should have heard the things I used to say to Tim and Sasha about you. It wasn't completely one sided."

That catches Jon's attention. "Oh?"

The look on Martin's face isn't quite regret, but it's close. " Any ways-"

"No no, Martin, please , I'd love to know.'' Jon is careful not to phrase it as a question. His voice is quiet, still, but coy. His curiosity is all his own and no one, nothing , else's. He revels in the feeling.

Their hands are entwined on the bed between them. Martin looks down at them as to not meet Jon's eye, but he's smiling, still. "I think I described you as a cactus with twice the spines and half the emotional capacity, once.”

Jon's laugh, soft and brittle as it is, surprises even himself.

Martin looks up at him, encouraged. "Heh- Tim got a kick out of that one."

Tim's laugh, faded like an old photograph in his mind. It hurts to remember, but it would hurt worse to forget. He wish he had that luxury for Sasha. The real Sasha, the stranger who was friends with Tim, friends with him . At least, he hoped she had been. She sounded so lovely.

But, back to Martin. "Yes, well, I can't say you're wrong about that."

Martin sucks in a breath, and Jon freezes under the possibility of upsetting him. But then.

" Oh , Jon- that’s the complete opposite of the truth."

Jon laughs, with less humor. "Martin-"

"No, no, let me finish." Martin takes one of Jon's hands, the burned one, in both of his. "You put up a great front, I'll admit it. But you care so much, even… even though things haven't been easy, or good, or… or fair. You never stopped caring, this whole time. It's obvious now, at least - at least, to me. Even if you don't always say it.”

"You care so, so much and it's - god , it's one of my favorite things about you, Jon."

Something about the way Martin says his name chisels something open in Jon's chest. And not for the first time. Being known, existing to someone else that actually wants him to. There's a reverence to it, the way Martin says it, that Jon knows he doesn't deserve. But he tries to move past that thought and let the sound warm him from the inside out.

Jon whispers Martin's name, quiet and strangled. He hopes it carries the same depth, the same love.

Martin keeps going. "And I - that's why this is so hard for you. I mean - well, of course it's hard, it's pretty fucking terrible, actually - but," Martin sighs. "I know that's why you want to blame yourself for all of this-"

Jon finds his voice, stronger. He's not sure where the sudden energy comes from, but it probably has to do with the knot that's made a home in his ribcage.

"It's not about want , Martin, it's- it's the truth. What else am I supposed to do? I ended the world -"

"Jonah fucking Magnus ended the world, Jon. Not you. He used you."

"I don't really see the difference."

The burst of energy leaves him, water spilling down a drain. This isn't the first time they've talked about this, and it probably won't be the last.

Martin sighs. "I know. But I'll keep telling you, as many times as it takes. Because it's true. And it- it hurts, seeing you like this."

Jon looks at Martin, really looks for the first time in too long. His eyes, tinged grey from his time in the Lonely, dark circles under his eyes, tight lines at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say, other than, "I love you."

"No, it's-" Martin shakes his head, just a bit. "I love you, too."

It's quiet for a long moment. Martin lays back down on the bed and gestures for Jon to follow him. Which is easy, for Jon to do. The bed isn't warm, but it isn't cold either, in the strange way that things are and aren't right now. But Martin is warm, Jon can feel, with their legs tangled together and foreheads touching.

Jon won't, can't sleep, but laying next to Martin still feels like rest. In a way.

"Martin." Jon doesn't know why he needs to say Martin's name. It's not like there's anyone else he could be talking to, with less than centimeters between them. But the thing he's about to say is so deeply important to him, and it feels like he needs to.

"I'm… glad," God, his vocabulary always escapes him when he has to speak out loud. Talk about his feelings. "That I got to spend time, with you. Time here."

They haven't left. The cabin still stands, doors and windows, squeaky hinges and leaky faucets intact. But it's not the same, never will be as far as Jon can tell. "The weeks that we had, before- I...I don't think I'm lying when I say it's the first time in a long time that I-"

Felt loved? Felt like a person, again?

"...was happy."

Martin smiles, but it shakes like a leaf in the wind. A tear slips from his eye, dripping slowly over the bridge of his nose.

"Me too."

Jon brushes a kiss, feather light between Martin's eyes, catching the tears and hopefully some, any tiny amount of the sorrow that lives in the lines of his face.

"I could have stayed here forever, like that. With- with you. Just…"

"Living?"

"Yes. Living."

It's not the first time Jon's treated himself to the thought, however far fetched, however foolish. A life, a normal, mundane life in the countryside. Maybe with boring jobs, but not a boring life. Not with Martin here. Not with Martin to wake up next to, to fall asleep with, to walk with to the village. Talking about nothing important but committing every detail to memory. That Martin prefers vanilla over chocolate, that he had a pet goldfish named Larry when he was seven, that he loves dandelions even though they're classified as a weed, who gets to decide what a weed is, anyway, right, Jon?

"The walk to the village is a bit much, but we could manage." Martin's voice is thick. "The shopkeeper already recognizes us."

The mention of a person outside their wooden refuge pulls knowledge unprompted from Jon's mind. He doesn't have the heart to tell Martin she's currently walking through endless identical corridors with identical doors leading nowhere. The lights above her flicker just so, and she swears she sees something out of the corner of her eye, but she turns and there's only off-white walls and beige doors and the sound of footsteps quickening in threatening cadence towards her-

Jon doesn't mean to drift again. But Martin's voice brings him back. Like it always will.

"Plus, we get to see good cows on the way, so it's worth it."

Jon pushes the thoughts away, and smiles. "I suppose you're right." After a breath, he goes on. "Less food to carry from the store if we have a garden."

"Jonathan Sims, a green thumb?"

Jon bristles at the not-quite accusation, but it doesn't quite reach his voice. Too much energy that he doesn't have. "Well, no, not yet. But I always thought it would be nice, to have a garden. I can learn."

"It would be." Martin slips into sincerity so easily. "I'm sure you would grow lovely vegetables."

"And spices, for cooking."

"Of course." Martin sighs, quiet, fond. "A man that can garden and cook, what could I possibly bring to the table?"

"Everything." Jon blurts out without thinking, and stands by it like a beach umbrella buried in the sand. "You're… you're better with your hands, than I am. Like, the door hinge you fixed when we first got here."

"That's not exactly master carpentry, Jon-"

"It doesn't need to be." Jon doesn't give him time to retort. "And your embroidery. It's- it's good, we'll hang it up on the walls and you can teach me how to do it."

Jon already learned embroidery once, technically, from his grandmother. But she had always grown impatient with his impatience, quick to scold him for fidgeting and rushing his stitches. Like it was an exam he was actively failing instead of something you do for fun. It wasn't all bad, not really, but Jon imagines relearning long-forgotten movements under Martin's hand and smile, and it makes him want to buy every spool of thread, every needle he can get his hands on.

"Of course." Martin replies. "We could put up other pictures, too. I've actually- I've, uh, always wanted to get into photography."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Not for any, real reason, I suppose. Just… seems like it would be fun."

I love you I love you I-

"That sounds like a reason to me."

They go on a bit longer, about pets ( at least one cat, and apparently a species of lizard that Martin is particularly fond of) and colors to paint the bedroom ( something bright but lively, a light blue, maybe) and mugs to buy from the second hand store ( Martin collects novelty mugs, and Jon files that away for later ). Jon knows it’s terrible of him, selfish to revel in this while the world suffers under the weight of its own choking fear.

Later, they'll talk again. A few times. Later, aching sorrow becomes burning anger and drive and they leave with the bags Martin's already packed. But for now, Jon holds Martin's face, and Martin wraps his arms around Jon's waist. Pulling him close, like a ship docked in harbor. And it feels safe.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma fics #my writing