#(though he’d have to snap a photo and text it to himself)

[fortune-maiden]

Based on Bridon Ep 4, I’m starting to wonder more about how Lu Guang’s powers work

He took a photo of CXS and was apparently able to keep an eye on him through that

But doesn’t that raise some questions about the “12 hours into the future” that LG can see? He took the photo so wouldn’t it make more sense that he could see 12 hours into the photographer’s future? It would explain why he followed CXS to the pub rather than watch from the hotel room, but somehow it also looked like he was able to know exactly what CXS was doing in the pub so he knew the exact moment to call and summon him back

Is he just able to zoom in on the particulars as long as he’s physically present in/within some short radius of the location?

[bcksbarnes]

some assembly required

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: you move into a new apartment and need bucky to help build a piece of furniture

word count: 1.2K

genre: fluff, laughing!bucky

a/n: trying to get back into writing so enjoy this little one shot

“There you are.” You huff as the door swings open. Bucky stands on the other side, his arms crossed over his chest as if he’s been inconvenienced by waiting for you to answer. 

“You told me to be here at eight, i’m five minutes early.” He mutters, shaking his head as he drops his arms to his side, his hands resting on his hips. “Do you need my help or not?” 

You can tell he’s joking, and you roll your eyes dramatically, making sure he sees the smile on your face as you take a step back so he can walk through the door and into your apartment.  

It was fate that you found this place a few weeks ago, a new apartment, a new start, but the moving process has been slow. Finding time to unpack and decorate between working has been a total nightmare and the mere thought of taking time to put together furniture has your head in a tizzy. That’s how you roped Bucky into helping you. A few texts and a few pouting photos was enough for him to reluctantly agree. 

“Did you bring the tools?” You ask as you lead him further into the apartment near where your couch was.  

“Who moves into an apartment without tools?” Bucky asks as he holds up the toolbox you had requested. “You’re an adult, you should own these things.” 

“And miss out on quality time with you, buck? I don’t think so.” 

You manage to make him roll his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft smile as he does. The two of you were close, closer than he’d ever admit to, and you knew that even without begging Bucky would have been there in an instant to help you out. The begging was just fun. 

The two of you take some time to get everything organized, Bucky mutters some curse words under his breath as he sees how many small pieces there are and how intricate of a job this will actually be. You read the instructions while he places everything into neat piles.  

What’s the worst that could happen? 

Well ... it only takes an hour into building, and a few missing pieces, before you two are bickering with each other. 

“Put your back into it!” Bucky says as you now had the screwdriver while he held a piece of the wood in place. “The screw isn’t going to catch if you keep doing this half-assed.”  

“I’m not doing it half-assed!” You shriek, letting out a breath that blows a piece of hair out of your face. 

“Yes, you are! You’re not even trying. Push harder!” He snaps back, though there’s no real bite to his words. 

You try once again and the screw gives no way, not catching onto anything in both an attempt to mock you as well as make you look like a total idiot in front of him. 

You hear Bucky mutter a give me that before he takes the screw driver from you and begins to screw it in himself. Of course it works when he does it.  

Maybe it’s the way he furrows his brows while he’s deep in concentration, or the way that his biceps pop out of that too tight shirt that he’s wearing but you catch yourself staring at him. It was unfair how attractive he was.  

“You’re staring.” He mutters as he now flips through the instruction manual, a small smile on his face as he does so. 

“I’m admiring. Much different.” 

But, he was right. You were staring.  

There was a complicated history there between the two of you, one that you both liked to ignore in favor of how close of friends you were. In the beginning there was mutual attraction, both of you always finding yourselves standing shoulder to shoulder at events or when your fingers would accidentally brush up against one another's a spark that would light you up from head to toe. It only took one date to realize that it wasn’t exactly what the two of you wanted, though part of you always felt that it was just too formal and that’s what felt wrong. 

A romantic dinner? Not something either of you would have planned but steve had set the whole thing up and neither of you were going to tell him that’s not what you wanted. 

“Admiring?” His voice snaps you back into reality again, your thoughts of him subsiding for a moment. He’s tightening another bolt that you screwed in, obviously deeming it inadequate for his tastes. You can see the smirk on his face and it makes you blush a bit. 

“Shut up.” You mumble standing up to help him, your arms brushing against one another and oddly enough that spark happens once more. You try to ignore it. You really do. There’s just something so warm and inviting about him that you can’t seem to get enough. 

“You’re really bad at this.” Bucky says a while later once the two of you are finally done, both nursing an ice cold beer as you sit on the couch next to each other. “I knew you didn’t have much experience fixing things, i didn't know you’d be totally incapable even with an instruction manual.” 

The two of you laugh at that, the outside of his eyes crinkling softly as he shakes his head thinking back at how frazzled you were. The piece isn’t perfect, the bookcase now pressed up against your wall, but the both of you must admit that you both – well, Bucky – did a great job. 

“You know, if i wanted someone to come over and help me, insult me and drink my beers, i would have just called sam.” 

“But you didn’t.” His eyes trail over your features, a smirk on his face as he holds back a chuckle. “You called me. You’re welcome, princess.” 

You playfully hit his shoulder, shoving it slightly as you let out a laugh, though it doesn’t do much as he doesn’t even flinch. His laugh matches yours, his hand reaching out to grip your wrist and pull you in closer to his side, a smile still on his lips. 

“If i wasn’t here it would have taken you ten hours to finish page one.” His hold isn’t tight, it’s just enough to keep you in place, your eyes searching his face as you both seem to feel the electricity between the two of you. 

“Oh thank you, Bucky barnes, my savior of all things bookcase related.” You tease. 

“You’re welcome.” He repeats himself, pulling you in a bit closer. You can smell the beer on his breath, it’s mixed with the scent of his cologne. “Next time, you’re not allowed to touch anything.” 

“Who said i’m inviting you over for next time?” 

“Me.” He holds up his beer. “As much as i’d love to watch you be an adult and figure this out on your own. My skin is crawling at the idea of you ever holding any of those tools ever again.”  

“You have no faith in me, buck.” 

“Nope.” He shakes his head, taking a sip. “Not even an ounce.” 

You wonder if things would have been different if that date never went the way it did. If it didn’t feel so stuffy and out of character. He releases your wrist and you both sit in silence. Wondering if the bookcase will hold together until the morning and of all the things that could have happened. 

[seungfl0wer]

Seungmin As Your Boyfriend

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Contains Smut 🩷

Did I indulge myself with this? Yes. Could have I written a novel? Yes I stopped myself before it got way too long lol.

-🩵

•Definitely shy when yall first start dating, cute little awkward thing he’d be.

•However after getting close he’s never shutting up now.

•Teasing him about how he went from barely talking or making eye contact.

•To this man who openly flirts with you in public.

•A true menace in disguise.

•Playful teasing all the time.

•But it’s a mutual thing.

•You stutter he’s making fun of you.

•He drops something you’re doing it right back.

•It’s honestly one of those things that makes him love you even more.

•Knowing you two can joke around like this, “you’re an asshole but you’re my asshole.”

•Ya’ll adopting a dog at some point too.

•I don’t make the rules.

•You gotta buy a puppy for your puppy right?

•He loves having you lying in his chest so he can sing to you.

•All cuddled up just listing to his beautiful voice.

•He gets so blushy when you compliment his voice too

•Oh god does he. He’ll try and hide his face but you can see it creep to his ears too.

•And if he’s lying on your lap?

•Play with his hair.

•Please. Just do it. This might be his favorite thing in the world.

•Just lying with you, as you play with his fluffy hair.

•This is his happy place, the place where all his stress disappears.

•He’s honestly just so soft for you.

•He’s so attentive and reads you really well.

•He can tell if you’re having a bad day even before telling him.

•He’ll grab your favorite things to make you feel better.

•He remembers a lot of things you’ve said.

•I feel like he’s that kinda guy that just remembers all the little details about what you like or have told him.

•He’ll stare with those big puppy dog eyes full of love.

•He’s honestly very enamored by you.

•How can someone be so perfect?

•Not to mention how can someone so perfect be his?

•Of course he’ll never admit this.

•Not saying he doesn’t do his share of mushy things.

•But he’s seungmin, he has to end the sweet convos with a dumb comment like “cause I’m the perfect boyfriend duh”

•Likes calm dates.

•Like going for coffee or to book stores.

•Will make forts in the living room to watch movies.

•I feel like he’s also one of those people who sends you flowers while you’re at work.

•Likes to write cute notes on them to get you all blushy at work.

•Probably has you in his phone as something like “My Dummy” or something like that.

•In such a loving way though.

•Also probably has the dumbest nicknames for you.

•His nicknames range from something cute like “puppy” to “my little dumpster fire”

•Hand holding always.

•Will pout when you let go “so what if our hands are sweaty”

•Loves PDA when it makes you all blushy.

•He’ll also do the whole “kiss you to shut you up”

•He really enjoys your kisses.

•Also will never admit how much it melts his heart seeing you in his hoodies.

•He’ll snap cute pictures of you in them.

•Has so many ugly photos of you in a locked folder so you can’t delete him.

•So he can “use them for black mail”

•He’s just a kind soul who’s a little rough around the edges but you are too.

•He’ll always make you feel loved and cared for. You’ll also always know what he says is his true feelings.

•He never sugar coats things and is always honest with you.

︵‿︵‿୨Smut Below୧‿︵‿︵

•This little ass is such a tease.

•Will put his hand on your thigh slowly sliding it up.

•He’ll pull you to his lap, gripping your hips as he pushes himself against you.

•Would definitely send you dirty texts in public to see you get all red.

•Whatever mood he’s in you’re getting a different person in bed.

•Some days he’s more aggressive than others.

•Pushing you up against the wall leaving hickeys all over your neck.

•His hand wrapped around your throat as he teases your sensitiveness.

•When he’s fucking you like this he’s like a dog in heat.

•Multiple rounds until you’re both spent.

•He’d love when you’d scratch his back so deep or bite his shoulder.

•Just a way to show others how good he fucks you.

•He’d definitely be doing the biting back, pulling your hair and spanking you.

•On the other hand he has those lazy days were it’s the most loving sex of your life

•It’s so sensual laying in bed while he’s whispering how much he loves you as he’s thrusting slowly into you.

•Touching your sensitiveness lazily. Just savoring every moment.

•I feel like he’d be a small bit possessive of you.

•So he’d probably say stuff like “You’re all mine” “No one else can make you feel this way”

•He’s more of a talking when it’s rough but the moans and groans he lets out.

•Especially when he’s just lost in you they’re just- beautiful?

•A horn dog honestly.

•Constantly just wants you.

•He’s so damn needy when he’s on tour too.

•Whines about how he needs you cause his hand doesn’t help.

•Aftercare is normally more quiet as he just holds you close kissing you softly.

•Rubbing your body as you both catch your breath.

•A small “you ok?” He’d say and if it’s a yes he just pulls you closer to him.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[cryptfile]

☆ Loveseat, [ Carmen Berzatto AU ]

SUMMARY — After being in a relationship with Carmen, you cannot help but being extra judgemental when it comes to food.

WARNINGS — i’m currently rotting in hell, meaning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, +18 content, there’s a lot of, cursing, choking, praising, dirty talking, mentions of food and eating, hair pulling, fingering.

SIDE NOTES — This is my first post here, so hope you guys like it. English’s not my first language so if there's any mistakes in advance, i’m sorry. Please interact if you like this, reblogs, comments, likes, all means a lot to me! I’ll leave my inbox open so you can suggest more characters! This takes place in an alternative timeline for own my liking, enjoy! x

Lately, Carmen Berzatto was not sure how he managed to get you.

To be completely honest, most of his friends seemed to wonder how he managed to pull the tattooer that adorned his hands with cool designs being that shy, however, when you started texting him photos of your daily food stating it was complete bullshit — He knew he had you in for a long time.

He would explain himself it was something casual at first. A few texts every now and then, swimming between a wave of bad jokes and tension he was sure he was imaging as he read through the texts you send at least twice, then, he would know he’d win you over with food.

Maybe that’s when you became so judgemental at first, after trying the lasagna he made for you after being so tired from working all day long, something else just snapped, even when he was done being near the fire, not even wanting to look at a plate ever again: He managed to spoil you with something good to eat anyways, making you moan in pure pleasure after craving some good food all day.

Of course it was important, can you even blame him?

He was not very vocal about it, hell, it was hard for him to even admit it even after being with you almost six months, but he loved the way you reacted to all his stuff. Even if it was something simple like scrambled eggs or regular pasta with plain butter, it was the way you groaned and grab the spoon licking the silverware clean, showering him with praises after when he was so used to be miserable in the kitchen.

“Open up,” he says before feeding you with the spoon. It was one of those nights where he was trying new stuff at your place, keeping you up till late seated on the kitchen counter close to him as he cooked, opening your mouth just to give an allegedly meaningful critique. “Any thoughts? Feedback?”

It was a wild ride for sure. A turbulent one as you closed your eyes all suddenly, the image burnt on the back of his head when you groaned savoring the taste like it was something else.

“Dunno,” you admit later on, trying to think on anything bad to say — “Need to have another bite before giving an honest answer.”

He smirks in response, repeating the same action just to hear you speak again. Being with you was something similar as his cigarette breaks, escaping from all the stress he usually gets in his life.

Silence again.

“Well fuck, you have me here. Maybe needs some more salt,” you think out loud. Almost trying to say something bad out of force as you knew he wouldn’t stop until he got an brutally honest answer. “The combinations of flavors though is really breathtaking, you outdone yourself this time. Could tattoo this risotto on me, no questions asked.”

Salt? He takes a bite himself almost immediately.

“It doesn’t need any more salt” he replies furrowing his brows in response. “We’ve talked about this sweetheart…”

“You wanted me to be a critique,” you admit almost offended, letting out a light chuckle before stealing the spoon from his hand in one swift movement. “I'm, being indeed, sincere here."

God. It was those moments that made him catch his breath, how the minutes passed slower and everything else seemed to blurry around the two of you. He cannot deny it, cause he loves the snarky responses, the way your mouth wraps around the spoon in a way that made him so devastated at the sight, head spinin’ with the thought of the things he already did to you, the memories that he seems to cherish so deeply.

He cannot stop either when his fingers toy with your hair, the strains sliding smoothly through his fingers. You seemed to enjoy it too, cause it's all it takes to make you forget about the food, leaning into his touch.

"Since when you became my main critique, hm?” he asks, placing himself between your tights as he invaded your space with nothing but pure confidence in his cooking skills. He knew for a fact, it didn't need any more salt. "Made you so spoiled you are a new expert here, baby?"

“Well, it’s your fault anyway" you defend yourself, narrowing your eyes at his words. "You're the one who spoils me rotten, always feeding me nice tasty stuff, keeping me up till’ late trying new things. I’m what you taught me to be, cannot blame for being a good critique. It is what it is."

"So you're blaming me for being a caring partner?" he cannot hold the laugh back, pulling on your hair almost enough to make you look at him. “S’that what you’re implying here?” 

“Would never even dare to” you admit all innocence bitting the inside of your cheek, and Carmen swears you’re doing it just to get in his brain, to control every action in that twisted brain of yours, and he cannot stop himself to fall every time, pulling on your hair slightly rougher this time as he towers over you. “Just implying that you’ll ruin food for me forever if we keep this up.” 

“Not seeing what’s the problem with that” he simply replies as he stared at your expression, how the simple act of your head tilted backwards made his blood boil, the exposed skin of your neck pulling him like the polar opposite of a magnet as he looks down at you — “Don’t really care.”

He’s clearly enjoying that. The sudden proximity as his left hand travels through your side, gripping onto your tight as he gives a light squeeze, tracing invisible patterns against your warm skin that contrasts so much to the chef’s usual cold hands. 

He cannot possibly have enough of you as you melt into his touch, in the very edge of turning into a mad man as he grabs a fistful of your hair to pull you in a demanding kiss, tongue-tracing over your lower lip, almost asking for a formal invitation to finally invade you, his breathing colliding against your skin, holding you in place as he suffers from a burst of pure adrenaline. 

His hands betray him in no time, drawn by the sounds you make when he’s nibbling on that nice curve on your neck, allowing his hand to glide over your soft skin just to end up in your inner tights, fingertips just barely touching as he just watches over you, the sight of you being just enough, that nice smell on your skin when he kisses your neck, your perfume being all around him… it’s getting to him.

He quickly becomes all so vocal, when he’s finally reaching the fabric of your shorts and his touch leaves a burnt sensation behind, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears.

“Gonna’ ruin it f’ya, baby” he says in a low voice — “Looking s’hot all bothered already just for a few kisses, cannot help but spoil m’girl.” 

Of course he fucking loves it. He loves how he knows exactly how to make a mess out of you, touching just the right places, concentrated in your pleasure as he drags the velvety fabric of your shorts to the side, making you crave the touch of his fingertips before finally slide them beneath the fabric of your underwear, lips parted as he finally touches your entrance, taking his time with you.

“God, you’re so wet f’me already, so damn warm” he says in a low whisper, making you talk in between your erratic breathing words that don’t seem to mean anything.

It’s so good. The frantic feeling washing over him as his fingers move in circles over your clit, the almost unnoticible wet sounds filling the air of the kitchen as he places soft kisses in that very spot where your shoulder meet the curvature of your neck. He just knows exactly what he’s doing. How to get under your skin, how to make you run out of breath, and he simply grew attached to it, to the way your skin feels so smooth against his fingers and you act up minutes before beggin’ for more.

And when he finally buries two digits in your cunt — God fucking damn.

He cannot keep the facade, blue eyes drinking the sight of you in as you moan, hips moving against his palm watching how his fingers dissapeared in you, pumping slowly at first, enjoying the way your walls wraps around his fingers, the words that came out of your opened mouth in pure desperation.

“Bear,” you would say in an unsteady breathing “O-oh fuck yes, yes baby, please don’t stop, please-”

The hand who pulled your hair before now tightens around your throat, and he can see you smiling like you’re in fucking paradise before he presses against that nice spot in the side of her neck, cutting the suministration of air to your lungs slightly. Always so eager, making him try new things together even when he was used to an relatively calm, almost non-existant sex life when all his focus was on the restaurant, insisting on trying new things that he end up loving.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me, taking me so s’good” he praises you for a moment, obliging you to look at him when he talks “Lettin’ my fingers fill you up like this, a mess already.”

“That’s it baby, move those pretty hips, need you to keep fuckin’ y’self.”

Lewd sounds, his tight grip on your neck, your hips arching to find that perfect place for him to hit and it’s all it takes for the chef to bring you closer and closer to the edge, fingers curling inside your soaked cunt, moaned sentences that in his ear are only adding up fuel to keep flexing his muscles for you, to keep on stimulating you.

“Gonna cum,” you let him know, but he’s quickly shaking his head in disapproval — “Carm, please, need to-”

“You can hold a little longer, princess” he coos, his grip on your throat almost making you stop breathing completely. Fuck. Your vision becomes dizzy, and for Carmen, the view is nothing but pure delight in front of him. Your shirt raised over your stomach, you pretty little face all disorted thanks to the thrill, parted legs just to give him more space to work with, fighting for some air. He’s so damn greedy about it, knowing he’s the only person who can get you like that. “Hm, stop squeezing me like that baby.”

He chuckles lightly, your hands gripping into the edge of the counter, raising one leg over the table as you try to do what you’re told, to please him every single time. He’s torturing you, and you cannot blame him cause you made him like that, just like he spoiled you with food. All those times whimpering in his bedsheets, asking all shy if he can choke you while pounding into your cunt, cheeks red while riding him, whispering things about how thick he feels inside, how he’s stretching you out so nicely, made him confident enough to know exactly what you like.

Carmen Berzatto is a caring boyfriend after all.

“S’okay, sweetheart” he says moments after, placing soft kisses on your face, your skin glimmering against the lights of your kitchen, a light layer of sweat as you closed your eyes tightly — “Cum baby, let me feel you” he talks you through it, words coming to his mouth so easily now, the sound of his tone so raspy it makes you arch your back as you finally let yourself go, riding the orgasm and making it last as long as you can, your own pleasure being your only priority as his digits bury themselves in your cunt, pressing against your neck to make it more difficult for you, to fill your eyes with tears as you loudly moan his name.

He holds you place, the mess he made out of you in such short time, eyes following the way your body shakes in the glimpse of ecstasy, fingers still pumping inside you but at a much slower pace, knowing you’d be sensitive now, lips swollen, messy hair and ruined mascara.

“Willing to admit now i’m right?” he ask in a low voice, letting you breathe as he was still afected by you — “That it doesn’t need any more salt, smartass?”

You hum in response, chuckling at his stubborn remark, your hands gripping into his arm just to dig your nails in his tattooed skin, almost begging him to let you breathe a second.

“Get up,” he says, not harshly enough to be a command, but instead, a plea. “Bend over the counter baby. M’not done with you yet.”

And even being so sensitive, you cannot help but comply, looking at your boyfriend through half-lidded eyes cause yeah, he made you a spoiled brat in terms of food, but you have definitely broke something else when it came to the intimacy he was now into.

Or maybe you just loved being his main critique.

[darnell-la]

𝗔 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗢 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬 (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ)

pairing: the worst!logan howlett x wade’s goddaughter!reader

warning: ghosted, crying, mention of alcohol, Wade getting mad, fighting another mutant, SEXUAL ASSAULT, etc.

summary: Logan tried ignoring y/n, afraid something would happen to her like the rest of the people he cared about. That was until Wade told him about the man she was afraid of. The man who would do anything to hurt her.

After seeing the sight before him when he went to get y/n, he was crushed. That man needed to die, and Logan was going to make that happen.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

Logan has been away for thirty minutes, thinking about what he just got himself into, and what he’s gotten y/n into.

He truly believes that he is cursed and there’s no saving him. Even if he was cursed, it was just the devil's luck that everyone he loved died. Karma is also on the way for what he’s done.

He didn’t want you y/n to know what kind of person he was, even though that was just a one-time thing. He didn’t mean it, but he was just so angry. They killed his family, and he wasn’t just going to walk away.

Logan slowly got out of bed so he wouldn’t wake y/n up. He wanted her to get a good rest before she started her day.

Logan looked around the room until he found a mirror. He slowly walked up to it, getting a look of himself. He hasn’t looked at himself in the mirror since that day. He couldn’t deal with it.

He scanned his body, surprised at the work he’s got on him, even though he hadn’t gone to work until Wade picked him up.

The man smiled to himself, feeling great that he could look good for someone like someone. At her age, she might not want a sloppy Joe. She’d want a Logan Howlett, old but can fuck her on the wall.

The man soon stopped himself, feeling like he was smiling too early. What if y/n just wanted a one-night stand? What if the Wolverine she was crushing on is way different than him?

Does he deserve to settle down? Would the people's family members he’s killed accept this? Would you accept what he did?

Logan’s thoughts were all over the place. He could stay here. The man quickly put his clothes back on and left, making sure she didn’t wake up to the sight of him leaving.

A couple hours later, y/n woke up. She had almost forgotten what happened last night until she felt the dent right next to her, in her mattress.

Y/n smiled to herself, already missing his presence. He was so good at what he did. She felt safer than she’d ever felt. He truly is a hero.

It’s been a week since Logan has talked to y/n. Wade had given him a flip phone a few days ago with his hand y/n’s number in it for emergency contact, but he never reached out. Y/n did, but he hung up. He didn’t ignore it, he hung up.

Every day when y/n woke up, she looked straight at her phone, hoping Logan had texted or something, but he never did. Her smiles always faded and stayed faded for the rest of the day.

“Are you going to Max’s party tonight or no? I know you two don’t really — get along,” Y/n’s friend asked after she sat down at the cafeteria table she always sits at.

“Don’t want to, but I might have to,” she said, knowing Max would text her about it later today. “Why have to?” Carla, her friend asked, making y/n snap out of her memories of her and him.

“Oh, nothing, just- Because I want to party,” y/n switched how she presented herself so she wouldn't alarm her friend. She didn’t want anyone to worry. This was her problem. No one else.

Skip to the nighttime, y/n had gotten a text from Max, demanding her to show up at the party. She wanted to argue and tell him she was not coming, but she knew what would happen if she didn’t.

She’s exposed her, and while he did, he’d take whatever else he wanted from her. He was evil, but she was the only one who knew that.

As y/n got dressed, she got a call. She jumped on her bed to see who it was, hoping it was Logan, but it wasn’t. It was Wade. “Fuckin’ hell,” she sighed.

“What, Wade?” Y/n asked, annoyed. “So, how have you been?” Wade asked, starting a boring conversation, so y/n put him on speaker and continued. “Same old, Wade. What do you want?” She asked, making him giggle.

“Wanted to ask how you and Logan get along. Kinda needa make him some new friend, ain’t that right, peanut?” Wade talked to the man like a puppy.

“Wait, he’s with you? A-Are you on speaker?” She asked, feeling her heart pound. “No, of course not. Privacy matters,” the man spoke as he winked at Logan, totally on speaker.

“Oh, well — I don’t think me and him are going to work. Like friend wise,” y/n said. She wanted to be more than friends, but he ghosted her after they had sex. The best sex she’s had in her life. She can’t put that all behind her.

“What!? Why!?” He asked as Logan stood up quickly, wanting to say something, but Wade stopped him. “I-I don’t know,” y/n lied and Wade knew it. He hoped the man didn’t yell at her or make her cry.

“Look- I gotta go to a party, so, uh, please just- Don’t try to fix my life,” y/n said. “What are you talking about? Wait- Are you going over to his house again!? Y/n, we talked about this,” Wade got serious, and Logan has never seen that from him.

“You know him, Wade. I-If I don’t go, he’ll tell everyone and then I can’t live a normal life. That’s all I want. A normal life,” y/n’s eyes began to burn.

“It’s 2024, y/n — People will accept-“ Wade tried saying. “No, they won’t!” She yelled. Wade could hear the change in her tone, so he let it go. “I-I’ll call later,” she said before she hung up.

“The fuck was that about?” Logan asked. “It’s a long story that I can’t tell,” Wade said as he leaned back on the couch. “What!? But you had her on speaker when you told her she wasn’t. What’s the big deal about telling me when she’s not even here?”

“Look- It’s different, peanut. My baby girl has been through a lot, and it’s not to easy make this guy go away,” Wade grabbed the remote to his TV to turn it on and watch some kind of cartoon.

“Woah, and — The fuck did you do to make her not wanna be friends? God, you’re so fuckin’ hard to deal with. Always lashing out like the big ole beast you are,” Wade rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t do anything — I just left before I could hurt her,” he said. “What?” Wade looked up at the man who was standing in front of him. He was confused until it finally dinged in his head.

“Y’all fucked!?” Wade jumped on his couch as he shouted. “Oh god,” Logan rolled his eyes as he walked back to the small couch he’s always on and flopped down.

“You do! You dirty little gribble. God fuckin- Fuck! You’re a fuckin’ dumbass,” Wade couldn’t stop rambling. “Heard that before,” Logan said as he grabbed his half-empty beer before chugging it down, thinking about how much of an asshole he is.

“You can’t just fuck a girl- Especially a college girl, then leave! You like- Dude, you broke her heart!” Wade grabbed his head, stressed that Logan could fuck up this bad.

“Well, clearly I didn’t even she was heading over to another man’s house that she’s clearly not supposed to be with,” he was jealous. Once she mentioned a dude, Logan’s blood boiled. She moved on so fast.

“You dumb bitch — He’s abusive! He’s making her go over there!” Wade yelled at the man. “What?” Logan asked as he placed his bottle down. “Why would she go over there if he’s abusive?”

“Oh, well maybe because he’s a mutant, and would kill her if she didn’t. Or expose her which I think she’d rather die than let people know she’s one too,” Wade said then covered his mouth. He fucked up.

“She’s a mutant?” Logan asked with a soft voice. One of his worries was that she’d never understand him, or die years before he would somehow grow old.

“Fuck it, let’s go. I got the Wolverine now so we have a ninety-nine point ninety percent of winning, but that point 1 percent can fuck us,”

Wade and Logan quickly rushed out of the apartment and rushed over to Max’s house, not knowing there was going to be a huge party.

“Who the fuck is this kid?” Logan asked as they got out of Wade’s car. “He ain’t no kid — Bro has been awhile for almost as long as you. He just looks like he’s in his late twenties,”

“He’s a strong mutant or what?” Logan asked, not really caring what he was. He was still going to kill him for doing the things Wade told him he’d done. He’s sick.

Wade told the story of how y/n came back up bleeding everywhere. Even from her legs. The sick man has been trying to trap her with kids for the past couple of years after he found out she was a mutant himself.

He wanted to rule, and he needed a family to do that. Y/n was one of the strongest mutants he’s seen, and he’s one of the strongest mutants Y/n has seen. She’s too afraid to fight him. He made sure of that.

“You call y/n?” Logan asked as he pulled his flip phone out. “Yeah, but she’s not answering,” Wade said as the two walked towards the home and inside, ears instantly ringing from how loud the music was. “She ain’t answering me either,” Logan said.

Y/n was currently in Max’s room, laid out and drugged. Some days he’d want a fight while the others, he just wanted it to be relaxing.

Y/n could barely move, but she could see everything clearly. Even though her head was spinning, she could see Logan calling her phone.

It was so close. Her hands were so close to it, but her body was weak.

“Who’s this?” Max asked as he picked up her phone, making her sigh. “Hm?” he turned the phone to her face, showing the calling picture being Logan when he was knocked out the night that had sex.

“No one,” y/n got out with a struggle. “No one, huh? Well, that looks like the Wolverine, and last time I checked, he died,” Max said before he hung up and tossed her phone to the side.

“Don’t make me ask again, y/n,” Max threatened as he looked down at her. “N-No one,” she said, not wanting to put Logan in danger after he clearly wanted nothing to do with her.

Max laughed low as he took his shirt off and leaned over her body, his waist coming up and between her legs to spread her enough for him.

“Once I find out who he is, I’m going to kill him — Slowly,” Max added as her head moved side to side, begging him not to. “And I see he’s shirtless — On your sheets, so I’m going to do all of it in front of you while I show him who you belong,”

Y/n sobbed at the thought of him hurting someone because of her, again. He was evil.

“She’s not down here,” Logan said, feeling his heart raise. “Upstairs,” Wade spoke before running up the stairs to search every single room. The house was big, but that was their least concern.

“Always so tight for me. You sure you don’t want this? If you just give in, we could have a perfect and happy family,” he was insane, and she wanted no part of it.

“Y/n!” Logan’s voice could be heard down the hall. Max looked up, knowing he’d heard that voice before. “Y/n!?” He yelled again, making Max look down at her with a smirk.

“So, that is the Wolverine? Fuuck, y/n — You really outdid yourself. You think getting with another mutant will keep him alive?” Max slapped the girl across her face before pulling out and throwing her off of his bed.

Y/n struggled but moved her panties back in place before curling up on the floor. She didn’t know what was going to happen. She couldn’t watch.

Max fixed himself up and looked at the door, waiting for it to burst open until it did. There he was — with a friend.

“Deadpool and the Wolverine — Well, isn’t this new,” Max said, but Logan wasn’t focused on him. The man was looking around for y/n until his eyes landed on her. She was in her bra and panties. What Wade said was right…

“You young son of a bitch,” Logan had charged at him, and though Max hasn’t gone against a mutant like Logan, he was lasting a long time. A little too long which scared y/n.

“Let’s get outta here,” Wade picked y/n up to her feet but she instantly fell down. “Fuck- Did he drug you?” He asked and earned a nod. “Fuck!” He said, about to pick her up until he was tackled.

Logan was on the ground, head spinning from the beating he just took from Max, but he wasn’t done. Logan went to charge at the man with his claws out until he saw y/n, still laid out on the floor.

“Y/n?” Logan ran up to the girl, quickly trying to pull her up. “We need to go,” he said but noticed her body was slumped. “He fuckin’ drugged you?” Logan asked, earning a nod just like Wade.

It took everything for Logan not to attack Max. He had other things to do, and Wade handled Max just fine for now with his jokes and fake yells.

Logan was able to sneak out without Max noticing. Some people at the party looked at the man carrying her but paid no attention to it. They only double-checked because she was half-naked.

He made it out of the party and into Wade’s car. He was thinking about driving off until Wade was thrown through the third-floor glass, right next to the car.

“God- Fuck! Fuck, that motherfuckers strong,” Wade groaned as he got up, cracking his leg and arms back in the right spot. He looked to the side to see Logan and y/n lying in the back of his car.

“Get on the car motherfucker!” Logan yelled on the driver's side right before Wade jumped through the passenger side window that was rolled down.

As Logan stomped on the metal and took off, he looked back seeing Max standing in his room that he threw Wade out of.

Y/n was currently sound asleep next to Logan. They’re back at Wade’s apartment. Logan had taken her to bed so she could rest. She didn’t need to go to school tomorrow. He didn’t want her out anywhere until they dealt with Max.

“Next time we see him, we end him,” Logan said, laying on his bed and looking up at Wade who was standing in the door frame. Wade came to say the same. Y/n didn’t need to live a life like this just to be normal.

“All he is, is you without the claws. He regenerates, is fast, grunts a lot, and growls,” Wade had to say something funny. “If we give him around all, we’ve got a chance,”

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Changes Hurt

John muses about how different his life would have been if he’d only followed his instincts thirteen years ago. He clutches his hand over his heart. It aches. The pain is just as familiar as his other discomforts; his star-shaped scar, which can be forgotten for weeks, but then the weather changes, and the throbbing pain returns full force. As if it wants to make up for its absence. And then, the most infuriation of the three, his leg. After he and Rosie left London, John has never been without his cane.

Rosie greets him cheerfully, and John’s heart hurts like it’s been stabbed with a knife. What he’s about to tell her, is not going to be pleasant. 

“Sherlock says hello,” Rosie says, looking expectantly and a bit snooty at her father.

“How is he?” John manages.

His eyes sting with unshed tears, but he needs to be firm now. Their future depends on it, though he knows an upcoming catastrophe when he sees one.

“Same as usual. Missing you. Us.”

Her jaw tightens, and she cocks her head in defiance.

“I know, love,” John sighs. “Sit down, please. I need to talk to you. About our situation.”

“What situation? Are you planning to move back to London? You know how much I loathe this place, and – “

“Please, Rosie.”

This is worse than he feared. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable outburst.

“I’ve been offered another job. Better paid, which is preferable. It’s not like we’re rolling in dough here,” he chuckles.

The blank stare Rosie gives him, makes him blush.

“So, yeah, we are moving, but not to London.”

“Where?”

Her tone is dangerously calm. It’s a tone he’s used himself numerous times. As a captain in the army, and while berating Sherlock, or the Yarders for calling his best friend – 

“Dad!”

He’s lost himself in the memories of a happier life. A life where…no, he can’t go there now. Needs to focus.

“Edinburgh. It’s a great – “

“What? But that’s miles away. I can’t visit Sher – “

“You can visit, just not as often as every other week,” John says softly.

“I hate you!” she yells and runs from the room.

“No, you don’t sweetheart,” John whispers, as tears roll down his cheeks and his heart breaks.

The front door slams so hard behind his daughter, that the picture hanging on the wall beside it falls to the floor, shattering the glass. It’s a photo of Rosie as a toddler. Only John knows who snapped the picture. The man living alone in 221B Baker Street.

***

John has texted Rosie for hours, but she doesn’t reply, and when he calls, an automatic voice tells him the device is turned off.

He starts to call her friends, but no one has seen her. To be expected. John is just stalling. He knows where she is. 

John never had the heart to pull Rosie away from the people she loves back in London. After all, quite a few of them are her godparents. Molly, Mrs Hudson, Sherlock. The latter was the only one who didn’t chastise him for leaving Baker Street. Both women were livid, and Greg tried to talk some sense into him, but he was determined. And stubborn. 

After the disaster with Eurus, John decided that a life in Sherlock’s orbit was too dangerous. His daughter deserved to keep her only living parent at her side. Sherlock hadn’t even pleaded with him, but said he understood. It had been uttered quietly, but it roared loudly inside John’s head for weeks afterwards. He knew it was a lie. Over the years, John had grown more astute, and could tell when Sherlock was shamming. The pain in those cerulean eyes before he turned away from John, contradicted his statement like a neon sign. John broke Sherlock’s heart that day, and his own heart cracked so thoroughly it was almost audible. It was the most excruciating pain John had ever felt.

***

Please tell me Rosie is with you.

On a case. She left hours ago. SH.

John called Mrs Hudson.

“She isn’t here, John,” his former landlady informed him.

It stung a little that she’d stopped calling him “dear”. His own fault of course.

“Thank you, Mrs Hudson,” he said and hung up.

Molly hadn’t seen Rosie since last week. She tried to comfort him by saying she’d probably just gone for a walk.

“Just like you did. Before…”

John’s heart broke a little more. It was nothing for it. He – 

What’s happened? Have you found her? SH

We had a row. Said she hated me. Ran out. Phone’s turned off.

She doesn’t hate you, John. SH

No, but she was in quite a state. 

I’ll contact my network. They’ll keep an eye out. Mycroft too. We will find her, John. SH

John sobs like he hasn’t done since the day he left London. Sherlock’s assurance is like balm. He’s missed him more than anything. They haven’t texted in ages. Not after Rosie got old enough to arrange their meetings herself. 

He continues to text her, despite his knowledge that they won’t reach her since her phone is turned off. But he needs to do something.

“How about getting your stubborn arse on the next train from this godforsaken place, and come to London, old man.”

It’s unnerving to hear his daughter’s voice in his head. There’s only been one other person who’s invaded his mind like this: Sherlock.

***

The quiet truth is this: John has missed London and his best friend like an amputated limb. How could he ever think his life would be whole without living in a flat in central London; the only place that’s felt like home.

John runs towards the gigantic statue at St Pancras – The Meeting Place, his cane forgotten. A bit to the side, away from the tourists wanting to take selfies, two people stand close together. A tall man in a luxurious coat, and a teenage girl who clings to the man, her face buried in the woollen fabric.

John’s heart quickens its pace. He feels alive. It’s time to move. Back home to 221B.

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

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[ant0nsfirstluv]

Riize Romantic Headcanons (2)

A/N: part twooo of my last posts + expanding on certain headcanons ♾���

Warnings: None

More under the cut

Shotaro:

lovesss to hype you, if you ever posted on insta he’d comment so much, repost it on his personal story, text you about how pretty you looked

he’d shamelessly compliment you so often, literally he’d see you for the first time in the day and would just shower you in so much praise and affection

always. taking. photos of you just for him to look at while he’s away or just because you look so goodt

Sends you video clips of him dancing and gets all smiley when you compliment him even though he knowsss he did good

holds you on his back especially if you two have been walking for a while and want to take a break

aggressively supportive !!! literally cheers you on no matter what interest or hobby you decide to take on

Thanks you allll the time and gives you a small kiss each time he does, you could literally just hand him a tissue and he’d be “thank youu 😙”

The least conflicts could ever happen with him tbsh, even if there was a disagreement between you two he’s level headed enough to where you two will somehow someway find a solution

Eunseok:

doesn’t have a specific nickname for you because he’ll just call you his “little [insert random thing]” or “my [insert random thing]

I like to think he’d call you his flower but that’s just me 🌚 leave it up to your imagination

messes with your hair often, sometimes he’ll literally just wordlessly play with it until you snap him back into reality

verrry sudden compliments, out of nowhere he’ll drop the most sweet blush inducing compliment ever and then go back to being stone or messing with you 😭

randomly appears at your house without saying anything, you’d literally be walking around your home and he would just walk in like “hey 🙋”

you two will be in the same place and he’ll still text/facetime you instead of just walking to where you are to tell/show you what he needs to say

he loves staying in with you even if you two do practically nothing he’d be fine with you on his lap while watching tv and snacking

protective but in a very calm sense. helps you avoid things he knows you’re particularly uncomfy with or just borderline keeps you out of harms way by being right by you

Sungchan:

has soft launched you two like 5 million times everybody knows you two are together atp he is NOT slick bro 😭

as I said in the last post he loves kissing your face and I feel like he’d wake you up by giving you some kisses on your cheek while whispering your name

eating together is a must he will literally just text and ask to eat together at your fave restaurant just because and let’s you order wtv you want

has his hands on you in someee type of way literally he finds a way or reason to touch you no matter what he just can’t keep his hands to himself ☹️

would buy matching or similar gym wear for you two if you ever do or want to come to the gym with him, ugh the matching sets would be SO CUTE

will literally have you sit on his back while he does push-ups or see how many times he can squat while holding you

alwaysss reminiscing about moments between you two throughout the relationship the amount of cute convos that happened because of him starting with “babe do you remember when…”

loves being praised by you like your compliments literally make his whole entire day PLEASE DO ! send him sweet motivational goodmorning texts

Wonbin:

let’s keep it real for a moment…he would most definitely call you his pretty girl

has his moments of just staring/adoring you, whether you two are on opposite sides of the room or if he’s right by you while you’re doing something

if you guys don’t know, wonbin has mentioned that he has a habit of doing things 7 times in a row, so ofc in my mind,, he probably kisses you 7 times before you leave his place :( or before you gts

there’s been so many times where he’d be hanging out with the members and will just DISAPPEAR as soon as you ask to hang out, the members will ask where he went and he’s already at your house 😭

if someone made you even slightly visibly uncomfortable or upset he would glare at them until they went/looked away

if a girl tried getting his number or something he’d probably blankly look at them for a good…3 seconds and then just “no 🫤”

no matter where you’re laying down he’ll curl up right next to you or on top of you and he lovesss taking a nap with you

absolutely geeks when you two accidentally match or wear similar outfits he will find out what you’re gonna wear just so he can secretly wear the same thing 🌚

would paint a nail with your initial 🌚 but would get sooo shy when anybody outside of the members asked what the letter meant LOL

Seunghan:

you could be wearing… a plastic bag…and he’ll still be like “you’re so beautiful” like man hello

touching your face is a habit of his, he’ll literally be smiling down at you while stroking your cheek and jawline with his thumb and pointer

whenever you sit on his lap while he’s gaming whenever he has a free hand he’ll take advantage of it to stroke your back or squish your face for a kiss

loves to hear your voice..will call you literally just to hear it you don’t even have to be directly talking to him as long as he can hear you

you’ll be sitting down with the members and he’ll get a tiny bit jealous once you laugh at eunseoks joke a little too hard and he’ll run by, pick you up and run off with you

helps you with your hair whenever you’re struggling with it, as long as you guide him and give him instructions he’ll try his best !!!

I’m sorry but if you ever were irritated or grumpy and accidentally let it slip while with him he’d grab your face and kiss you to shush you 😭

he eats up whenever you’re shy he relishes in it so much he can’t help but want to watch you look away because you can’t keep eye contact

wouldn’t let you be insecure in the slightest you could literally have just woken up lips dry face puffy and he’ll still make you feel so pretty

Sohee:

likes to cuddle with him laying back and you on top of him resting your head in the crook of his neck while he draws patters into your back :(

whenever he tells you goodmorning he always gives you a hug with a good squeeeeze and a quick kiss on your nose or cheek

trust he likes to be babied and spoiled but sometimes he wants to be the gentleman for you too like let him take care of you and nurture you okayyy 💔

sohee’s cute demeanor can make him seem like he’d be shy which could be the case but I can see him being bold or more straightforward when it comes to his affections towards you

like he’ll ask YOU out, he’ll ask if he could kiss you for the first time, he’ll hug you, hold your hand, and ask you on a date first

gloats about you to everyone, the members included, as soon as you post yourself on your story he’s quick to say “ugh my gf is so pretty guys look look look” while mushing his phone in their faces

he is soooo sweet and truly so lovely..but sometimes…you will be a victim of the sassy man apocalypse while you’re with him I’m sorry LMFAOO

like if you forgot to text him before you got back home or if you fell asleep forgetting to call him before you did he’d be so quick to text you “I see how it is 🙄”

or he’d avoid kissing you but as soon as you give up trying to kiss him he’d be SO quick to switch up wanting a kiss IMMEDIATELY begging you for one

Anton:

he would most definitely see cute pics of two animals like some ducks or rabbits snuggling together and will text it to you and be like “us”

hugs from behinddd allll the timeeee even if you two are just standing there he’ll hold onto you from behind and rest his head on your shoulder

pretends to bite you, especially on your shoulder but if he ever did accidentally actually bite you he’d make it up by putting a small peck wherever he did it

kisses your hand and down your forearm because he just likes to tbsh

has you do the most foolish tiktoks with him and yes you guys will have like 300 drafts and yes he makes you two do like 12 takes 😭😭

particular compliments, will call you gorgeous overall but has moments where he tells you a certain color makes you look radiant or when your hair looks extra good

spoils you to oblivion, you have a wishlist frm your fave clothing brand you say 🤔 BOUGHT, he sees some cute matching couple necklaces..SOLD ! you lost your favorite makeup brushes ? HERES SOME NEW ONES !

whenever he flirts and starts getting bold he’ll fold so quick like he’ll build up his courage to be super straight forward but will literally crumble and be a tad bit embarrassed later especially if you repeat what he said LMFAOO

[kikimurphys]

Behind Closed Doors (Part 25)

Warnings: None

Happy late valentines 💌

You were at the park when the news reached you. Walking had become your solace, easing your back pain and giving you a rare moment of peace.

Your phone buzzed—a text from Livvy, followed immediately by a call.

"Hello?" you answered cheerfully, happy to hear from her after so long.

"Have you seen it? It’s everywhere," she said bluntly.

"What are you talking about?" You chuckled, confused.

"Check what I sent you," she urged, her voice tight with urgency.

Rolling your eyes, you unlocked your phone. A flood of unread messages awaited you, but it was the link from Livvy that caught your attention.

You clicked it. And then you saw it.

Your pregnancy had been leaked.

Twitter was flooded with pictures of you and Cillian, taken just weeks after you’d returned to work. The headline was damning, paired with claims from an unnamed insider. According to them, you and Cillian had been having an affair during the filming of Peaky Blinders, that you were now pregnant with his child, and that his divorce had been because of you.

The photos told their own story—one of you walking, your baby bump on full display, and another, far more intimate: you standing on your tiptoes, kissing Cillian.

Your stomach dropped.

“I gotta go,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N, wait—”

But you didn’t. You hung up, shoving your phone into your pocket as your feet carried you forward, your mind racing faster than your steps.

Cillian had asked you to move in with him, and though you’d been hesitant—reluctant to completely give up your own space—you had been staying with him more often than not. And now, without thinking, you found yourself heading straight to his flat.

The sky had darkened, and as if the universe itself had decided to mirror your unraveling emotions, the rain began to fall. Light at first, then heavier, soaking through your clothes, your hair clinging to your face. But you didn’t care. You barely even noticed.

This was exactly what you had feared.

Not just the invasion of your privacy, not just the comments dissecting your life, your choices, your body. But what it would do to him. To Cillian. To his career and his image. You felt responsible. Anxiety was heavy on your chest and your mind was racing with possible situations. You weren't sure why you were anxious but it just kept growing.

By the time you reached his building, your hands were shaking as you searched inside your purse for your keys. You slid one into the lock, turning it—only to realize it wouldn’t budge. Locked. He wasn’t home yet.

You let out a shaky breath and let yourself in, peeling off your soaked boots and coat before hanging them by the door. The apartment was quiet, dim. You reached for the light switch, and the second it flicked on, the Christmas tree illuminated the room in a soft, warm glow.

A few days ago, you’d convinced him to let you get a tree, something to make the place feel more festive, more like a home to him. You had strung up the lights, laughing as he’d grumbled about how unnecessary it was, though the small smile on his face had told you he didn’t mind.

Shivering, you walked over to turn the heat up before collapsing onto the couch. A drop of water landed on your hand, and only then did you realize just how drenched you were. You grabbed a towel from the bathroom, roughly drying your hair before sinking back into the cushions, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Then, the sound of keys jingling snapped you out of your daze.

You heard the front door unlock, the familiar rustling as he shrugged off his coat.

“Feckin’ pouring outside,” he muttered to himself. you kept on with your task. not reacting.

he walked into the lounge and took in your drenched form.

“You got caught in it?” he mocked lightly, stepping closer. But you still didn’t react.

His brows furrowed as he sat down beside you. “Y/N?” His voice softened. “You okay?”

You inhaled sharply, your fingers tightening around the towel in your lap. The weight in your chest felt unbearable, pressing down until it was hard to breathe.

“It got out,” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Cillian tilted his head. “What did?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and pulled your phone out with trembling hands, unlocking it and wordlessly passing it to him.

He took it, eyes scanning the screen, his expression unreadable as he took in the headlines, the photos, the speculation. The claims of an affair. The way they reduced your relationship to a scandal.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone. The screen was flooded with missed calls, messages, mostly from his publicist. His thumb hovered over it for a second before he simply sighed and turned it off, tossing it onto the coffee table like it was nothing more than an annoying distraction.

“You’re not gonna answer?” you asked, your voice tight.

He turned to you, his blue eyes steady, calm. “No.”

“But—”

“I don’t give a fuck what they say, Y/N.” His voice was firm but not harsh. Just certain. “I only care about us.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping your own phone like a lifeline.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” you admitted. “I was scared of this happening, and now it’s happening. I don’t want you to—”

“To what?” He reached for your hand, his warmth grounding you. “To deal with this? With us?”

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze.

Cillian exhaled and shifted closer, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him. “Y/N, I don’t care what’s in those articles. I don’t care what people think happened. The only truth that matters is ours.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a raindrop—or maybe a tear.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Your lip trembled, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him, burying your face into his chest. His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you like he had no intention of ever letting go.

He exhaled shakily, his voice lower, almost like he was thinking out loud. “I’ve never been this happy before, you know?”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His blue eyes burned with something raw, something real.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have this,” he admitted. “You changed everything for me, Y/N. You… you gave me purpose. A reason to want more out of life. And fuck—” He let out a small, breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I want everything with you. I want you to move in, I want us to raise this baby together, I want to marry you.”

Your breath hitched.

He let out another nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “Christ, I probably sound like a madman right now, but I do. I want it all.” His fingers curled around yours. “And if you’re not ready for this right now, then I can wait—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

A deep, desperate kiss, one that made his breath stutter as his hands immediately cupped your face, pulling you closer. He kissed you back like he needed you, like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

When you finally broke apart, you pressed your forehead against his, your fingers still curled in his shirt.

“You better buy me a ring then,” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips.

His breath hitched, his eyes searching yours like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. “Really?”

You nodded, heart pounding. “Yes.”

For a second, he just stared at you, like he was trying to commit this moment to memory. Then, with a breathless laugh, he pulled you in again, kissing you like he’d never stop.

"You have no idea how fast I’m going to make that happen," he murmured against your lips, and you couldn't help but smile into the next kiss.

And just as he promised, on Christmas, he proposed.

The morning of Christmas Eve was spent wrapped up in each other—lazy kisses, whispered I love yous, and soft laughter filling the room. The glow of the fairy lights cast warm patterns on the walls as you lay tangled in bed, Cillian’s hand resting protectively over your bump.

He often talked to her now, calling Elisa his wee little Lisa.

“Do you like Lisa better?” you asked, your fingers idly running through his hair as he pressed a gentle kiss against your belly.

“A bit, yeah,” he admitted, glancing up at you.

“Yeah… me too,” you mused. “Especially if she has blue eyes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged.

He smirked. “You didn’t, by any chance, buy any giant pink E’s for the nursery, did you?” His voice was teasing, knowing full well how much you hated over-the-top themed decor.

“Not yet,” you rolled your eyes, making him chuckle.

“What about Lily?” you asked, still turning over possibilities in your mind.

Cillian groaned, dropping his head onto your stomach dramatically. “Y/N, we are never going to settle if you keep this up.”

You laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright. Then what is it?”

“It can be Elisa, and Lisa for a nickname,” he suggested, tilting his head up to look at you.

You considered it for a moment, rolling the name over in your mind. Elisa Murphy. It had a nice ring to it. Soft but strong.

A smile tugged at your lips. “I like that.”

Cillian grinned, satisfied. “Good. Because I was running out of ways to convince you.”

You playfully nudged his shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.”

He pressed a kiss to your belly. “Both of you.”

It had been a lazy, cozy day. You made dinner, and the two of you shared a romantic meal by candlelight, with music—handpicked by him, of course—playing softly in the background.

“Time for presents,” you said excitedly, rubbing your hands together. You got up and returned with a large wrapped box, setting it in front of him. He unwrapped it to reveal a record player—replacing the one that had broken when he moved. You knew he’d tolerated using a Bluetooth speaker, but nothing compared to the warmth of vinyl.

When it was your turn, Cillian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box, handing it to you.

You opened it slowly, your breath catching as you took in the ring—a stunning vintage piece with a brilliant round diamond encircled by deep blue sapphires, set in intricate yellow gold.

He reached across the table, taking your hand.

“I never believed in anything more than I believe in us,” he said, his voice steady but full of emotion. “You are my world, Y/N. I want everything with you—starting with this.” He exhaled softly. “Will you marry me?”

Your eyes welled up, a beaming smile spreading across your face.

“Yes,” you whispered, then louder, “Yes!”

As he slid the ring onto your finger, you admired it, the candlelight making it sparkle. “I love it,” you told him, before leaning in to kiss him—your heart full with the thought of being married to the man you loved.

tags:

@mamawiggers1980 @xsweetcatastrophe @galactict3a @thistheivyseason @cillianmurphyvevo @sweetcheesecakesblog @cillianmurphyfanatic @meister95

[s0s1mple]

Blossom: Yan!Idol!Enha x Reader

Part 2 - Intrigue

TW: None… yet. (Reader is named and gendered)

Masterlist —— Part 1 -- Next Part

‘[IMAGE]’

I raised a brow at the sight of Riki’s face, the younger male laying on the ground and taking a selfie of his very irritated face. As always, he seemed incapable of sending a normal photo where he didn’t at least look like a model. Knowing just how hard it was to get ones that looked like that, I had to laugh. I could imagine him shifting around the ground and touching his hair to make it look perfect for the picture, then pretending to be all nonchalant.

‘what happened lol’

‘im bored :(‘

‘didn’t u say u were rehearsing?’

‘I already got the choreo, now I have to wait on the others to figure it out :((‘

‘lol bragging much?’

‘it’s not bragging if it’s true’

‘look up the definition of bragging for me’

‘too lazy. What’re u doing? Send a selca!!’

I rolled my eyes with a huff of amusement. But I relented, snapping a quick shot of my eyes and holding her candy I’d been nibbling on up next to my face. It had been about a half week since my encounter with who I now knew to be a member of the group called Enhypen. As it turns out they were a pretty big deal internationally, with a slightly smaller following in Korea. Explained why I didn’t really know him off the top of my head. Riki Nishimura, otherwise known as Ni-ki, the dance prodigy maknae. At least from the research I’d managed on one of my breaks.

Was I excited to be text buddies with a famous idol? I didn’t really think so. Maybe it was because I never really got into KPOP, but I found him a bit… normal. Good looking and tall of course, assuredly very talented, but with how much he acted like a teen trying to be viewed as a cool adult, it was a bit hard to take him seriously as someone to be in awe of. One second he was pretending to be all suave and edgy through text and voice message, and the next he was geeking out over something stupid or laughing over something more stupid.

He’d been texting me often, either about random things he thought of or memes or just speaking about his day, and to be honest I was grateful for it. Despite claiming to be bored, he was often a lot busier than I was just sitting at the convenience store counter waiting for someone to come in. His stories were a good distraction. It was intriguing to try and piece together his other groupmate’s personalities from his brief mentions. In fact, it was kind of what stopped me from looking into Enhypen further. If he was a normal person and not an idol, it would be a little awkward to search up those he was close with, wouldn’t it?

I sighed, my phone dinging again. I peered down. My brows furrowed. A text, though not from ‘edgy beanpole’ but instead an unknown number. Tentatively I opened it.

‘who’re you?’ I frowned and typed back.

‘you texted me, you tell me lol’

‘you’re texting riki a whole lot’ I raised a brow. This must be one of his groupmates then. But how did he get my number? As if to answer me, the text continued. ‘I stole his phone and got your number’

‘stealing is wrong u know. I’m a friend of his, ofc I’ll text him. Besides, work is boring.’

Three bubbles, then they responded. ‘are you the girl he keeps talking about nonstop?’

‘how am I supposed to know who he talks about’

‘the one who directed him back to the hybe building I mean’

‘yeah that’s me. Flattered he talks about me’

‘You have no idea’ Then a rapid fire continuation. ‘nice to meet u Haneul-ssi, im Jungwon’ Oh, I knew this one actually. He’d been mentioned a few times if I was correct.

‘Oh the leader right? Cool, nice to meet you 2! so uh did you need something?’

Three dots. ‘was curious who he was texting and smiling like an idiot at his phone because of. Maybe we can meet sometime, riki usually keeps to himself so im curious ig.’

‘thats fair, i’d love to meet some of his friends if u guys r comfortable’ I wasn’t lying, it would be fun to meet some new people. Right now, I had to be honest and say I was at a bit of a rough place in her life. Not attending college, not meeting new people, having old friends all being busy with their own lives… Riki had to honestly be the only person I conversed with these days other than my coworkers. Man, I was really lonely, wasn’t I? Kind of pathetic.

I pushed that thought away and watched the three dots vanish a few times. As he typed, I went ahead and added his contact next to Riki’s. ‘Jungwon’ Compared to the rest of the names in my phone, it felt a bit lackluster. I tended to have nicknames for everyone, but without actually knowing the guy it felt a bit wrong to assign him a name. His message pinged through.

‘are you working tomorrow?’

“Is that her?” Sunoo pointed through the glass at the girl standing at the counter. Jungwon followed his finger, squinting to try and get a better look. From Riki’s copious descriptions of the girl, it seemed to be. Average height, hair down to her shoulders, slim face, thin eyes, and most importantly a nametag that read ‘Haneul.’ He furrowed his brows.

“Seems like it is.” In his opinion, Riki had been exaggerating a bit when describing her. It wasn’t like she wasn’t pretty, or cute, or however it was he’d described her, but she was decidedly normal looking. Not at all like someone he expected Riki to be smiling at his phone because of, literally kicking his feet behind him like a middle schooler as he giggled to himself. It was a foreign experience to the entire group to see their youngest acting like this, especially with his recent agenda to be all broody and mature. The idea of Riki suddenly catching this massive crush on a girl he’d met less than a week ago was more than a little unbelievable to most of them, but upon talking to him it was exceedingly obvious he was head over heels.

Jungwon, as both a leader, a friend, and a curious individual, just had to meet her. Make sure she wasn’t a threat to their PR, to their group, to Riki’s wellbeing. Sunoo had just wanted to tag along, just as curious as Jungwon was. “She’s cute!” Sunoo concluded, crescent eyes appearing.

“I guess so.” Jungwon pushed the door open, adjusting his mask in a nervous habit, and slipped inside with Sunoo. The two beelined for the back of the store, doing the shopping they actually needed to do for the dorm for once in their lives, and shared a look before approaching the counter. Haneul, attentive since she’d robotically greeted them at the door, waited with an easy-going smile. Her eyes darted between the two of them as she began to ring up their items.

“Hello there! So, which one of you is Jungwon?” Jungwon blinked. Already? He supposed they weren’t the most inconspicuous with their masks and hoodies, but he wasn’t expecting the girl to be so upfront. He raised his hand slightly and lowered his mask.

“Oh, uh, that would be me.” Sheepish, he smiled slightly. Haneul nodded and continued her work, tapping on the screen a few times before she read out their total. Sunoo fished through his wallet as Jungwon kept speaking. “It’s nice to meet you. This is Sunoo, by the way. Also in our group, if Riki hasn’t mentioned him.” Sunoo looked up, clumsily lowered his mask to his chin, and grinned at her.

“Hello! Riki told us a lot about you! It’s so great to finally meet!” His greeting was so much more enthused than Jungwon’s. More comfortable too. Why did Jungwon feel so awkward about this? To be fair, he’d kind of interrogated her through text the previous day and then just shown up to her work to meet her. It was like his brain couldn't decide if he should be leader Jungwon or regular, friendly Jungwon. While he contemplated that fact, Sunoo picked up his slack in the conversation. “Riki said you’re twenty one? You and I are the same age then! Isn’t that great?” Jungwon studied her face. He was curious if Riki was telling the truth and she really wasn’t interested in idols at all. Sunoo was the perfect way to see if that was the case. Any boy-crazy idol lover would be swooning by now, always so overcome with just how cute Sunoo came off as. A bubbly fan-detector.

She chuckled at his words, looking thoroughly amused by the blond haired male. A soft look fell into her eyes, but it wasn’t the doting overwhelmed look he was used to seeing. Instead it was a calm sort of endearment, a perfectly normal reaction that had Jungwon’s hackles lowering and his leader mentality slowly retreating. Maybe Riki was onto something. He’d said Haneul was a calm presence, and he could believe it. Her aura just radiated neutrality, and when combined with her relatively unassuming appearance it felt… so normal to just be in her presence.

Watching the two talk, he came to a startling realization. He’d been so confused on why Riki had been so taken with some random girl, but the answer was right in front of him. Haneul was essentially just a random girl who didn’t mind the reality of speaking with international stars. She was so normal, and they lived in a very not normal world of fame. It was comforting. He understood now.

“Riki keeps coming up with excuses to not come back and see me. I don’t believe for a second he doesn’t know his way back here, especially when his phone is working and I literally sent him the address.” Haneul scoffed. Sunoo hummed and leaned in conspiratorially, eyes crinkling.

“He might try to act like he’s all cool and composed, but he’s super nervous to meet up with you again. I don’t think he talks to enough girls, personally.” Sunoo laughed. Haneul rolled her eyes then, leaning forward and cradling her chin in her hand.

“What, like you bunch don’t have enough fancalls? What about me would make too-cool-for-rehearsal Riki so nervous, hm? Am I just that intimidating?” Jungwon laughed, and Sunoo pursed his lips with a smile. If she knew Riki had a bit of a crush on her, she didn’t show it. Either way, it seemed his little infatuation was one-sided right now.

“You’re terrifying.” Jungwon deadpanned with a smile. That earned a toothy smile from Haneul. Oh wow, Riki wasn’t lying. She did look a bit like a chipmunk when she smiled, toothy and with puffed out cheeks. It was endearing, and Jungwon could practically feel the cuteness-loving Sunoo beside him vibrating. He cooed out loud.

“You’re so cute!” He practically squealed. Haneul blinked at him in surprise but laughed easily.

“Oh, thank you! You too!” Sunoo gasped and held his heart, looking at Jungwon as if to brag about the compliment. Her eyes panned to the glass behind them then, and she suddenly straightened up.

“But as cute as you two are, I think you should probably cover up. I’ve got other customers, you know?” Jungwon didn’t turn around and instead nodded, sliding his mask up just in time to hear the door open behind them. “Hello! Welcome to our store! Let me know if you need anything!” Haneul called out, voice immediately shifting to that familiar customer service voice he knew well.

“We’ll get out of your way then, don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss. But you should definitely let us know what days you don’t work and we can all get together. If you want to, of course.” Jungwon offered. His palms suddenly felt oddly sweaty. Sunoo didn’t seem to share the same nervousness, tapping his fingers against the counter as he beamed at her from behind his mask.

“We can go to the park or something! You can meet some more of the group! Ooh, you have got to come!” Haneul tilted her head and laughed.

“I wasn’t going to say no, don’t worry. Here, you can share my number with Sunoo, Jungwon, and just let me know what days you guys are free. I know you probably have a busier schedule than I do. I’ll be here most days, but I don’t work weekends.” Her eyes drifted behind them, and Jungwon took it as their cue to go as she began to say hello to the girl who had entered earlier. As soon as the two of them turned the corner away from the store, Sunoo smacked his shoulder lightly.

“Riki was so right! She’s great!”

“Very normal. It’s nice.”

“And cute, right? Super cute!” Jungwon paused, then conceded.

“Yeah, she’s pretty cute.”

“I know! Now shut up and give me her number!”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi!!!

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️

HI!

45 for 🐓

---

 Correctly. She accuses very correctly. 

“And you’re ruining everything!” Jared snaps back at her. “Evan, come on. Maybe we can just talk? We were friends!”

The more Jared says Evan, the sicker Buck feels. He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t stop. 

“You are so pathetic,” Miranda huffs. “He doesn’t want you. He’s from L.A. He could get guys that don’t have to pretend to still have a marriage!”

“I’m not pretending if I still have to deal with your fucking rules, am I?”

Buck shoves his feet into his boots, grabs his coat, and stumbles out the door without even tying his laces. He pukes into the snow in their front lawn. Beer and bile. He feels disgusting. He feels dirty. And it’s not just the improper clean up. 

Buck fucked up. Badly.

⬅️

He checks his phone as he walks home. It’s not good. It’s well after midnight. By the time he makes it back to the house it’ll be after one. He has plenty of experience sneaking into that house, but the problem is, that was usually after sneaking out. Unfortunately, based on his missed calls and texts, everyone knows he’s out. And no one is too happy with him. 

Well, it doesn’t look like Maddie and Chim are angry, so much as worried. The voicemails from his parents, though? Yeah. He’s not checking those. 

There is one voicemail he does check, though. Because it’s from someone he’d never, ever ignore on purpose. 

Christopher. 

Buck panics a little when he sees that he’s missed it. He called after ten. A weird time for him to be calling. Shouldn’t he be sleeping? Or is he too teenagery for sleep now? Buck should know. He used to know Christopher’s whole routine. But he’s grown so much and… And Buck turns to spit up a little more bile into the snow. 

---

45 for 🌲

---

Eddie turns his head towards the lake and cracks his eyes open. His eyes sting from tears, and he’s cold and disoriented, but he can still see it. Rain drops ricocheting off the surface of the lake. 

“What?” He murmurs. 

He’s not lying under any thick-canopied trees. Eddie lifts his head weakly, looking above him. And he sees… He sees the ground. Which doesn’t exactly make sense, considering he’s on the ground. 

It takes him longer than he’s proud of to realize. It’s not this ground. 

It’s Arizona. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie exhales. “Oh, what the fuck.”

It’s like a flat, see-through door. Maybe six or seven feet above him. Like someone laid out a printed out photo of the forest floor. Adriana’s got to be conveniently in a lake. His has to be above him. Fantastic. 

Eddie scrambles to his feet. He’s stiff and achy. His body wills him to collapse again. His legs shake underneath him. But he holds fast. Maybe there’s still a chance he can save Buck. 

He lifts his arm as high through the portal as he can. Until his knuckles brush against dirt and pebbles. A few even tumble through and land on his head and shoulders. But, as things fall into Sweden, Eddie can’t bring himself into Arizona. He has no leverage. Nothing to grab to try and pull himself through. 

“FUCK!” He shouts into the fucking void. 

This is just cruel. Tantalizing. 

He drops his arm back down to his side and looks around. Maybe there’s a conveniently hacked log stump he can drag over here. A manageably sized boulder?  Anything! But there’s nothing in sight. Plus, if he leaves this little under-portal radius, does it disappear? He doesn’t want to risk it.

---

45 for ⚖️

---

Not this future. He cuts it out. Obliterates it. Doesn’t even let it play through. Eddie said to choose Chris over him, but not at this cost. No way. Besides, Eddie dying is the worst thing that can happen to Chris. 

Even angry, Buck would bet anything Chris would agree with that.

So he keeps looking. 

Buck sees another one, just the way the horrible one started. Christopher comes home. Eddie cries when the decision is made. Christopher overhears a fight between Eddie and his grandparents. Chris tearfully apologizes to his father, who hugs him tight and tells him it’s okay. Buck feels a looming sense of dread, thinking the same must be coming. Thinking, what if there’s no way to bring Chris home without Eddie dying? Buck will have to leave him in Texas and break Eddie’s heart. 

But then it changes. 

It just… Doesn’t happen. Like whatever killed Eddie was circumvented, because there’s Chris, celebrating another birthday, and Eddie and Buck are both there. There’s Eddie, fastening the cufflinks to a nice suit on a slightly older Chris, in a situation Buck can’t contextualize. I’m really proud of you, Dad, Chris says. Eddie has tears in his eyes. 

Whatever this future is, it’s a good one. 

Buck strains but can’t see much further than that. Right. Because Chris is still too young. 

Chris looks happy. Eddie looks happy. Even Buck looked happy at the birthday party. Not that he… Not that that matters. But of course he’s happy, with Chris and Eddie okay.

So Buck doesn’t watch anymore. Maybe it’s not the best one. But the possibilities are infinite. Chris is safe and happy. Eddie is alive. What could be better than that? 

He chooses this one. 

He chooses this one, and he doesn’t look back. 

Interesting, he hears Nemesis. Very interesting. 

---

[thebestandrealestever]

“anything ?”

e42 miles x (black?) fem reader

warnings : none that i can think of. as always unedited genre & sum: angst with a happy ending, miles can’t let u go, it’s eating him up inside. little does he know u can’t either. a/n: wtf is upp, welcome back to my channel. and i’m sososo sorry that the pictures suck i didn’t rly know what to put, idk if i should call the reader a black reader bc u can’t tell expect for 1 part when she puts on a bonnet, do non black ppl put on bonnets?? also it’s not really fem reader ?? IS THE RAIN SCENE CORNY?? idk . enjoy

rise with the morning, you call to me.

“miles!” you laughed out at him as he started to attack you with kisses while you were sitting on his leg in the photo booth. “what? i can’t kiss you now?” miles asks acting like he’s fake offended. you turn your head from the camera to look at miles, “no, you can” you smile sweetly as you lean in to give him a proper kiss, the photo booth camera catching the perfect moment as the last picture.

my thoughts are crawling, you’re all i see.

you. it’s you he’s thinking about after his uncle tells him that he’s going to have to join him in assasinating one of the biggest drug/weaponry lords in all of brooklyn in all of new york! as soon as the lords left aaron’s mouth he thought about you, what if something happened to him, what if something happened to you? he couldn’t be associated with you anymore you could get hurt. he didn’t care about what happened to him but you he couldn’t let anything happen to y- “you listenin miles?” he snapped out of his thoughts and replied hesitantly and cleared his throat. “yeah, yeah man i’m good.”

i wish i could live without you. but, you’re apart of me.

“miles- whats going on with u? you’ve been ignoring my texts and calls and now you show up at my house, u go-“ “this not really workin out between us anymore.” miles took a deep breath in after cutting you off, he’d been ignoring you because he was trying to mental detach himself from the sacred relationship you shared, it was futile though seeing as miles carried you in his spirit he could never deatch. you stood there for a moment trying to give him a second to say he was joking or for you to wake up but nothing. the way he couldn’t look at you made you crumble inside. “what?” was the only word you could muster up. “the reason i been ignoring you, it’s because i don’t wanna be with you” he said lying through his teeth looking down. “are you serious? what about everything we’ve been through. “miles i-i love you! wtf r u doing rn?” you take a sharp inhale in to ask the question that you dreaded. “issa another girl?” miles eyes widen as he looked up at you, no! of course there wasn’t anyone else. it’s always going to be you for him. “uh yea. there’s someone else. it’s over (name.) i’m sorry” he said as he climbed out of your window before he started crying, the tears flowing from you eyes physically made his chest hurt. once miles left you put your face in your knees as you cried, all night.

where ever i go, you’ll always be next to me.

the classes you shared, the hallways, the cafeteria, the lunch spot you always used to go to. you were everywhere and it was torture, for you too. the amount of times you both wanted to reach out, pass notes in class like you did before. for there to be someone else miles was always alone. you noticed that just as he noticed the eye bags under your face and how they were often red rimmed. miles lay awake at night thinking about you, looking at old polaroid’s on his wall or picture on his phone, sometimes miles caught himself staring at you in class or when you passed his way. you tried to ignore miles seeing as how thinking about him for too long broke your heart. you were in denial, you refused to believe the love of your life was just gone. so no you didn’t take down the ig highlight you had of him, or the photo booth pictures off of your mirror, you can’t let him go. and you were gonna do something about it.

fall into the night, as i gaze onto you. shine so bright, it’s all i do

a day after miles did his big mission, he cried at night thinking about the look on his face as his uncle shot him. no matter how bad the person they were he still felt bad, for the people they loved and who loved them but he always remembered the people that they hated, and what they did to them. miles thought about you, what he did to you. why wouldn’t you leave his head? he needed to clear his head, he put his jacket and shoes on and headed into the hallway of his apartment walking down the stairs. you on the other hand had been sitting on the couch watching tv with your mouth as you were wrecking your brain trying to figure out a reason why he left. until that exact thing appeared.

i wish i could live without you. but, you’re apart of me.

“FAMOUS DRUG LORD WILSON GRANT FISK KILLED BY UPRISING VIGILANTE “THE PROWLER, MORE MATTER ON THE SUBJECT LATER.” it was miles. the picture they showed had a boy with a mask on, a hole ripped through it so you could see his eyes. it was miles eye, it was his braids. you thought more in detail about it, as soon as “the prowler” became a thing mile would leave more offen, come home to you with scars. a lot like the scars the news reporter described where he was hit. you saw gadgets and other things lying around his room that was often seen on true prowlers suit. miles was the prowler, is that why he left you? you weren’t sure but you didn’t really care, you needed to see him, talk to him, find out.

you hopped up putting your shoes and the speed of which you did so concerned your mother “u okay? where you think u going this late at night?” she asked laughing awkwardly, “uh, i need to go talk to miles. i’ll be back soon please mom let me go.” you begged and she sighed seeing the urgency in your eyes and hearing it linger off your tone“okay, be safe (name)” “okay mom!” you said rushing out the door still going to put on your bonnet because obviously. you ran sprinted to miles apartment that was conveniently only 5 minutes away.

wherever i go, you’ll always be next to me.

as you’re running you don’t even notice how fast you were going until you get to miles apartment. your out of breath and about to buzz the gate before miles walks out the door, it looks like he’s been crying? you tilt your head frowning at his expression which is a wide eyed squint? in a way, you don’t let your thoughts consume you for much longer before “you’re the prowler!” “im so sorry (name)” you both said at the same time as you hear the others words you both drop your jaws a little just before you opened your mouth it starts raining, hard either of you couldn’t care less though. “you’re the prowler. the vigilante on tv.. the one that just killed kingpin? that’s you right?” you say it quickly at first slowing down as you see miles face scrunch up. he thinks about it for a moment before exhaling and relaxing his face a little and maybe you didn’t notice the rain, your maybe neither of you cared. “how did you know?” “it was kinda obvious. i-is that why you broke up with me?” you ask looking down afraid of the answer. “yes! i mean yeah, that’s why. i didn’t want to because i love you so much but u couldn’t let you get hurt, i can’t let you g“ you cut him off by wrapping your arms around him pulling him in a big. a tear wells up in his eyes and he allows himself to cry, “i’m so sorry, i miss you so much.” you start crying too. “i miss you too, and i don’t want you to leave again okay? just tell me what’s going on miles, you can tell me anything.” you say with a smile and an inviting tone in your voice. you pull away from the hug and he kissed your forehead holding it with both hands. “anything?” he blubbers as he cries again and you chuckle at that a little sniffling in your own cries.

“anything.”

you’ll always be next to me.

[wowbright]

Chapter 18: Busy

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

You might expect an Olympian at the Olympics to be incredibly busy, but for Blaine’s first few days at Sochi, he didn't have much to do as he waited for the games to start besides unpack, tour the facilities, chitchat in Russian with any Russian who would speak to him, and play foosball in the lounge with Mike and Sam (who had become far less insufferable since the backflip incident).

Blaine wanted to go into Sochi proper and see if he could find any locals to talk to about the effect of all the new construction, but it was an hour drive each way—and even though he didn't have much to do, the few things he did have scheduled were sprinkled throughout the day. He slept a lot and practiced a little and managed to escape the Olympic village with a bunch of teammates long enough to go on a hike in the foothills. The park looked absolutely nothing like Garden of the Gods, but it reminded him of being with Kurt anyway, and he felt an ache in his chest that he simultaneously wished would go away and also wanted to wallow in because it was so new and precious. He snapped a photo of the waterfall and sent it to Kurt with a text that said Wish you were here and then immediately regretted sending such an unoriginal sentiment to such an original person, so then he sent another message saying I ache when I think of you and I love it and wondered if maybe that was too much but whoops he had already sent it.

I might be a bad person was the next message Blaine received from Kurt when he was back in the Olympic village. Blaine wondered if his texts from the park had failed to transmit.

What happened? Blaine asked.

Because I like the fact that you ache. It means I'm not alone in the feeling.

The feeling of missing you? Blaine texted, half flirtatious and half concerned that was what Kurt literally meant.

You’re cute, Kurt texted back. It’s not me that I’m missing. And then, a while later, Sue thinks I'm distracting you.

Ugh. So that’s why she had interfered with Blaine’s last conversation with Kurt in Colorado Springs. Not to talk about costumes or trip logistics. But to— Did she threaten you?

It took a few moments for Kurt to respond. Unsure. Her tone was kind of threatening, and she did say something about punching me in the face if I kept you from medaling, but she also promised to get me a kitty cat I would fall in love with if you didn’t medal. Sue is very confusing.

I'm sorry. It's my fault. It's because I was late to that meeting. But you're not a distraction. At least, not in a bad way. If anything, Kurt was an inspiration. Before Kurt, Blaine had been approaching the Olympics half-heartedly. And then Kurt had shown up, and by the simple act of being himself, he had helped Blaine remember why he had fallen in love with figure skating in the first place. The way Kurt’s eyes lit up when he had a new idea, the way he talked about the process of co-creation inherent in costume design, the obvious joy he felt in bringing a shared vision to life—it reminded Blaine on a visceral level that what he was doing was art, and art could transform lives.

When Blaine had been younger, his dreams had so much bigger than figure skating. He’d wanted to help people through his art. Giving people a respite from their day-to-day struggles by having something beautiful to look at was part of it, of course. But it was more than that. He’d wanted to be a person gay kids who were in the closet and multiracial kids who wondered where they fit in could look to and feel a spark of hope, knowing that there was someone famous and respected who was like them. That's why he wanted to be a champion—not for the bragging rights, but so he could inspire others.

Those feelings had motivated Blaine through most of his career. But recently, he’d lost sight of them. Maybe they got buried under all the dysfunctional stuff with Eli, or maybe it was a natural period of burnout after more than a decade of pushing himself and being pushed. In any case, he had stopped caring about winning. Sure, he told himself that he wanted to win. But deep inside, he had the niggling thought: What did it matter, who got bronze or silver or gold? Every year, the competitions came and went and the medals inevitably ended up with somebody. Why should he care if he was one of them?

Those doubts had haunted his performance in the seasons prior to the Olympics. The only thing that had kept him going was the challenge of adding more rotations to his jumps and trying to make the odd new spin combinations Sue kept coming up with work. In retrospect, it was a miracle he had medaled at all, and even more of a miracle he was now here in Sochi. Sam had been right about one thing. Blaine hadn't earned his place on the team. He was a second stringer who made it to the top three only by dint of someone more deserving getting injured. And even after his place had been secured, even with Sue doing every weird thing she could think of to motivate him, even after designing  programs with the goal of reviving the energy and focus of his younger days—even with all that, he’d kept thinking that maybe it was his time to fade into the background and let the likes of Sam Evans and Yuzuru Hanyu take over the sport.

And then Kurt had shown up and put Blaine back in touch with his heart.

In those private moments in the costume room, they had talked about the boycotts and the media frenzy and how fatiguing it was sometimes, wondering if there would ever come a day when politicians who were failing to address the real problems affecting their constituencies would stop using random minorities as scapegoats. It was all so impersonal and calculating, and yet the effects of it were deeply personal, transforming real people's lives, making it harder to live and breathe and just get by in the day-to-day, much less to find happiness.

But somehow, Blaine was finding happiness anyway. He wanted to help others find it, too. It was the most beautiful sort of defiance, to live and love and create in a world that wanted you to believe you were nothing.

You inspire me to be better, Kurt. I don't know how I would do this without you.

You've done it plenty of times before without me.

No, I haven't. This time is different.

How?

Blaine wasn't sure how to distill it into words that would fit on a phone screen. Because I'm different and the world is different. It's about something much bigger than me.

I think I get it, Kurt texted. I'm glad I can be there for you. I want to be.

~~~

If anyone was a distraction Sue should be worried about, it was Cooper. Before that interview at the Olympic Training Center and every day after, Cooper had bombarded Blaine with messages like Whenever you want to make a public statement I'm ready. And even though Blaine deleted every one of them, he couldn't delete the pain of receiving them. But Cooper was so single minded. He put his entire identity into his work. When he'd been in the NHL, everything was always about the NHL. And now that he was sportscaster, it was all about that.

ButAll Blaine wanted from his brother was for him to be like other people's brothers, sending him stupid texts about the latest episode of Homeland or his obsession with playing The Last of Us or even, you know, wishing him good luck.

Blaine wanted to believe that Cooper meant well. That this was his way of reaching out and saying I see you, but I don't know how to have a conversation that does not tie back to my identity as a media figure, so even my best efforts at communicating with you in a supportive manner will be couched in those terms.

That’s how Cooper’s support had always been packaged. Back when Blaine had decided to come out publicly, Cooper had run interference with their parents. “Of course we support you, Blaine,” his mother had said. “But what you do in private should stay private. You know, you should talk to Brian Boitano before you do anything rash. There’s a reason he never came out publicly. It would have ruined his career.”

But Cooper, who had already been in the public eye for nearly a decade at that point, had used his career in the NHL to persuade their parents to support Blaine. If he didn't come out, Cooper explained, he would be plagued with incessant questions about if he was dating and who was his girlfriend, and he wouldn't be able to answer any of them honestly. And since Blaine was absolutely terrible at lying, the public would know he was lying, opening him up to rumors and speculation and scandal. If Blaine wasn't keeping any secrets, he wouldn't have to worry about any of those things.

Blaine shouldn’t look askance at that. It was the right thing to say to their parents. They wouldn't have been persuaded by emotional appeals or arguments about integrity and being true to yourself. Blaine had already tried those. And to be fair to Cooper, sometimes he actually could say something nice and supportive without referring back to himself. After that taxing conversation with their parents, Cooper had said privately to Blaine, “I'm so sorry our parents are like this. I can't imagine what it’s like for you. But I’m glad you’re my brother. Our parents need to stop being such homophobes. They should be proud of you for who you are, not just your skating. I am.”

And Blaine had thought Cooper was being a little harsh, because their parents weren't virulent homophobes; they were the milder kind, the kind that could have gay friends and be fine with it, but for whom having a gay son was inconvenient and disturbing because it upended their expectations for a daughter-in-law and grandchildren and heteronormative Christmas photos. They we're proud of him in their own way. But also, they would have preferred him to be more like Cooper.

But Cooper didn't need Blaine to be like Cooper. So Blaine had cried and Cooper had hugged him, and even Cooper cried a little, and Blaine hadn't felt this close to his older brother since Cooper first taught him how to skate.

Blaine wanted to believe that Cooper was trying to be supportive again, to offer Blaine the opportunity to say what was on his mind publicly so that it didn't seep out in unproductive ways. But what could Blaine say that would make a difference? His teammate Ashley Wagner had already told the Today show “it’s horrible the treatment the LGBT community gets in Russia,’’ and Brian Boitano had finally come out and been appointed by President Obama to the U.S. presidential Olympic delegation along with already-out Billie Jean king and Caitlin Caho. Weren't those pretty big statements in themselves? Blaine didn't know what words he could add. Maybe the biggest F-you he could give to Putin would be winning the gold.

The day Kurt was supposed to arrive in Sochi but didn’t because his flight was delayed, Cooper texted, You speaking up could help people.

If Kurt had been there—if Blaine had picked him up at the airport that morning and Blaine had sat contentedly in the corner of his hotel room as he unpacked and they had gone to lunch and then for a walk along the Black Sea—Blaine would have had someone to talk with about this. Sure, there was Mike, but he had his own pressures to deal with right now. And there was Sebastian, but they didn't really talk about this kind of thing. But with Kurt, Blaine felt like he could talk about anything, even the parts of himself he was unsure about and didn't understand.

It shouldn't only be that way with Kurt. Family was supposed to be like that, too.

This time, Blaine didn't delete the text. He texted back, You know what would help? If I could talk to you without it turning into a story. I want you to be my brother, not my interviewer. If you can't do that, stop messaging me.

~~~

That night, Blaine woke up only a couple hours after going to bed. He’d been dreaming about being with Kurt in the Garden of the Gods, only in this dream it was summer and warm, and sometimes the sunset shone through the rocks, lighting everything up in pink and orange, and sometimes it was night and the Aurora Borealis illuminated the dark with dazzling streaks of green and purple. Kurt had on short sleeves and an ascot—a tantalizing blend of skin revealed and hidden—and they were holding hands, and Kurt said something that made Blaine’s heart ache in that increasingly familiar, delicious way, and Blaine ran his fingers over the Kurt’s forearm and Kurt smiled and Blaine's heart overflowed and he said, “This is my home, Kurt,” and Kurt understood exactly what he meant.

Blaine lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The curtains were flimsy, letting plenty of light into the room and Blaine’s eyes now that he had pulled his sleeping mask off. Inside him, another long-buried dream was awakening. Once upon a time, Blaine had dreamt of sharing his life with someone—really sharing his life, not just his bed and his body, but his hopes and aspirations, too. He’d dreamt of having a husband and creating a home that would nurture them both, a sanctuary where they could explore life together and bring out the best in each other, where every day Blaine would discover something new about himself and also be challenged to look beyond himself as he learned to understand the world through another person's eyes.

He'd gotten glimpses of that in some of his relationships. As a teenager falling in love for the first time, he’d been so open and generous and naïve. But with each breakup, he’d pulled his armor a little tighter around himself, always holding something back because he knew he would eventually get hurt, and the blows would cause less harm than if he never revealed the parts of himself that were vulnerable.

Around Kurt, Blaine didn't feel a need for armor. He wanted Kurt to see and know everything. And sure, that was risky.

But this time, with this person, it would hurt more to never take the risk.

Blaine lay in bed for ten minutes, maybe twenty, listening to Mike snore and thinking about Kurt, before realizing he was not going to fall back asleep anytime soon. His body was convinced it was early afternoon, and Blaine didn't feel like fighting it. It wasn't like he had to go to bed early and get up early like he did back in the U.S., anyway. All his slots were scheduled for late afternoon or evening. As long as he was adjusted enough to feel awake and revived for those, it wouldn't matter if he slept when it was dark or light.

Besides, Blaine had something better to do than sleep.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, tiptoed into the bathroom, and shut the door. It was a nice bathroom, with walls covered floor to ceiling in large twenty- by forty-centimeter tiles like you’d find in a fancy hotel—way more posh than Blaine had ever seen in a normal Russian apartment. He wondered if the people who’d been kicked out of their homes to make way for the Olympic complex would move in here after the games were over, or if the luxe bathrooms would go empty and unused while people who could benefit from them languished in substandard housing.

Blaine hated the Olympics sometimes.

He checked his phone to see if Kurt’s final plane had landed in Sochi yet. No. It was still in the air, and with customs, he likely wouldn't arrive at his hotel for another couple hours at least.

Which gave Blaine time.

He composed a text.

Sebastian, I have an idea.

~~~

“Before you check in, I have good news and bad news,” Sebastian said when Kurt stepped into the lobby with his customs-cleared luggage and the strong desire to take his travel frustrations out on someone. He just wanted to see Blaine. And obviously he’d known Blaine wasn't going to be here because it was the middle of the night, and that was completely logical, especially because they weren't even technically boyfriends or anything yet, and Kurt hadn’t even known Blaine a few weeks ago so really he should be able to survive just fine another day without him, but also Blaine made everything lighter and better and more joyful and …

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Kurt said. He figured whatever the bad news was, it couldn't be that bad: Blaine was alive and healthy; they'd been sending each other flirty and suggestive texts about their mutual versatility just minutes before when Kurt had still been in taxi. “Why are you even awake?”

“I'm awake because I love the nightlife, and I like to boogie. Also, it can’t wait. You’re staying in my room.”

 “You’re kidding me.”

“Well, it's a suite, technically. One door, two rooms. I'm being nice and giving you the bedroom with the door that actually closes.”

That was better than sharing a single room, or much worse, a bed. As long as the sheets had been changed since Sebastian had last used them. But— “I've been through four different airports in two days and you probably thought I was thrilled to be rerouted through Charles de Gaulle since I actually speak French, but in Munich they have sleeping pods you can rent, where in Paris it was just benches or the floor, and I missed my flight in Belgrade and the next one was late and they made me go through customs just so I could go to a hotel and shower and sleep in an actual bed for a few hours, and I’m starting to get a tiny grasp on Cyrillic but that doesn't really help when I don't actually know what any of the words mean, and I tried to sleep some more on the airplane to get adjusted to the new time zone but the turbulence was insane and also the person next to me was eating cayenne covered edamame even though they clearly couldn't handle the heat because they coughed every single time they swallowed and kept asking the flight attendant for more milk and water, so of course every time the seat belt lights went off they were climbing over me to get to the bathroom, seriously I don't understand how a four-hour flight can be so miserable but I hate people and I hate everyone and I'm supposed to have my own room.”

Sebastian smiled. He smiled. As if Kurt’s irritation was amusing. “Look, I'm not thrilled about this either. But somehow among the most expensive Olympic preparations the world has ever known, somebody forgot that the media would need housing too. All the hotels are overbooked. They gave your room to somebody else when you were flying over the Atlantic.”

“Fuck me.”

“No. But that brings me to the good news. Turn around.”

“Oh, yippee. A bar. I don't want a drink, Sebastian, I want— Blaine!"

Blaine was there, in the bar, smiling at him. Blaine. With his sparkling eyes and his hair that Kurt longed to touch and his beauty and kindness and generosity. He was real and physical and here. Kurt forgot that he hated everyone in the world and just wanted to be alone—or rather, a switch flicked inside of him and he no longer felt that way, because Blaine was a person and Blaine was beautiful and Kurt wanted to be with him. He abandoned his suitcase with the still-chattering Sebastian and almost ran across the lobby, his heart pounding from nerves and excitement and something that felt an awful lot like love and probably, in fact, was. No, not probably. Kurt had already known falling in love with Blaine would be inevitable. Here it was.

“Care to join me?” Blaine said, his expression radiant with hope and a little shyness. “I know you've had a long trip, so if not—”

“Of course I do,” Kurt said, sitting across the two-person table from Blaine and touching his shoe to Blaine’s. “It’s been too long.”

“Ahem.” That was Sebastian, holding on to Kurt’s suitcase and setting a keycard on the table. “I'm going back to the room for a minute anyway, so I guess I'll deliver your luggage there, Mr. Hummel. And then I'll be going out for a few hours. You know, in case that information is relevant to you.”

Blaine turned pink. It was precious. “Sebastian, you don't have to—”

“I have a life too, you know. I’ve made plans. The dance scene here is off the chain. The snowboarders know how to party, unlike some Olympians I know. Da svidania, boys.”

And then Sebastian was gone, and it was just the two of them, and Kurt wasn’t tired anymore.

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

where Simon grapples with futility

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Chef F!Reader 

WARNINGS: 18+ only.  angst, smut, more angst. on the menu we have mutual pining (main) and the kind of ex sex we all wish we were having (side), bon appétit, the chef needs a long nap!

LENGTH: 3.5k

When you ask him to leave, he does.  The whole thing reminds him of the time he’d crawled out of a grave.

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_____

Being a ghost is easy.  

Being Ghost is easy.  

Disappearing into the job, planning an op, the mindless bureaucracy in his role as Lt Riley—easy.  Too easy.  It’s second nature to him, so much so that he can do it almost mindlessly.  After all, it has the welcome effect of taking his mind off other things.  

Being Ghost allows him to be himself for once.  The version of him that he’s spent a decade carving and chiselling into perfection.  The version of him that is lethal and feared, has a reputation amongst his enemies.  

The antithesis of the version that fell in love with a woman, broke her heart and then ran.

The pen in his hand snaps, and Simon flings the pieces across the room.  But even that doesn’t feel satisfying, coming off instead like he’s putting on an act—as though rage should be the primary emotion inside him at that moment.  

But it’s not.  

The complete silence from you is claustrophobic, so much so that it taints the hope in his chest—making it feel heavy and stifling.  It keeps him waiting for a text or a call that never comes, and he wonders if there’s a chance of losing his mind from just waiting when he doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for.           

You’ve left him to his devices—just like you’d implied you would when you asked him to leave.  But it’s quiet in a way he’s never experienced before—like having a heavy weight on his chest, getting used to it, liking it even, and then coming apart at the seams when it’s gone.

Though, of course, Simon knows exactly what’s been taken from him.  He’s no Atlas, and the burden he carries is nothing noble.  No, what Simon carried, carries, makes him feel the most weightless he’s ever felt—what he carries is as painfully inevitable as it is as effortless as breathing.  What he feels for you seeps into his bones, infusing his marrow, but Simon’s still just left not knowing what to do with it.  

And somewhere inside his chest where his heart should be, he feels a dull ache, though he struggles to understand why.   When all was said and done, he’d known all along that the outcome was unavoidable.  Finding someone like you was outside the realm of possibility for someone like him, but he had.  He’d found you. 

And fuck.  He’d had you.  

He’d found you and he’d had you for two years—your kindness and your patience, your compassion, and the fire inside you that even someone as cold as him couldn’t extinguish.  And even though having someone like you should have been impossible, it had turned out to be this extraordinary, invaluable thing to him.  But even Simon would not deny that he’d known all along that the way it had ended was unavoidable.  

He tries to shake the thought of you from his head as though you’re a physical object that resides there.  As though he isn’t made painfully, acutely aware of how much he resents your absence every time his heart beats.  As though you don’t haunt him in every act of kindness he witnesses around him—in the doctors that stitch him up on base time after time, paying little regard to both his catatonic demeanour and recklessness in the field.  In Soap when the antsy Scot lingers around him like a dog guarding its wounded master, and even in Price when Simon is scrutinised over plumes of smoke with hard eyes that know too much.    

All he has left of you now is a photo and a void in his chest where your touch should be.   

Sometimes he imagines free falling without a parachute—seeing the ground fly closer up to him, the awareness that both the speed of descent and the force of the impact will compete to break his body.  He imagines why, then, all that time ago, with the full knowledge of what it would do to him, he chose to fall anyway. 

He feels like he should have a thousand things to think about, a thousand things he should ask himself, be haunted by a thousand scenarios in his mind from how that day should have gone.  Instead, his mind rebels against everything to do with you, everything to do with that day and chooses to turn it inwards—what was he expecting?    With everything he knew about himself, what was he expecting was going to happen?

At the end of it all, it’s neither the speed of descent nor the force of impact that breaks you, Simon learns.  It’s the tragedy of feeling helpless, even in the face of something completely preventable; it’s the knowledge that you’re going to fling yourself off a great height even while your feet stay planted firmly on the ground.

____

Surrender feels miasmic. 

If he’d thought his death would be easy, if he’d thought surrendering to the inevitable would feel like coming home, he was sorely mistaken.  

It blows noxious fumes into the back of his throat and makes him choke, leaving behind the bitter taste of burning metal and his failures.  For even one with his pseudonym, the reputation he had and the life he’d lived, impending death felt like his nostrils were being razed by bleach, blood and sweat.  Impending death sounded like Soap MacTavish shouting hoarsely, desperately in his ear.

Simon Riley’s last thought is of your hair.  

He thinks of a particular Sunday you’d spent together—you’d cooked for him and he’d been the most relaxed he’d ever allowed himself to be in your company.  And when you’d stepped out of the shower that afternoon, he’d stopped breathing.  

With the steam escaping the bathroom at your back and in the stream of afternoon sunshine from the open window of your bedroom, you’d glowed.  Clad in nothing but a towel, your shoulders still wet from the shower and your hair?  Fuck, your hair looked like a halo around your face and you were laughing at something on your phone and looking up at him with eyes full of lo—

____

His eyes open with the rising sun, and you’re there. 

You’re holding his hand securely between both of yours, and your head rests on the bed next to them.  You’re sitting beside his bed in a wooden chair that looks rickety and uncomfortable and your neck bends at an unnatural angle with your hair obstructing your face entirely, but it’s you.  It’s you.

He doesn’t even bother wondering why you’re here—he knows, of course.  It’s the very reason he knows he’d drop whatever he was doing, no matter what it was and even if he was on the other side of the world, if anything ever happened to you.  He knows.

He finds the strength to stroke your hair with the hand not currently trapped underneath yours, feels the strands of your hair underneath his fingertips.  Allows the familiar sensation to ground him, savours something he’d thought he’d never have again.  Allows himself to get carried away by what he feels for you, usually hidden deep in his chest.  A love that has always felt stifled and weary, that now feels wide awake and alert, allowed to take a deep breath in the crisp morning air.  Finally, finally.

You jerk awake with a start.     

____

Pneumothorax, the doctors tell him.  His broken rib had punctured his lung.  Contusion.  Countless injuries that marr his body, a broken finger and a brand new wound extending from his shoulder to the middle of  his back, but these are nothing new.  

They also tell him that all of them got out alive.  He didn’t lose a single one of his men, but if not for Soap MacTavish, Lt Riley would’ve been the one they lost.

And he has to smile at that, because Simon Riley really lives far away from all of it—from the war and the smell of gunpowder and smoke and sulphur, and the ever present threat of a bullet in his chest.  No, Simon Riley lives in a small flat in grey, wet London where he watches movies and rubs feet and brings coffee in bed to the woman he loves.   Simon Riley is already lost to them, has been lost for a long time (two years, he concedes in his mind), they just don’t know it.  

And more importantly, you don’t know it.

____

It’s days before he sees you again.  He’s been home for a month when you turn up at his door with two cups of coffee and eyes full of fury.

Simon watches with his heart in his throat as you pointedly sit on the far side of his couch, the corner that is the furthest away from him, and you look down at your coffee as though it holds all the answers.

For a long time you don’t speak, but Simon doesn’t mind.  His eyes drink you in and he tries to memorise all the little details about you he can’t believe he could have forgotten.  But he doesn’t notice the tears running down your face in a constant stream until you open your mouth to speak.   

“I can’t stop thinking about how you could’ve died.”

He murmurs your name, softly, trying to remind you that you didn’t have to agonise over something that hadn’t happened, but the sound of his voice makes you sob.  It’s only when you look up at him that he really sees you.  

You’re…different.  You look tired and your face is drawn, looking almost gaunt.  You aren’t sleeping or eating or both, he realises in horror.  You look weary—the kind of bone tired that can only be inflicted by heartache.

“You’re so…you’re everything.  And they kept telling me that you’d be okay, that you’d been through worse—worse!—and Johnny said that you’d never quit fighting, but your heart went into arrhythmia, Simon, you could’ve died!  And I can’t stop thinking about it.”  

Simon decides that the distance between you is just not acceptable any more.  A couple of strides and he’s by you, dropping to his knees by your feet and holding your hands tight in his.  “I’m okay, love, m’right here,” he murmurs, because what else is there to say?  

“Yeah.”  Your whisper is harsh and biting.  “You’re okay, now.  But when I saw you…”  You shake your head as if to physically clear whatever image your mind’s eye had conjured up.  “How are you feeling?”

“I…didn’t expect to see you here,” he whispers back.

Simon feels the exact instant that you register the meaning behind his words, because you glare up at him with a rage he’s never seen in your eyes before.  

“What?  What is that supposed to—you listed me as your next of kin, Simon!  YOU did that.   They called me!”

“Sweetheart–”

“No!  All those months ago, when I asked you, you freaked out and left me when you could have just told me the truth!”  

“N-not officially, not on any record.  Only a few people know, I swear I wouldn’t—”

“You wouldn’t what, Simon?  All of that palaver for my supposed safety, pretending that people knowing about me would be too dangerous, and after all this time I get contacted by your boss as your only living family?  I just don’t understand—why did you lie to me?”  He watches as you sob quietly, one hand flying up to your chest as if to self-soothe, and Simon doesn’t think he’s ever felt the kind of hurt he does in that moment.

“Didn’t think you’d find out this way.  Didn’t think you’d ever find out.”

You nod slowly and he watches you wipe your tears and harden your eyes.  Despite the situation, despite all of it, there is a sense of pride in his chest.  You may look tired and furious and maybe a bit beaten down but you’re strong.  The strongest person he knows.

“I waited for you.  I waited for months and months and you never came.  You never called, you never bothered to even—”

Simon’s shaking his head before you’re even done talking.  “You said y’were done.  S’what you wanted.  You wanted me to leave.”

You look at him with wounded eyes that make him wince and look away.  “And why was that, Simon?  Why do you think I said I was done?  Have you considered that it’s maybe because you told me that you didn’t want this?  Or maybe because being with you was torture, never knowing what you really felt?”

“I still feel—”

“Or maybe, Simon.  Maybe it’s because there’s no place in your life for someone like me, because you expect me to put my life on hold while you take what you need from me, and meanwhile I’m just supposed to…what?  Wait for you forever?   Or wait for you to decide I’m worth your effort?”

“Stop,” Simon begs.  “This…I’d never done this before—”

But you’re done with his excuses, done letting him lead this fucked-up narrative.  “Neither have I, Simon.  I’ve never done this before either.  I’ve never felt what I felt for you.  All this time, I—”  You cut yourself off and he watches as you squeeze your eyes shut.  “I came here to talk to you today.  Because there are some things I need to get off my chest, but there are also some things you need to hear, Simon.”

Simon’s heart drops to his feet as he watches you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself.  This is it, he thinks.  The real beginning of the end.  

“I thought I would be with you and support you and be there for you, no matter what.  And I realise now how naive that sentiment is, when I didn’t even know the “what” I was willing to be there for was.  I don’t know anything about you, and that’s on me.  Because I never asked—”

“Wouldn’t ‘ave told you, dove,” Simon interjects.  

“Regardless.  I never asked.”

“How does it matter if the end result is the same?”

You sigh and your eyes drift to the ceiling in frustration, but the cadence of your voice, soft, even, but full of conviction, never changes.  “It matters to me, Simon.  I was planning a future with you, when I don’t even know who you are.  And that’s on me,” you repeat, firmly.  “All you did was pull me in and push me away.  You did this for two years because of your reasons, but I’m to blame too.  I let you do this to me.  I allowed it.”

Against all reason, Simon suddenly feels the need to defend himself.  “I never promised—”

“Agreed.  You never promised me anything.  You never said the words, Simon, but I know what I felt.  And you know what you projected.”  A beat of silence.  “I’m not blaming you.  I find myself wanting to but then I just feel…tired.  I’m tired, Simon.  Of all of it.”

You sigh, seemingly having run out of steam.  “I want this.  I never stopped wanting this.  But, I can’t do this the way we have been.   The lies and the secrecy and the hot and cold thing, I can’t do it.  I can’t keep going on like this.”

If Simon could describe what he felt, if there was someone he could talk to about this—if he was capable of talking about this—he’d say that it felt like what’d he’d been put through by Roba.  He’d say it was like when he’d had to crawl out of a grave.  He’d had the same feeling of hopelessness and claustrophobia back then, the knowledge that he had a finite amount of breaths left but they were nowhere near enough.

“I know I can live without you.  I have been living without you…but you should know that it’s not what I want.  I want more.  And this time, I want it all the way.  Or not at all.”

Your words sting him.  You don’t know it—you couldn’t—but Simon was trying.  Simon was giving you everything he could, making himself vulnerable in a way he never had before, not even before Roba.  He’d given you his name, his face, his body, his heart, and somewhere along the line, he’d given you a version of himself that only belonged to you now. 

He could ask for more time, more of your unconditional love, more of your patient understanding, but it just felt like asking for more and more and more, and Simon wasn’t willing to ask you for anything any more.

Lie, a particularly ghastly part of him whispers in his ear.  Lie and promise her whatever she wants and worry about it later!

With his fading integrity on the line, he swallows his selfishness and says as much, watching as his words drain the hope from your face and your eyes become bright with unshed tears.  But he has to close his own eyes when you speak.

“All this time, I thought, maybe now he’ll want this.  Maybe…maybe the space would make him realise that we’re better together.  I had all these, I could call them hopes, but really, they were just delusions.  I had delusions about a future for us where you realise that we can work things out, no matter how impossible they may seem.”

“It’s not…fuck!”  Simon feels a sudden fury at himself in his chest that makes him push away from you and get on his feet.  “You're right.  You don’t know who the fuck I am!  You don’t know what I’m capable of, or the things I’ve done!  You don’t know anything.  And I don’t know how to keep you alive and be with you.”

There’s a defeated smile on your lips, almost like, despite your words, you were expecting this from him.  “You’re not responsible for keeping me alive, Simon and you’ve—”

“Like fuck m’not!  I see you once every few months and we fuck, and that’s it.  S’all I can do for you.  I won’t give you more.”

“You won’t give me more?”   

“No, love.  Because I’d rather y’were alive.  Much much more than how much we both want this.”  

He watches as you sigh, and stand up too.  There is nothing further to be said, it seems, but you walk to him anyway.  A gentle hand comes up to palm his cheek and your eyes shimmer with tears, but none drop.  “I love you so much, Simon.  It’s…a privilege to know you and love you the way I do.  But I won’t live for you.”  A sad smile tugs at your lips.  “I-I used to think that mask you wear?  It was like a crutch that you needed.”

 “N’ now?”

“And now I know that it’s not.  The mask isn’t the crutch.”  You lean up to kiss his cheek and run a loving hand through his hair.  “I’ll go.”  

You’re almost at the door when he opens his mouth to speak.  “Will you stay?  For tonight?”

Your answering sigh is more resignation than relief. 

____

He doesn’t bother undressing himself.  He doesn’t think he could, he’s as exposed to you as he can be in that moment, but when he strips you, he does so carefully, and with a reverence he’s never shown anyone or anything in his life before.  He’s not immune to your tears when you kiss him—his own eyes burn—but Simon’s determined to make the most of this last time.  And he knows that this is the last time he’ll have this— the feeling of your skin underneath his fingertips, the soft caress of your sighs against his mouth, how it feels when he’s buried inside you.  

When you lie on your back in his bed, all he can think about is how you look like you belong there, like this is where you always ought to be.  When he’s in between your legs, he thinks of the familiarity of it all, the comfort, the ie feeling of everything in his world being right in that moment.

And when he’s finally buried to the hilt inside you, you cry out and clutch at him, your eyes streaming.  He wipes them away and murmurs at you softly to soothe you, but it’s futile.  When you wrap your legs around his waist and hold his face in your hands, he can’t help but feel like the universe must have stalled its motion.  

How could the same universe that birthed you continue to entropy, continue to expand into nothingness?  You’re right here, infusing life and light and reason into a living corpse. There is no way that you’ve changed his life so fundamentally—changed him in the way that you have—and the kindness of it, the love in your actions hasn’t permanently frozen the universe in its tracks.  

When you come, it’s with a broken cry of his name, your back arching and your head thrown back, but Simon can’t yet bear to stop touching you so he moves his lips from yours to your jaw, kisses your face, murmurs to you.

Fresh tears fall when you hear what he says.            

When Simon comes, he tries to keep his eyes open and on you through it, because this is it.  He knows that when you leave, you’ll take the heat inside him with you.  You’ll take all the light and love and all the softness you gave him with you.  He fails.        

And when his eyes open with the rising sun, he’s alone.

____

A/N:  Yes, this was a bonus Simon Riley POV chapter.  No, this will never happen again. 

Almost at the end folks. Hang in there!

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Pierced [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Right (@shallyne) Center (@sillyhotchsgirl) Left (Google)

Prompt: The reader gets a new piercing and sends Aaron a picture of it while he’s on a case. To say he’s flustered is a bit of an understatement. 

Category: Fluff 

Word Count: 2.5K 

Content Warnings: Piercing (tongue), implied sex (at the end), minor language, canon typical unsub behavior (unsub is a  bomber)

A/N: This is for my love @sadgirlzluvdilfs. She had mentioned a new piercing and Aaron, and well, I had to oblige. Full transparency, I don’t have any piercings of my own (but I do have ten tattoos), so I would not recommend following any advice for aftercare mentioned in the story. I hope you like this darling. The reader is a non-BAU member and there is an established relationship. If you like this story, likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! I hope you all have a good start to the weekend. Love Levi. 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

Aaron’s personal cell dinged in his back pocket, and he pulled it out. He turned on the home screen and saw that y/n had sent him a message and a photo. He looked over at the team who were scouring hundreds of files for a clue on the current unsub who was on a bombing spree in Michigan. Firmly Aaron said, “Excuse me for a moment,” to the team. Rossi looked over to Aaron as he walked away. Hotch found a quiet spot in the hallway of the bustling precinct. He swiped up on the message from y/n. The text read: “Good morning, Aaron. I’m missing you extra hard today. Please stay safe and let’s call tonight if you have time.” Hotch smiled and felt that familiar warmth spread through his body at hearing y/n’s desire for him. He then looked at the attached photo. It wasn’t what he was expecting. It was a photo of y/n’s face, but just the lower half. She was smiling and had her tongue out at him. Aaron wiped the tiredness from his eyes, as he looked at the picture again. Then with a snap, he noticed the obvious. There was a piercing on her tongue, and the area looked a bit red and swollen. Hotch had totally forgotten that y/n was having this done today, though she had let him know that it was happening. Due to the case and frenzy of the team, the thought had completely slipped his mind. Aaron took a moment to like the picture and replied, “That looks great sweetheart! Does it hurt?” As he waited for a response, his mind momentarily wandered lightyears away from the case and the unsub, as he imagined kissing y/n with this new addition to her mouth. For a second he imagined that it would be cool against his own tongue, but then he realized that the metal would be warmed to her internal temperature. Either way, it would be a new sensation for him. He’d never had a partner before that had a mouth piercing. He looked forward to seeing what that felt like. Then there was the thought of her mouth, her piercing on another erogenous zone of his body. The twitch in his pants told him that this was something he was certainly going to have to explore once he got home. 

Hotch moved to the men’s room and turned on the cold tap. He splashed some water on his face to metaphorically and literally cool down his mind and body. Aaron righted himself and pulled some paper towels from the dispenser, patting his face dry. The door opening caught his attention, and he saw Rossi enter. Dave leaned against the door and asked, “Is everything alright?” Hotch cleared his throat and said, “Yeah. I just needed a minute. Let’s get back to the team.” Rossi looked over at Aaron. The older man could see that something was up but didn’t ask further. Dave knew that Aaron, even as a close personal friend, was private about most things in his life. That in keeping certain parts of himself hidden, there was comfort and control. And with the job they had, having those two things could be a lifeline. Just as they got near the briefing room, Hotch’s phone dinged again. y/n’s reply was simple, saying, “My pain level is fine, but my tongue is a little tender, and my jaw is a bit stiff.” Aaron smiled. Knowing that _y/n_ wasn’t in much pain made him feel better. He quickly replied, “Good to hear. I’ll call tonight if there’s time - A.” With that, he recentered his attention on the case at hand. 

That evening in the hotel room, Aaron collapsed onto the mattress. His body was tired and aching from being on his feet all day. The bomber had led the team on a few wild goose chases around the city. The team and JJ in particular were good at not following false leads, but this unsub was smart with their disinformation. They knew how to make a false flag seem to need immediate attention. Hotch pulled out his legal pad and jotted down: Disinformation? Possible groups affiliated - China, Iran, Russia. Ask R. for patterns in text and call G. for more info tomorrow. When he had finished writing, he rested his upper body back down on the bed and pinched the skin between his eyebrows; worry and exhaustion tugging at his insides. Hotch decided he was going to take a nap for an hour. Yes, the case was pressing and needed his focus, but he knew that he wouldn’t be giving his best if he was this tired. So he would compromise by sleeping for a bit and then diving back in. Aaron found his phone at the bottom of his work bag and detailed y/n. After the first ring, y/n answered and he said, “Hey, y/n. I don’t have a lot of time, but I just wanted to hear your voice.” y/n replied, “Hey back at you. Are you doing okay? How’s the team?” Aaron let out a breath and then said, “I’m good. Tired though. And the team is well. They're in their usual form. They’re so sharp. Sometimes it amazes me.” There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, and y/n replied, “Well you are too, Aaron. Don’t forget to give yourself some credit.” 

Whenever y/n said things like this to him, he felt a warmth dissipate over his chest and radiate down his body. He knew y/n meant it when she said things like this. She wasn’t one to just give him an ego stroke for the sake of it. If she said something, she was being honest. That was one of the many reasons he found her so attractive. To find someone willing to be genuine was rare, and Aaron cherished that part of their relationship. Hotch thought for a second that he had heard the smallest lisp in y/n’s voice as she spoke and remembered again about the new piercing. He commented, “So, how’s your mouth. Are you taking care of your new jewelry?” y/n responded, “It’s fine. I’m on some Advil, but other than that I’m all good. And I’m following all of the aftercare steps the clinician told me to. It’s healing surprisingly fast.” Aaron gave a little hum of acknowledgment and said, “Well I look forward to seeing it in person. Listen, honey, I’m going to have to go now. But I love you and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?” There was a momentary pause and y/n replied, “Alright. Please be safe, Aaron.” To which he responded, “I will.” Before y/n hung up, she softly said, “I love you.” Hotch could hear the worry in her voice, even as she tried to hide it. Whenever he called her on cases she sounded this way. At least until he had let her know that he was heading home. He couldn’t blame her. Due to the nature of the BAU’s work, he couldn’t share details about the cases he worked on, and y/n was very aware of the dangers of the job. But she did her best to not put her concern on him too. She understood that his job was important to him, and she knew that being overly concerned, or heaven forbid, babying him would make that job any easier. Aaron thought of this as he set an alarm for an hour on his phone, started said alarm, and turned off the lamp by his bed. 

The case wrapped up in three days, and Aaron was headed home. He planned on meeting up with y/n the day after he got back. When he arrived at her apartment, he knocked on the door, and y/n happily let him inside her space. He moved inside and closed the door behind him. When this was done, he took her hands and said, “Hey beautiful,” before he leaned down and kissed her softly. When they separated, Aaron asked, “What would you like to do today? I’ve got some ideas, but I want to know if you had anything in mind?” y/n smiled up at him and said, “Maybe we could go for a walk along the river? And that record store you’ve been eyeing is finally open today, so we could go there too…” y/n hesitated for a moment and Hotch said, “I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming.” y/n let out a laugh and replied, “But… I’ve missed you. Could we spend an hour or two hanging out here before we go out?” Aaron smiled and leaned down again to kiss her temple saying, “Of course, darling. I’ve missed you too.” _y/n_ moved to the side of the room and put on their favorite album on her record player while Aaron grabbed them a glass of sparkling water. They settled next to each other on the couch, and Hotch turned to face her asking, “Can I see your piercing? I’ve been thinking about it since you sent me that photo on Tuesday.” Hearing this, y/n reddened slightly, but stuck her tongue out at him like a teenager before quickly retracting it back into her mouth. It gave Aaron just a glimpse at the new addition to her body. Hotch looked at her unamused, and y/n laughed again before actually sticking her tongue out for him to see. Aaron looked at the gold bar in her mouth that matched the rest of the jewelry that adorned her figure. He took a moment and touched the warmed metal in her mouth. Her tongue looked more healed than the first photo she had sent him. Aaron removed his hand and asked, “What’s this type of piercing called, and how long is the standard healing time and aftercare routine?” She moved her hand to rest on his thigh. She loved it when he looked out for her. Even in the small things. She replied, “It’s called a midline piercing. My piercer and the aftercare instructions state that it can take four to six weeks to heal. But honestly, it feels pretty good. I read something online about saliva being a natural disinfectant, so maybe that has something to do with it? Aftercare is just simple stuff. Using a new toothbrush, keeping the area clean, all that jazz.” Hotch chuckled at her tone. 

Aaron had considered getting a tattoo once and voiced that thought to Hailey. He wanted something related to Jack, but she had shut down the idea, and so his body remained untouched by either tattoos or piercings. However, he loved that that y/n expressed herself with her jewelry and clothing. He remembered something that _y/n_ had said the first day she got the piercing; that her jaw had been stiff. Because of this, he moved both of his hands up to her jaw and started massaging the area with a firm, yet tender touch. y/n was taken aback and asked, “Aaron, what are you doing?” Hotch swatted her hands away as they moved to grab his hands. He continued to move over the area and replied, “Well you said your jaw was stiff the other day. I’m just making sure you get some relief.” _y/n_ smiled and said, “It’s not really stiff anymore love.” Aaron hummed and said, “Well consider this me making up for lost time.” y/n settled and let him dote on her for a bit. The feel of his warm hands on her jaw made her relax into his touch. Really anytime he made close contact, her body reacted to him. After a few minutes, y/n more intentionally moved his hands up and away from her face. She didn’t give him a chance to protest this time, as she moved to kiss his lips. They were soft and warm under her touch. Hotch made a small sound at the contact and moved his hands to her hips. He pulled away for a second. He then kissed her a few more times. The kisses were chaste and quick. He was teasing her, and she knew it. When y/n had had enough of his tomfoolery, she moved her hand to his hair and took his short locks in her hands. She gave the strands a gentle tug, as she held his head in place for her to more passionately kiss him. Aaron gave a little groan at his hair being pulled. y/n knew that Aaron liked to make her work a little for his affection. Not all of the time, but when he was having fun he sort of made it a game for her. And she knew how to play. Aaron nipped lightly on her lower lip, and she opened for him. Hotch moved slowly over her tongue. He explored the the piercing in her mouth, first at the top of her tongue, and then below. The new sensation of the metal in her mouth excited him. Momentarily he remembered the feeling of getting flustered at the precinct in Michigan, and he felt a familiar tension growing in his pants. Aaron pulled away for breath. y/n looked him over and noticed the growing bulge in his pants, and she gave him a wicked smile. 

y/n got onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, saying, “Well someone’s excited.” Aaron let out a breath and said, “Are you surprised? You’re so hot and the new piercing just adds to the pleasure.” y/n hummed and felt her body warming and pooling with desire. y/n leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. Hotch closed his eyes and his hands moved up under the back of her shirt to her back. y/n lightly kissed both of his eyelids. The sensitive skin fluttered slightly under her mouth. Her lips and soft breath moved to his chin and slowly down his neck. She was taking her time. If Hotch had teased her, she would teased him right back. It was when she started undoing the button of his shirt and sucking and kissing his sensitive skin that he couldn't take it anymore. The new feeling of the piercing only heightened his senses. He made a noise of desire. It came from a place deep inside him. From a place of need and want. A little breathlessly he asked, “Bedroom?” y/n pulled away from his chest and nodded. They both got up and moved hurriedly toward the bedroom. y/n was still fiddling with the buttons of his shirt as they closed the door behind them. After a few moments, there were more distinct sounds of pleasure that settled in the air. As Aaron looked down at y/n’s form, he felt drunk on how good she made him feel. He moved down to kiss her again, his tongue hungry in her mouth. The feeling of the metal on his tongue ignited a new passion in him. Having a partner like y/n made him feel younger and he reveled in the feeling. 

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (20/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Teen, ~5600 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 |

All hell breaks loose in the hallway: cameras flash, voices shout, and Rose is frozen at the door. James springs into action at once, flying to her side and swallowing the sudden nausea that threatens to buckle his knees.

How did they find him? How do they know where Rose lives? How do they know her name?

“Get back. Get inside,” he says woodenly, grabbing Rose’s arm and pulling her away from the cameras that are snapping dozens and dozens of photos. There’s a delivery person standing at the threshold, holding a travel tray of drinks and a bag of food. James takes them from him. “Thanks, mate.”

He utterly ignores the paparazzi, who are shouting his name and hers while asking all sorts of questions, and instead slams the door behind him.

Fucking hell. This is it; his worst nightmare is coming true. He’s been found, and Rose has been found, and now the entire world will know her name and her face and where she lives.

“How did they find me?” she whispers, her voice brittle.

She’s pale as a sheet, white as a ghost—or maybe he’s got that backwards?—and she’s clutching at the front of her robe, as though people are still trying to sneak a photo of her in such a state of undress. Righteous fury rises up in him, and he has half a mind to go out into the hallway and roar at the parasites who thought it proper behavior to snag a cheeky photo of himself and Rose during their private hours together. He wants to rage at them that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for any pictures they got of Rose in her dressing gown.

He drops the breakfast he no longer wants onto the kitchen island and stalks back to the bedroom for his phone. The sheets and pillows are rumpled from their morning activities, a mockery of the peace that’s been shattered to oblivion.

The moment he turns off the “do not disturb” setting on his phone, it blows up in his hand. All the notifications he’d seen and ignored from an hour earlier are from Donna, who tried to warn him about the circus in the corridor. Twitter and Instagram banners are warring with each other for the top spot as the newest notification, and he’s getting dozens of texts amidst the series of missed calls from his team.

He slumps down onto the mattress and rings Donna, but he’s vibrating with so much tension and energy that he springs to his feet a moment later and begins pacing.

His cousin answers within seconds. “You’re in a steaming, heaping pile of shit!”

“What happened?” he demands, voice cracking. “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know. Something must have happened in the middle of the night. We’re working on putting the pieces together. When I woke up this morning, I found all sorts of rumors and speculations that mentioned Rose by name.”

“They’re outside her fucking flat!” he snarls. “A whole fucking swarm of them!”

“I know,” Donna grits out. “New photos are emerging. Jesus Christ… in your bloody pants?!”

“I didn’t realize we were opening the door to the fucking wolves,” he seethes. “We just wanted to order breakfast. Rose opened the door. She opened the door in her dressing gown and everyone saw her like that and they took pictures and called her by name and… Fuck, Donna. What am I supposed to do?”

His legs give out, and he pulls on his hair until it hurts. It’s just like before, when he had awoken to an empty bed and a whirlwind of notifications that nude photographs of him had been leaked and gone viral across the internet. But it’s so much worse now because it’s Rose, the person who has become his best friend, the one good thing in his life, the person who deserves the absolute best from this world.

“I’m on my way to her flat right now.” Donna’s tone is painfully gentle, and it makes him want to snap at her. “So’s half your security team. How’s Rose? Is she all right? How’s she handling this?”

James is now painfully aware he left Rose all alone in the kitchen without saying anything at all to her. His chest hollows out and he’s desperate to be with her, to hold her close and apologize for everything that’s happening, to promise her he’ll fix this.

“Call me when you get here,” he says, then he ends the call and flies down the hall.

Rose is sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone with her forehead in her hand. He aches for her, and he forces his anger to soften so he doesn’t make this worse for her.

She hears him approaching and glances up with an emotionless expression. Her voice is hollow when she says, “The game’s up. We’re everywhere.”

She hands her phone to him, and part of him doesn’t want to look, but he takes it anyway. It’s a Twitter page—she has a Twitter?—and it’s full of them. He grinds his teeth together when he sees her shocked face in the photos, dressed in nothing but a satiny pink dressing gown that barely disguises the fact she’s naked underneath. Then there’s him in his boxer-briefs and rumpled t-shirt, with mussed hair and swollen lips and a ring of red around his neck that makes it so painfully obvious they’d just had sex.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Rose, I’m…” I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Her phone buzzes in his hand before he can start reading any of the articles that are popping up across the Twitter feed.

“Everyone’s calling me,” she murmurs, taking her phone back from him and declining the call. “Friends. Coworkers. My boss.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he croaks, sinking to a crouch in front of her. He covers her trembling hands with his and brings them to his lips to press kiss after kiss to her knuckles. 

She nods absently but doesn’t say anything. The silence between them is stifling, so different from the lighthearted laughter of her bedroom that morning.

“Donna’s coming over, as is my security team. They’ll get rid of everyone outside.”

“What’s the point? They’ll just come back.”

Yes, they will. James doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to fix this, but the one thing he can do is take care of Rose right now. He knows all too well the state of shock she’s in, and when he’d been in her shoes, all he’d wanted was for someone to tell him exactly what to do and exactly what to say.

“Why don’t you get a shower?” he suggests, rising to his feet and tugging at her hands.

She doesn’t resist but also doesn’t speak, and he ignores the panic in his gut that’s telling him that everything is ruined, that everything he built with Rose is crumbling to ash.

“A nice, hot shower,” he says, guiding her through her bedroom and into the bathroom. He even goes so far as to turn the water on for her, testing the temperature until it’s just shy of scalding, exactly how she likes it.

Rose is staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. He brushes his arm down her sleeve and asks, “Can I take your robe off?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he promises, unlacing the feeble knot Rose had hastily made.

Rose covers his hands, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on. “Neither do you.”

He merely shrugs, but Rose catches his hand and squeezes. “James. Look at me.” He doesn’t want to, but he does nevertheless. Her eyes are so gentle that it makes something twist deep in his chest. “This isn’t your fault. Okay? It’s not your fault.”

She then wraps her arms around him, and he melts into her. They cling to each other, not speaking, but simply being present together. He tucks his face into the side of her neck, breathing her in, and trying to quiet the fears screaming at him that it’s all over.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I never wanted this to happen. Not like this.”

“I know.”

They stay in the embrace for several moments longer, listening to the pitter-patter of the water beating down on the floor of her shower.

James eventually leaves her to wash up in peace, and when she’s done, he showers too. He doesn’t have any of his own soap or shampoo here, so when he’s finished, he smells exactly like Rose. It’s comforting enough to soothe the raw nerve from the morning’s events.

He dresses in the same clothes as yesterday, wishing he had something else to change into, and when he joins Rose in the kitchen, he’s relieved to see her picking at a croissant. Well, it looks more like she’s shredding it, but he convinces himself she swallowed down a few bites.

She offers a weak smile that he tries to return.

“Has Donna called?” he asks, jutting his chin to his phone.

Rose shakes her head. “People keep knockin’ on the door. Haven’t even looked to see who it is.”

“Good. Don’t open the door yet. Not until Donna and my team get here.” He rubs his fingers into his eyes. “Have you read any of the articles yet?”

“Some,” she admits. “It’s all the same: you’ve been datin’ a nobody called Rose Tyler for the past few weeks.”

“You’re not a nobody!” he squawks.

She snorts humorlessly. “Better than bein’ called a whore.”

“Excuse me?” His tone is icy as rage sparks through him.

She shrugs. “Some people think I’m a hired escort for you while you’re in London. Seems an even split of opinions, honestly. There’s a poll goin’ viral on Twitter about it.” She scrolls through her phone. “Girlfriend is winning over escort, 55% to 45%.”

“I hate people,” he growls under his breath. But then he sobers and says, “Try not to read anything on the internet. I know it’s tempting, but please don’t. It won’t do you any favors. People can be quite nasty under the mask of anonymity. They’ll say whatever they want to sell the story that’ll make them the most money. Some of my fans can be brutal too, thinking they know what’s best for me. Please just… just try to stay off Twitter.”

“Everyone’s followin’ me now, too. Ten thousand new followers and climbing. Five hundred and more DMs. It’s made Twitter unusable. I haven’t even checked Instagram yet.”

“Fuck,” he groans, beating the heels of his hands into his brow. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reminds him.

“Yes it is,” he snaps. “If you were dating a normal bloke, nothing like this would ever happen to you. It’s because it’s me that your life is being thrown upside down and torn apart for everyone to scrutinize. I’m a disease, infecting everyone around you, and it finally got to you now, too.”

“Well, tough. If I wanted to date a normal bloke, I’d date a normal bloke. But I decided I want you, you numpty, and you’re not responsible for anyone else’s behavior other than your own, so stop blaming yourself for everything that’s happening.”

James wants to keep arguing, even though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t want to fight with Rose, but this sympathy, this acceptance, this forgiveness… it’s almost too much to bear. It’s easier to lash out, to put the blame on himself, to infuriate everyone else around him until they, too, blame him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he instead mutters.

Her eyes flash with a hint of anger. Good. It’s time for the mask to fall away, time for her to stop seeing him as blameless.

But rather than condemn him as he expects, Rose says, “Don’t you dare accuse me of ignorance. I knew exactly what I was signing up for by being with you. And I won’t lie, it scares the hell out of me, but I decided ages ago that you’re worth it. So don’t treat me like a child who doesn’t know better, ‘cos I do.”

He snaps his mouth shut before he can say something incredibly stupid. And as though to save him from himself, his phone chimes from the kitchen island with the name Donna Noble printed in bright white letters.

“Are you here?” he asks without greeting.

“Obviously. We’ve got half your team here and the other half is at your house. We’ve got some police with us to help disperse the crowd. It’s a zoo out here.”

He can hear it: a cacophony of voices shouts indistinctly from the other end of the line, and he can hear several people barking at them to back up and clear some space.

“Should I come down…?”

“Don’t you dare,” she warns. “Stay exactly where you are. Who’s the landlord of the building, by the way? We should probably let them know of this fiasco.”

He sighs. “It’s Rose’s father. Well. Stepfather. Tyler Peters.”

Donna pauses for a beat, then says, “At least he’ll be easy to get ‘hold of. Right. Stay on the line with me ‘til we get upstairs.”

James listens to every chaotic second of Donna’s trek, from the shouts in the background to her telling people exactly where they can shove their cameras.

“Bloody hell, we can barely get through this corridor. Oi, move it! This is a fire hazard, this is! Back up back up back up back up, oi, hands to yourself!”

If he wasn’t so miserable, he might have laughed to hear his cousin yelling at everyone who came within two feet of her. Alas, he stays quiet and steps up to the door, ready to welcome her in.

“We’re here, knock knock knock.”

As she says the words, three hard bangs rattle the front door. He peeks behind his shoulder to make sure Rose is well out of sight before he cracks open the door. The moment he’s visible, the shouting grows louder and the paparazzi snag more photographs. A combination of some of his security team and police officers have forced them several meters away from the door, yet it’s still close enough for them to get some good shots.

Donna, River, and a junior agent named Adric steps into the flat before he slams the door shut again. Within moments, he’s being pulled into his cousin’s arms. He hugs her tight and rests his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers into his ear, giving him a squeeze.

He drops his arms from around her, prompting her to release him, and when he pivots towards Rose, he finds River perched on the couch next to her, speaking softly.

“The plan is to get you back to your house,” Donna says, shifting from concerned cousin to professional publicist in an instant. “Unless you wanted to go somewhere else?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” he says, “but I can’t leave Rose here.”

At the sound of her name, she locks eyes with him.

“You… you’re more than welcome to come home with me, but you don’t have to, if you’d prefer to be somewhere else. I don’t think you should stay here alone, but if that’s what you truly want, I can arrange for officers to stay here with you.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m comin’ with you. I should… I’ll pack a bag.”

Rose stands and brushes past them to head down the hall, but he catches her hand and says, “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

With that, she heads to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

He sighs and scrubs his hands down his face. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. Of all the ways I thought you’d be found out, this wasn’t it,” Donna admits.

“Did you figure out what happened?” he asks.

Donna hesitates for a moment, biting her lip.

“What? Tell me. I deserve to know who violated our privacy like this.”

“Please keep in mind that it was an accident,” she prefaces, but already he’s getting angry at this mystery person who leaked Rose’s identity to the whole world. “Apparently it was Rose’s mother.”

That stuns him enough that his anger is abruptly gone, replaced with confusion and a cloying emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He knew Jackie had despised his very essence, but he never would have thought she would’ve put her own daughter at risk…

“An accident?” he asks skeptically.

“A report went in to a magazine reporter in the middle of the night. Two girls who live here overheard Jackie Tyler say that her daughter was dating James Noble; she was quite upset about it, mind. I take it you didn’t make a good first impression?”

“Not the time, Donna,” he snaps.

She holds her hands up and lets that subject drop before she says, “The girls passed along the conversation as a tip. Early this morning, the magazine did some digging, trying to verify the information. That digging leaked to other tabloids, and it all snowballed ‘til everyone showed up here to find out for themselves.”

He groans and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Great. Just fucking great. And what’s this about people thinking Rose is a hired escort?”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Elitist arseholes who don’t think she’s good enough for you since she’s not rich or famous.”

“Didn’t help they caught her in her dressing gown,” he mutters murderously.

Donna winces. “No, it didn’t. But this is fixable. The flurry of speculation will run its course over the weekend, and once it’s out of everyone’s system, you can start setting the record straight.”

“I don’t want to set the record straight, I want things to go back the way they were before!”

He’s well aware he’s whining like a child, but he can’t help it. It’s like if he just gets angry enough, things will go back to normal.

Never mind the fact that he’s tried that before, and it has never worked.

Rose emerges from her bedroom with a suitcase in her hand. She eyes them tentatively, as though catching on to the bitter mood that has settled over the kitchen, but says nothing. Instead, she sets her suitcase down and gathers up her laptop and a stack of papers and notebooks, which she shoves into a backpack.

“I’ve got to do some lesson planning,” she explains to nobody.

“Of course,” he says. “No problem.”

“Has there been any more news?” she asks, striving to keep her voice nonchalant.

“News?” he squeaks, then clears his throat to force his voice back to his normal register.

“About what happened? How it happened?” Rose peeks up at him through her lashes, gnawing on the corner of her thumb with such force he’s worried she’s about to rip her cuticle off.

He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers, tugging them away from her mouth as he lies, “No. Nothing yet.”

“Right. Good. Yeah.” She finishes packing up her school bag, then smooths her hand down her fuzzy blue cardigan. “Do I look all right? Is this okay?”

It’s only now that he realizes she applied a full face of makeup. The red of her lipstick makes her lips look more kissable than usual, and the arc of eyeliner makes her beautiful eyes utterly sparkle. His heart trips over its next beat.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, bending to kiss those ruby lips for a fraction of a heartbeat.

She smiles slightly into the kiss before she pulls back. “Don’t smudge it.”

“Yessir,” he says gravely, snapping off a silly salute.

She laughs, and for a moment, they both forget about the morning, and it’s just like any other day together. But then River approaches to usher them toward the door, and the illusion breaks.

As Rose shrugs into her coat, James excuses himself down the hall to her spare room-turned-library. He immediately goes to the shelf he remembers Rose saying housed her favorite books, and he picks two of them at random, then grabs two other random books from the bookcase she’d said held all the books she hasn’t read yet. He can’t give her peace, but he can try to give her the comfort that comes with losing oneself in a book.

Everyone’s waiting by the door, staring quizzically at him. Rose is the first to notice what he’s carrying, and her entire face softens.

“I… I thought maybe you’d want to do a bit of reading,” he blurts. “And I didn’t know if you’d like what I have on my bookshelves. So I thought… books.”

“Books,” she repeats quietly. Then she meets his eye and says, “I love books.”

He smiles, then draws in a deep breath. “Ready to face the wolves?”

“Awoo,” she halfheartedly replies.

James slips his free arm around her waist then nods to River to open the door. Several officers have created a barricade with their bodies, keeping the horde of reporters out of arm’s reach, but there’s nothing to be done about the cameras, which begin to click and flash the moment he and Rose emerge.

He bends down until his lips are at Rose’s ear and says, “Keep your eyes on the ground and keep walking. Don’t react. You’re doing brilliantly.”

She follows his instructions to the letter, keeping her head bowed while they slowly amble down the corridor and to the lifts, with the police officers and security agents creating a bubble of protection around himself and Rose.

The main foyer of the building is just as bad, and outside is even worse because now regular people have gathered by the hundreds to try to catch a glimpse of him and Rose. Everyone is shouting his name, and some are shouting hers, asking how they met, how she snagged him, how long they’ve been together. Some questions are less polite.

“Ignore them,” he whispers again, fuming at the sight of her crimson cheeks. “It’s okay. We’re almost to the car. We’ll be getting into the back seat. You first, behind the driver.”

He keeps his hand planted on her spine as they walk to the car, where the back doors are open for them.

“In you go. Slide all the way over. Take your time. No rush.”

Once Rose is settled into her seat, he climbs in beside her, mindful of the books he’s carrying. The din of fans and paparazzi lessens when the door shuts behind him, but the buzzing in his head is loud enough anyways.

It’s slow going for his driver to get some distance between the crowd, but after a few minutes, they speed for his house amidst the sparse morning traffic. James is disheartened to see another crowd of fans and reporters on his street, crowding around his driveway. More police officers and his security agents have formed a barricade, but it doesn’t help the screams and shouts of his name.

I need to get a new house. Somewhere secret. Somewhere easier to protect.

His heart sinks to see that his security team has set up an entire perimeter around his property to control the swarm of people wanting to stick their nose in his business. He led Rose out of one hell and into another.

A soft, warm hand slips across his, rubbing soothing lines along his knuckles. He clutches Rose’s hand as though it can anchor him to the present, keeping the swarm of darkness at bay.

Inch by inch, the driver pulls the car into his garage and closes the door behind them, giving him some privacy. They each get out of the car and step into the house, which feels cold and empty. He heads to the thermostat and cranks it up, wanting Rose to be as cozy as possible in his home, and sets her books onto his huge dining table.

“Right,” Donna says, breaking the brittle silence around them. “Not much else to do, is there? Let the story run its course. If you’re feeling cheeky, post a statement on social media, or a cute photo of the two of you. Or let the paparazzi shoot themselves in the foot; already your fans are getting hashtags trending, outraged on your behalf at the photos they took.”

Usually James is uplifted to hear about his fans being good people, but apathy is all he can manage. He’s been hollowed out, exhausted beyond mere physical fatigue.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling Donna in for another hug. “I think we want to lay low for a bit.”

He receives a nod of agreement from Rose.

“Fair enough. Oh, your mum’s on her way here. She heard about the news a few minutes ago and couldn’t get ‘hold of you, so she let me know.”

James frowns and stares at his phone, which he now realizes has been oddly silent for the duration of the car ride home. The screen stays black, no matter how many times he presses the power button. All the notifications blowing up the device must’ve drained the battery.

“Can I get you anything?” Donna asks. “Either of you? Rose? You doing okay?”

“I think so,” she answers. Rose glances at him, but he has nothing to offer her, so she returns her attention to Donna. “I think we’re okay here. We’ll just… I dunno… stay in.”

Donna casts her a sympathetic look, then she says to him, “Your security team is out in force, so are several local police officers. We think the crowd will die down a bit once they realize you’re being hermits for the weekend. But security will be vigilant. I trust you know better than to sneak off on your own anywhere?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”

“One last piece of business,” Donna says. “As your publicist, I feel obligated to confirm the news that you and Rose are, in fact, dating. Is that all right? It’ll be as simple as that. No details, no photos, just an announcement.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” he says, waving his hand at her. “You know best.”

“Damn right I do,” she says, but he can see the gentleness in her face that threatens to break the delicate grip he has on himself.

With one last comforting squeeze of his arm, Donna departs, leaving him and Rose alone. But are they really alone, when dozens upon dozens of his fans and paparazzi reporters are making a muffled commotion outside? Would it help if he goes outside and requests they leave him alone?

(He knows it won’t… he’s tried that before.)

So where does that leave him? He feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. He’s radiating with so much tension that he’s not sure how he hasn’t detonated. Despite being the largest house he’s ever lived in, the space feels too small, too cramped, like there’s not enough air for him to breathe.

James begins to pace a frenetic circuit around his living room where he mindlessly picks things up and puts them down in a new location. Yes, redecorating, that’s exactly what he needs. He needs to move things, to do something, to put all his energy into not thinking about the sordid photos going viral and the gross accusations people are making about Rose and…

“Hey, slow down.”

Rose steps in front of him and takes the bookends—that admittedly shouldn’t be relocated off his bookcase—out of his hands and sets them on the coffee table. (Bookends don’t go on coffee tables, Rose, what are you thinking?)

“Talk to me,” she pleads.

“And say what, exactly? This whole morning has been a scene straight out of my fucking nightmares?”

“Yes, actually,” she says, and it surprises him enough that he pauses his agitated movements. “Stop trying to pretend everything’s okay, or that you’ll make it okay. ‘Cos it’s not okay. I’m not okay, and I don’t think you are either. But I want you to tell me that, rather than running from me.”

“I’m not running, I’m walking.” Rose pins him with a glare so fierce it steals the rest of his sarcasm straight from his tongue. He sighs and admits, “I’m not fun to be around when I get like this, so I’m trying really hard to be a half-way decent person at the moment.”

“I don’t want you to be a half-way decent person, I want you to be James.” She cradles his cheeks, forcing him to look down at her. “I want you to be my James.”

All the fight goes out of him and all the voices in his head shout on top of one another. He slumps, dipping his head until his forehead rests on hers, and it all spills out of him: how much he hates that this has happened, how much he loathes the paparazzi and some of his nosy fans, how much he wishes he’d been the one to answer her door, how scared he is that this will drive her away, how worried he is about her reputation, how angry he is at everyone who had a hand in outing them. Everything. Every nasty, gnarled thought, and when he finishes his tirade, he’s calmer. Whether that has to do with everything he’d said or the fact that Rose is rubbing his back and nuzzling her nose into his, he doesn’t know, and frankly he doesn’t care.

“There’s my James,” she says, pinching his waist playfully.

“Your James just… just… verbally shat all over you.”

Rose breaks into a giggle and muffles it by burying her face into his chest. He holds her tight and smiles secretly into her hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “And I know it’s not my fault, but I’m so sorry this happened.”

“I know. This certainly tops my ‘weirdest day of all times’ list.”

“Oh yeah? What used to hold the number one spot?”

She pulls back and gives him a cheeky grin. “The night a famous singer bought me a drink and asked me to dance.”

“Huh, kinda weird that happened to you twice now,” he teases.

She laughs aloud, and the sound is enough to loosen the knot of tension that continues to wrap around his chest. He ducks down to catch her lips in a sweet kiss.

They pull away after a few moments, and Rose rests her head on his chest, seemingly content to stand there with him. The silence is solemn, but not uncomfortable, and for a moment, James hopes that maybe this means they can come out of this mess unscathed and, more importantly, together.

“It was my mum,” Rose murmurs, the words so sudden that for a moment, James has no idea what she’s talking about.

But then he remembers his conversation with Donna, and swallows hard. “What?”

“My mum,” she repeats, not lifting her head from his chest. “She was so angry when she left last night, and she must’ve complained about it to Dad. And people overheard her. That’s how everyone found out.”

Rose sounds so miserable and dejected that he’s desperate to do anything to take that tone out of her voice.

“It was just a bit of bad luck,” he says, pulling back slightly to try to force her to look at him. She doesn’t; she keeps her eyes level with his chest. He places his fingers beneath her chin and nudges upward, and she finally meets his gaze. “It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t your mum’s fault. Those girls didn’t have to send a tip into the papers, but they did. So it wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t introduced you to my mum like that…”

“Not. Your. Fault.” He interrupts her by resting his fingertips overtop her lips.

“Still feels like it,” she mumbles around the digits before moving his hand away from her mouth. “I haven’t been brave enough to talk to my mum yet, other than to tell her I’m safe. I dunno what to tell people. My boss is demanding a meeting with me first thing on Monday. And my friends want to know all the details. It’s exhausting. I dunno how you’ve done this for all these years. It’s been two hours, and I want to just… just…”

“Disappear?” he supplies, knowing exactly what she means.

She nods, and sighs.

“Want to know the secret? Distraction.” He darts his eyes around his living room, searching for anything that can get him and Rose out of their heads for a moment, and he lands on his television and gaming consoles. “Right. You and me. Mario Kart tournament.”

Rose pulls back, confusion written across her face. “…Mario Kart?”

“Mario Kart.” He flashes her a wink and clicks his tongue in a way that usually makes her laugh, but only pulls a half-smile from her.

“Sit,” he orders, half-guiding, half-pushing her to the sofa before he turns on his Wii console.

“Hey, you made fun of me for having a Wii,” she grumbles, but she’s smiling, so the words carry no bite.

“Excuse you, this is the next gen Wii,” he boasts, then he comes to sit down beside her with the controllers, which he pops into a steering-wheel-shaped attachment. “No changing the subject. Are you ready to get your arse handed to you in Mario Kart?”

He’s so relieved to see a broad, genuine smile steal across her face that he kisses her soundly. When she kisses him back with equal vigor, warmth blooms in his chest and his toes curl into the plush carpet.

She pulls back after many long seconds and grins devilishly at him. “Oh, you’re so on.”

[glassvilez]

Curiosity, killed the Gods.

From genshin impact || found on pinterest... || credit

Zandik tread carefully along the moss-covered log, though his attention was fixed on the towering ruin guard ahead rather than the slippery footing beneath him. Each step was deliberate, a path he’d planned meticulously. Lifting the camera that hung from his neck, he snapped a photo of the ancient machine. A satisfied hum escaped his lips as he examined the image, nodding to himself. “This will do nicely,” he murmured, slipping the freshly developed photo into his field journal with care.

He glanced at his watch, scanning the surroundings for his newly hired assistant. Time was ticking, but Zandik wasn’t known for patience—especially on ventures as significant as this one.

Dressed casually in a hoodie adorned with a few of his favorite trinkets, he looked far removed from his usual Akademiya self. It wasn’t often he got to leave its confines, much less for a multi-day expedition. This ruin guard was a rare find, untouched and looming with secrets the Akademiya had only dared study from a distance. But Zandik’s curiosity was insatiable, unbothered by fears of the unknown. To him, answers always outweighed risks. His life meant little if the pursuit of knowledge was compromised.

His thoughts were interrupted as a figure suddenly swung down from above, landing with startling precision directly in front of him. Zandik stumbled back, instinctively grabbing his glasses before they could slip off his face.

“Kinch,” the figure said briskly, straightening up. “Pleasure to be doing business with you.”

Zandik blinked, recovering from the surprise. The reminder of his glasses prompted him to tuck them safely away, opting for his contacts instead. This was already shaping up to be a bumpy ride.

“H-Hello! Hi!” Zandik stammered, adjusting himself as he extended a hand in greeting. “I’m Zandik—your employer. I’ve hired you for a week-long excursion to help me investigate this ruin guard. Fully paid, of course. I’ve brought ample food and secured a place to stay. Shared space, but separate beds, as per your request.”

He cleared his throat, regaining his composure and adopting a more formal tone. “I expect nothing less than hard work. Nothing more, nothing less.” His hand remained outstretched, his sharp gaze now focused on the stranger with an eagerness masked by his usual air of professionalism. >> @turn-firehunt || eat up, dinner is served. yes he looks so silly. yes that is what he went to work in. . . yes you are going to live in sumeru /silly. OH feel free to dm me on discord on like. what you want me to change if anything <3 any extra posts won't have colored text, it's just to differentiate who's talking.