#And I love that silence. I love that lingering moment in which one questions whether De Guiche suspects

[longagoitwastuesday]

Goodness, they made Christian's ghost come mourn Cyrano when he died, rest his hand on Cyrano's shoulder and regard him with a sad fondness!!! And yes, it felt as if he came to mourn him, but also as if he had come to claim half his death! As if he had been indeed half alive, not entirely dead, as Roxane points out, until that very moment! One being dying twice, mourned twice!

[ghostgirl101]

I just wanna say that I am SO excited for the part 2 to your Paul Destiny fic. I have so many questions and Im excited to see if they get answered. Like if Paul is pledging his love to the reader then is the romance plot with Chani still relevant? Is the reader still the princess here? Very interesting

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅱ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.7K || Fluff ||

A/N: Honestly, I didn't think this would blow up so much- 1k+ likes??! Thank you all, it's sick 🙃 in answer to your questions, I didn't really specify if the reader (you) are part of a Great House or the Emperor's daughter, or maybe someone else, that's kind of up to your imagination. And yeah, sorry Chani fans, I kind of kicked her to the curb lmao; This is all about you, and so enjoy the second and final part of this destiny trope before I work on some relationship headcanons for Paul and Feyd-Rautha... Requests are open for Dune 2, so don't be shy 📩

You can't escape fate.

It's as real as the Spice that threads through the grains of sand blanketing Arrakis in heavy, warm golden waves. It twists and turns in the air, in the tides of change, something beyond understanding roping together reality and its lives to bond, whether in love or hate.

At least, with the newly ascended young Emperor, you know which side you're on. Since the day of his declaration and claiming of you as his Empress, you've never once left his sight, unknowingly or not. The boy is almost ridiculously close and observant, as if testing the depths of the events unfolding around him, testing to see whether you'll try to run from them, from him. But you can't run from fate, either.

"You aren't resting."

Paul's soft, low voice slices through the silence of the dusk, the only words you hear before you feel his warm, firm arms slipping under your arms and around your middle, pulling you into his front in a smooth, protective motion. His chocolate brown locks tickle your neck and cheek as he gazes up at you from your shoulder; wandering, curious eyes study yours knowingly, his natural hues tainted blue with the Spice.

"What troubles you?"

You hesitate in your response, unsure of the right thing to say. There's no point in lying, not to him, to a boy who could easily use the power of his Voice to make you tell him everything and anything with just a few words. He's done it to the Bene Gesserit, to those who speak out of turn and challenge him cluelessly, but never to you. And something tells you that he never will.

"I'm sorry," is how you answer instead, in a small whisper, trying to read his expression before his reaction.

But all Paul does is give you one of his soft, amused smirks, a brow raising slightly, unconvinced.

"Don't apologise to anyone for anything," he murmurs, his fingers drifting to lock with yours, his hand hot and strong in yours. "We are to be wed, you and I, soon. So what troubles you?"

"It's not you," you tell him as earnestly as you can, his eyes capturing yours and holding them as you blink up at him. "I'm just... nervous."

"Nervous?" Paul repeats gently, his hands squeezing yours for a moment, his face an inch away from yours. "What have you to be nervous about?" He grins slightly, not attempting to hide his teasing amusement. "A wedding?"

You can't help but smile at his tone, savouring the unguarded moments of the new, young Emperor, his boyish traits lingering beneath the newfound power and promises passed down to him.

You were nervous, because you weren't so familiar with destiny and its quirks, and yet, Paul Atreides seemed to be its master. Nervous, because although there was a strange pull between you and him, a deeper part of you somehow knowing him, at an instinctive ease with him, you had never met him before these past few days, and now, you were going to be joined together for time indefinite by marriage. Nervous, because he didn't just want you to rule with him, but alongside him, as a partner, a second part of him. His second half who's with him in soul, not just spirit, physically, not just mentally. And he's relishing in it.

"I've never had one before," you shake your head with a light smile, "I don't know what to expect. Or what's expected of me."

Paul hums to himself at your reply, pausing for a while as he thinks over his words.

"It isn't just a wedding," he tells you quietly, "it's so much more. This... this a beginning. A new dawn."

"Beginning?" You echo in bemusement, looking up at him in wonder. "Of what?"

"Of a new era," Paul says thoughtfully, his hands moving from yours to run over and down your sides, tracing over your figure absentmindedly, a gesture that makes you hold your breath for a beat as you watch him, "the first of many. You are more than a mere future. You're the future. My future. And the future of my people."

The sincerity and conviction in his voice makes you stare back at him in slight awe, taken by his certainty of what he's seen in the deepest stretches of his mind, the flickering images of you, adorned in all your natural beauty and grace that he could find nothing short of perfect. You were a fantasy and a hope materialised. Someone he'd wished and dreamed for so much, that you came true, just as you should have.

"Anything that happens to you," Paul continues, looking you straight in the eye as he speaks, "happens to me. You have always been mine, and I was yours before then. Absolutely and completely."

And his words make a home in your head, everything he says so poetic and beautifully surreal, but so honest and unwaveringly confident. He didn't need to practise what he said before he whispered the sweet words in your ear, in a voice only you could catch, in the long, warm nights on Arrakis. There was no need for practice. He had been made for this, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You let yourself relax slightly in his grips, giving him an earnest smile. "That sounds nice."

Paul smiles back at you, a bright, sweet smile that makes him seem so soft and normal, almost forgetting for a moment of his utter strength and glory over the planets, his dangerous darkness that he occasionally allowed to rule over his actions at the tensest of times, until those who stood up against him retreated in bewilderment and fascination and fear.

"It does," he agrees, his gaze dropping to look out at the dunes beyond you, "you can't imagine..."

You couldn't. But every part of you wanted to. And those parts won.

"Won't you tell me?"

Paul's attention shifts back to you after you speak, before you can stop yourself.

"Would it be kind to tell you?" He asks aloud, speaking half to himself as his eyes go to search yours again, studying every inch of you, almost unsettlingly intently.

"Do you dream?" Paul questions you softly, and you dither before shaking your head.

"Not like you do," you answer steadily.

"Like I do. Seeing your face amidst the streaks of sunbeams and every kind of ethereal power that could create wonders, planets, worlds. Waking up, and you're not here, though it felt so real," he goes on, his voice laced with longing, as if it pained him to remember the feeling. "Realer than I've ever felt anything before. Every sense in me was awakened, because with destiny, I saw hope. And I did not know that hope could be so.... beautifully... angelic."

Paul draws closer and closer with each word, pulled by invisible strings to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a long moment to breathe, breathe you in. The sight of it is almost dizzyingly hypnotic, staring at the little scattered freckles over his fair, lightly tanned skin, cheeks flushed golden. He moves his face to rub his cheek against yours, seeking out affection in an irresistible rare, vulnerable move. Your hand reaches up to brush your fingers against it, and he takes it in his immediately, pressing his lips against your fingertips as he speaks.

"I need you," Paul insists, his voice firm and pressing again as he stares at you with a spark of desperation. "I need only you. More than you can comprehend. By my side, always, where you belong."

"I'm right here," you reply a little giddily, looking away from his eyes slightly bashfully from the intensity and unbridled longing of his gaze. "I suppose I'm just not used to this."

"To what?" Paul questions, his fingers tilting your chin up softly to force your eyes back up to his, his face a little closer than before. "To being an Empress?"

Before you can respond, he's pushed himself closer over you, his warm, damp lips sliding and pressing against yours and parting to encourage you to deepen his affections. It sends hot shockwaves rushing straight through your blood, as Paul crouches over you, all patience and purpose forgotten in the moment where it's just the two of you in the calm, lingering desert night.

You fit together perfectly, too perfectly for his words to be untrue, and his head tilts keenly where your fingers skim his neck, his lips parting from yours as they tangle in his hair with a short gasp. He loses none of his confidence and persistence, his azure blue eyes a shade darker as he watches you with an open trace of adoration.

"A queen?"

"Paul," you start shakily, as he smirks at you fondly, his head ducking to trace his tongue briefly up the skin of your neck, with a faint chuckle.

"To being desired?"

You glare at him weakly, hanging onto his hands tight to find some sense of grounding. "You're just playing with me."

"I intend to do so much more than that," Paul grins at you, kissing your cheek before burying his face against your shoulder. "And so should you. Test the depths of our connection. Push it to its limits. Push me. Please."

You find yourself speechless again at his way with words, simple and truthful, but full of passion and unthought romance, a sensation he's been craving since the first shadows of your being in his hazy dreams and visions.

"Give into your destiny, sweet girl," he croons to you in a whisper, his lips brushing against yours and pressing down against your skin needily, hungrily. It takes almost inhumane strength not to crumble and shiver under his touch and desire radiating off him and his dark glare, the wanting over years of dreams and prophecies building up to its peak. "Give into me."

"I think I will," you whisper back in awe and giddiness, your arms having to hold tightly around his neck to stay upright. "I think I want to."

"That's good," he praises you with a soft smile, as his voice lowers. "And besides," Paul mutters in your ear, nuzzling against your cheek breathlessly, with that subtle, teasing look in his eyes, "I plan on taking you as mine well before the wedding."

══════════════⊹⊱≼ fin ≽⊰⊹══════════════

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @minaxcarter @milaeth @ennycutie @weird0o0 @aoi-targaryen @jindongdongie

[melodic-haze]

I WAS WAITING FOR THE ASKBOX TO BE OPENED AGAIN WOOHOO…

anyway. How about a belly bulge from a strap with Robin? Like, trying out different straps with Robin and the one is bigger then the bigger belly bulge on her stomach is!!!

-🐿️

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Robin x dom!fem!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader with a strap but that's probably evident HAHAHA, squirting

☆ — NOTES: I JUMPED ohhh 🐿 how I love your mind ik you sent this when I last opened my askbox I'm so sorry it took this long 💀💀💀💀💀

I went crazy insane before sitting down to write this bc HOLY FUCK

For the record I'd like to think that this was Robin's initial idea. She got way too curious and decided to just maaaybe suggest experimenting with sizes :3

And maybe she wants to see how it feels to be stuffed silly but shhh you don't need to know that (you probably already know LOL)

You start with a smaller size before buying new ones that are bigger than the last......but you just can't help but notice that whenever you both look around the site for another one, she always seems to linger at a particularly large one before you gently nudge her and snap her out of whatever train of thought she was in

So you end up buying that exact one in secret before surprising her, in which case?

The moment you revealed your 'mystery gift', you find that you've never seen Robin's eyes practically sparkle this much in such a peculiar way; it shined with a humorous mix of surprise, amusement and heated desire.

"Is this..?"

"I've noticed your eye on it more than once—for a multi-talented performer, you're not exactly discreet," you joked.

She smiles bashfully, "I suppose I've let my excitement show once or twice..."

"Really."

She laughs in that melodic tone you've easily grown to love, "Oh, hush, you!"

But then her eyes drift back to the new toy you've bought her.. and her hand idly strokes the false appendage, the size comparison between it and her hand being.. definitely something.

You hadn't even realised you were staring at her (and her movements) until you heard her clearing her throat, "Y-Yes? Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

She gives you a light smirk, the wings on her head lightly flapped as if it were tittering, "I was going to ask if you'd like to try it out on me but if you're preoccupied with something, then-- mmph! ..Mm..."

You had silenced her with a quick yet deep kiss, the dildo pressing down on both your stomachs and earning you an excited moan before you drew back, "Was that enough of an answer for you, angel?"

"Mhm..." Her hand went to feel the toy leaning on her stomach, as if a prelude for the real event, "More than satisfactory."

Oh god when you get down to it, it's like she's absolutely hypnotised. Robin's DEFINITELY a lot more, for the lack of a more eloquent term befitting for such a lovely lady 🥰, sluttier and you've found that out for a bit now, but you've never seen her like this—all that's happening right now is Robin blowing you and yet it's as if she's already so dumb and eager as she drools on your cock. Can't even fit it in her mouth, what's the chance that she'd fit in her cunt????

Turns out she's determined to have you (and your new toy) inside of her no matter what 🤷‍♀️ gotta respect the woman's perseverance 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

She winces when you try to put it in at first (with a LOT of questioning her beforehand about whether she's sure she can handle it, which she says she can but still) and you take your time with it, letting her adjust to the stretch little by bit. Something inside her wants you to just shove it all in but she 1) knows better and 2) doesn't want to worry you 🫶🫶🫶🫶

It takes a while but when you finally bottom out inside her she is WEAK AS HELLLLLLL❗️❗️ Her eyes are half-lidded, her breaths fast, drool gathering on the corner of her mouth.......oh she's already gone and you haven't even started moving yet

The moment you do though??? Ohhh boy oh boy oh BOYYYYYYY her wings are a DEFINITE tell on how she's feeling. With the way they're flapping and twitching as you piston her deeply, you can easily say she was enjoying it ☺️

And alsooo the moment you've all been waiting for :33333

You had been so distracted with your Halovian lover's reactions that you almost didn't notice the very noticeable bulge on her...

Oh. Oh.

"Robinnn..." You cooed with a clear smirk on your lips, "I'm sure you can manage to look down here, right? It'll be worth it."

You accentuate your point further by gently grazing your hand onto the evident bulge on her stomach disappearing and reappearing every time you plunged the strap inside her. She looks down at the feeling with unfocused eyes before they widen at the realisation...

And then you push.

The reaction you get is one you wish you recorded for preservation—she screams as her nails claw on the sheets underneath her, hips shaking up and pushing herself even further into your cock. The tip ends up hitting a particular spot and her eyes roll back as you feel some sort of pressure hitting onto your strap.

The moment you pull out, a jet of liquid squirts out and hits you and the strap both. It takes a while before her orgasm actually starts to recede.

...

And you need her to do that again, you resolve within yourself, as you use the wings on her hips as handlebars and pull her back on your dick without a warning.

You don't stop for a while, that much is clear

Yk what else is clear? That Robin's a SIIIIZE QUEEEEEN I love her 🥰🥰🥰 She's soooo stretched out and fucked out by the end of it and yk what the best part is???

She makes sure to show you just how much she appreciates her very big gift in any way you'd want ☺️☺️

She's gonna have so much fun the day after when she goes to work ahahahah no fr I'd say jokes but I'm really not. She'll think about what you've done and what you now have and she'll feel her pussy clench as she gets distracted by her own thoughts when she REALLY shouldn't be 😭

[lululandd]

rabid; (i.)

pairing: platonic simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

word count: 956

warnings: comedy, aftermath of torture, mild gore

note: heheh >:3 (also on ao3)

summary:

ghost has a love-hate relationship with his neighbour of six years. on one hand they’re quiet enough, nice enough, considerate enough and never once had bothered him in any way, but on the other hand he is a highly trained soldier with highly trained senses and the things he hears travelling through his walls are batshit insane.

part i. | part ii. | part iii. | part iv.

He guesses they are an entertainer or a comedian or some sort because on rare occasions, they—whether he wanted to or not—made him laugh. The absurdity of the questions and things that came out of their mouth really makes him feel like he has a glimpse of what a worry free civilian life could be.

On one particularly rowdy night he heard the one sided conversation about anal, which rapidly escalated to how peoples arseholes can stretch up to seven inches in diameter and therefore, theoretically could fit two smaller raccoons.

He listened in fascinated horror how that thought came into their mind, how they associated arseholes with raccoons, and why in christ fuck did they sound so cheerful about it. Maybe he’s just a battle hardened, workaholic soldier that has only seen carnage and suffering, but even if such a thought came to his mind, it would not be classified as a happy thought and he would not laugh about it.

Until eight months later where he’s interrogating an American that he really wants to just straight up murder and remembers his neighbour.

He opens the door that leads to the rest of the warehouse and calls out to his men, “I need two raccoons. Small but not pups.”

He was met with silence and a confused looks, but he saw Gaz and Soap get on it and round up several soldiers.

“Alive!” He barked at them.

—

Soap looked worriedly at Gaz, “What do you think he’s gonna do with live raccoons?”

The other man shrugged, “You think he’s gonna threaten him with rabies?” Gaz gnashed his teeth together, “Let them bite him or something?”

One of the Lance Corporals behind them chimed, “I kinda wanna see.”

In came a chime of ‘yeah’s from the other men.

—

Ghost had made sure the American in question heard his request of the live raccoons before taking a seat on the table holding all his tools and lighting up a cigarette.

He looked at the man’s surroundings, the litter of teeth and nails on the floor, three parts of his severed ring finger, and the blood splatters on the makeshift plastic floor. The cleanup crew’s gonna at least be a little happy about that.

“You like raccoons, mate?” He offers, lighting what seemed to be his third cigarette.

The question caught him off guard. “What?”

“Raccoons. Trash pandas. Those chubby lil wankers with grubby hands.” He curled his palms and did mock scratching motions.

“You’re crazy.” He spat.

“I am.” For even thinking of trying this over his neighbour’s demented jokes.

Fourty five minutes later Gaz came knocking on his door.

“Got your furry friends, boss.” He gestures at a cage sitting by the door. The animals seemed calm, they couldn’t have just nicked it from some random bins and throw them in there.

“Cheers, Gaz.” He saw the man linger. “Anything else?”

“Can we observe, Sir?”

“No.” came his quick answer. If he really has to do what he thinks he’s gonna do, he’d rather his men not see it. They’ve seen so much in their line of work already, he doesn’t want to add to their nightmares.

Imagining one of them having PTSD from seeing a harmless animal makes him feel guilty.

He took the cage from Gaz’s hands and placed it nicely on the floor, a little way away from the American’s feet.

“You know that saying?” He puts on his best southern accent, mimicking Graves. “What crawled up your butt and died?”

The man’s eyes widened and he tried so hard to shift further into his seat, trying to create as much distance between them as possible. Ghost lets the moment go on for a little longer. It makes all the difference, really; whether you rush into the torture or letting them sit and wonder about the choices they think they have.

“I heard somewhere that your arse can stretch up to seven inches in diameter.” He pointed at the raccoons, “The normal sized bastards can fit into a four inch hole. But I’m being nice today and gonna give these smaller ones some wiggle room.”

He can’t help but crouch closer to the cage and coo at them as the man starts yelling for help.

“So.” He said in a calm voice, listing his head slowly when the man had stopped screaming his throat dry. “Since I’m a very nice man today I’m gonna give you two options.”

Fat rolls of tears had started to run down the man’s cheeks, his chest heaving as he begged for mercy.

“Do you want me to sedate these raccoons so they don’t claw your insides or do you wanna..” He remembers a word that floated into his flat one night, “..rawdog it?”

—

Soap had never seen a cleaner interrogation room before. Not from Ghost, the man’s usually so brutal about it. He remembers seeing parts of a live brain one time because Ghost had bashed their skull so badly and remembered having to shoot the person dead out of pity. But today? The intel was good, the man was still alive with almost all of his body parts; save for some of his teeth and nails and the chopped up finger,

and the raccoons.

They were alive and Ghost seemed to never have opened the cage at all.

—

When Ghost came home that month he heard his neighbour say something about a ‘little birthday celebration’ for tomorrow. He checked his watch and decided to walk to the bakery and get them some cake. That last operation went smoothly, and he has them to thank.

He can’t wait to hear what other mental things that will come out of their mouth in the future and apply them to his work.

[rk1stars]

WE CAN’T BE FRIENDS ( PART TWO )

-> part one

IN WHICH..

As you erase your memories of Sunghoon out of anger, a sense of regret slowly creeps in during the procedure. Despite your initial determination, doubts begin to surface about whether this is the right decision. As you make your way to his apartment, uncertainty gnaws at you. How will Sunghoon react when he sees you? Will he be surprised, angry, or confused? The thought of facing him fills you with anxiety, but deep down, you know you have to see him—one last time.

PAIRING & CATEGORIES

ex husband! Sunghoon x gn reader, second chance, divorced to lovers, angst?, fluff

CAUTION

force, kissing, skinship, crying, NOT proofread

STAR’S DIARY

I wrote this at midnight

TAGLIST

@cholexc @yyawnjun @rosas-in-the-garden @allforhee @ilovejungwonandhaechan @ifuckedheeseung @jooniesbears-blog @niki-the-genius @lilyuwon @ihrtnrk @kgneptun

HEADPHONES PLAYING..

we can’t be friends by ariana grande, ordinary things by ariana grande

“N-NO!” you sobbing and screaming while your tears stream down your eyes continually.

You were aware that you would eventually feel remorse for your actions. Your tendency to prioritize your trivial emotions over logic was a recurring pattern. The memories held great significance for you, each one cherished and irreplaceable. The thought of losing them all was unbearable, weighing heavily on your conscience

You couldn’t do it. It was a bad idea but even though you didn’t get your happy ending, you at least had a sweet story. Sunghoon made you the happiest you’ve ever been.

So you did it, you swiftly made your escape from the operation room and raced towards the familiar surroundings of you and Sunghoon's former apartment. The adrenaline fueled sprint through the city streets was exhilarating as you navigated through the bustling crowds, determined to reach your destination.

Memories flooded back as you approached the building, each step bringing you closer to the safety of your shared home. The sense of urgency pushed you forward, the need to escape and find solace in the comfort of familiar surroundings overwhelming. Finally, you reached the door, taking a deep breath before ringing the doorbell.

As you stood there waiting, time seemed to drag on endlessly. The feeling of impatience grew within you, making you question whether it was worth it to keep waiting.

Doubt crept into your mind, whispering that perhaps it was time to give up and walk away. But just as you were about to surrender to the frustration, a glimmer of hope appeared. The door finally creaked open, flooding your body with nervousness.

As you gazed upon the familiar figure of Sunghoon, memories from years past flooded your mind, causing tears to well up in your eyes. Sunghoon's own eyes widened in recognition, his lips parting in surprise as he took in the sight of you. The passage of time seemed to melt away as you both stood there, sharing a moment of silent understanding. It was a bittersweet reunion, filled with a mix of joy and sorrow at how much had changed.

As the silence lingers, a wave of embarrassment washes over you. His blank expression and lack of recognition leave you feeling small and insignificant. It's as though you never even crossed his mind, as if your presence in his life was completely forgettable. The weight of this realization settles heavily on your shoulders, causing a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I- i’m sorry! You don’t even know me..” but as you were about to run away, you felt a warm hand gripping your wrist.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, a sudden warmth enveloped you. It was an embrace so comforting, so reassuring, that all your worries seemed to melt away. Sunghoon's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if promising to never let go.

His touch was like a gentle caress, soothing and tender, filling you with a sense of security and love. In that moment, everything else faded away, and you were left with the simple, pure joy of being held in his arms. It was a moment of pure bliss, a moment you wished would never end.

“Sunghoon..?”

“How do you even remember me..”

Finally, Sunghoon turned his gaze towards you, tears shimmering in his eyes. A faint blush rose to his cheeks as he nervously scratched his neck, a clear sign of his embarrassment. It was evident that he was struggling to find the right words to speak, his emotions overwhelming him. Despite his attempt to compose himself, his vulnerability was palpable.

The weight of his unspoken words hung heavy in the air, the silence between you both speaking volumes. And in that moment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of empathy towards him, as you awaited his hesitant words with bated breath.

“I coudn’t do it..”

“I-i tried to but I just..”

Before he could continue speaking, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. The unexpected kiss caught him off guard, causing his words to fade away into a jumble of thoughts. His heart raced as he felt the warmth of your lips against his, a rush of emotions flooding through him. Time seemed to stand still in that moment as you shared a passionate connection.

The intensity of the kiss left him speechless, his mind reeling with confusion and desire. And in that instant, everything else faded away as he focused solely on the feeling of your lips on his.

As all the memories flooded through both of your minds, drawing you closer together, Sunghoon gently lifted you up. The rush of nostalgia washed over you, intertwining your hearts and souls in a moment of pure connection.

With each passing memory, the bond between you grew stronger, solidifying the unbreakable link you shared. Sunghoon's touch was tender yet firm, conveying a sense of protection and love. In that moment, you felt truly seen and understood, as if every memory was a thread weaving you both closer together. And in Sunghoon's arms, you knew you were home.

As the kiss broke, Sunghoon's breath hitched in his chest, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and worry as he gazed at you. The intensity of the moment lingered in the air, a silent exchange of emotions passing between you both. His gaze was filled with longing, his lips slightly parted as if yearning for more. But beneath the desire, there was also a hint of concern, a worry that perhaps he had crossed a line or that things were moving too fast.

“C-can we try again..?”

“Yes, dork.”

With a grin of relief, Sunghoon leaned in and kissed you once more before scooping you up in his arms and carrying you into his apartment. The warmth of his touch and the joy in his eyes filled you with a sense of contentment.

As he gently set you down, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that flooded through you. The closeness between you two was undeniable, and in that moment, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be. Sunghoon's kiss was a promise of love and happiness that you eagerly embraced.

At last, you guess you can say that you two finally got your happy endings..

[for-a-longlongtime]

V. Sometime Around Midnight

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Marcus Pike

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Words: 839 A/N: This one took a while to figure out, so I appreciate y'all hanging in there - and all the love you've been spreading about this little series. For everybody who voted to see Marcus x Tim in this chapter (the poll currently is a tie!): don't worry, Tim will be here next time! This is unbeta-ed, dividers by @saradika.

< Previous Part

“Tell me about him.” Frankie bites into his taco, narrowly avoiding the spill of the salsa that drops dangerously close past his shirt. It’s 1 am, and at this point he can’t even recall how long it had been since he’d met up with Marcus at the air force base that morning. Exhaustion sits heavy in his bones as fragments of the day flit through his mind.

Their messes in that helicopter, quickly cleaned up with his hoodie. Driving silently to his apartment with a quick stop at Walgreens for condoms, lube and refreshments. All of that falling to the floor when he backed Marcus up against the front door, so eager to kiss him again - and for a brief, mad moment actually considering to fuck him right there. 

The slippery trail from the shower to his bed, sheets immediately damp from their wet bodies because finally - finally - he got to map all of Marcus’ body with his mouth, fingers, tongue, teeth. Hear the whimpering turn to moaning, begging, urging, until Marcus cried out his name eventually when he came. Not far behind, Frankie had tried to keep it down - trying to prevent a noise complaint from the neighbors -, which he only managed with his face buried against Marcus’ shoulder, coming harder than he’d had in months.

There had been cold drinks to share on the balcony, some snacks he found around the apartment, and the view of Marcus dressed in a pair of Frankie’s boxers - which turned out to be a lot more distracting than Frankie had expected it to be. Marcus hadn’t just been easy to chat to; he was fun to be around. Enthusiastic and animated, whether it was about food or art or travel; he easily talked about all kinds of things without it being too much chatter. 

Perhaps what Frankie liked most of all was that Marcus didn’t try to fill any silences. He didn’t seem to mind that Frankie was introverted, didn’t try to push anything, and didn’t ask invasive questions about the time Frankie had served, leaving it up to him to offer whatever information he wanted. That was something Frankie wasn’t quite used to. He wasn’t used to spending this much time around new people without feeling the urge to withdraw, to call it a day and unwind with some quiet time. Instead he found himself here, well after midnight, next to a food truck with tacos and beers. Asking about the one subject that hadn’t quite come up yet. 

Marcus swallows a bite of his food. “Tim? What do you want to know?” 

Frankie shrugs, tugging at the damp label on the beer bottle with his nail. “You mentioned you’ve been seeing each other for about a year and a half,” he says eventually, not quite sure what it is he wants to know about Tim. “You guys serious, or casual, or…”

“Or?”

Frankie laughs softly, shaking his head. He didn’t expect that to get turned on him; most people would’ve just filled in the blank with their own answer. “Or something else. You tell me.”

“If you’re wondering why else we’re fucking other people…”

“No,” he says after a moment as he leans back in his chair, not missing how Marcus’ eyes track the movement, lingering on his biceps for a long moment. “If so, I would’ve asked that.” 

“Yeah. You would’ve.” A smile plays over Marcus’ face as he nods. “Tim and I are serious, yes. But when we decided on that, we wanted to be realistic and leave some room for options. Nothing wrong with being into people other than your partner.”

Frankie thinks about it for a moment. “Neither of you get jealous?”

“Can’t, really. If things get too complicated, it doesn’t work, so we’re just open about everything.” Marcus hesitates for a moment, then continues. “We don’t really see anyone more than three times tops. To avoid getting attached.” The last words are surprisingly softer than the others.

“Mmm. So you get to see me one more time.” Frankie is not going to be coy about it. Spending such a long day together, and having fucked four times meant there was no mistake about the mutual interest. That last time Frankie had woken up from an evening nap, with Marcus still asleep against him, cock hard and leaking on Frankie’s thigh. Instead of feeling self conscious about his own refractory period, Frankie had woken him with a slow, lazy blowjob and then took his time to make Marcus fall apart under his hands one more time. “That’s how it works for you.”

“If you want to-...”

“Shut up, you know the answer.” Frankie laughs as he grabs Marcus by his shirt, tugging him over for a deep kiss. Lips tasting sweet from the pork and pineapple salsa, a hint of beer still. “You know I like you.”

Three more weeks. He’s stationed here in LA for three more weeks, with only one more opportunity to see Marcus.

That’s gonna become a problem.

Main masterlist | < Previous part Follow @longlongtime-updates for fic updates!

[ramhaiba]

𝖧𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖵𝗈𝗐𝗌 (𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖬𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗆𝗂 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋)

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕚𝕩, 𝕀𝕟𝕠𝕞𝕟𝕚𝕒

No actual warning in this chapter- however MINOR DO NOT INTERACT SERIES TW: Violence, Sexual themes, major character death,tba

previous chapter

At least once a week, You, Nobara, and Yuuji meet up in your bedroom when everyone else in the manor is asleep. Yuuji likes to call these get-togethers the 'Anti-Zenin club meetings.' As expected, the main topic talked about during these 'club meetings' is either new information on the Zenin family or how your trials went. In some messed up way- scheming against a whole family late at night reminds you of the sleepovers you used to share with your friends when you were younger.

"I smell new jewelry. Is this from 'lover boy?' It's not so bad to look at" Nobara teased, her finger grazing the pendant on your necklace given by Megumi.

"He gave it to me on his birthday, it use to belong to his mom" you explained.

"So he gave you his late mother's necklace?" Nobara questioned, her glance bouncing off of you to Yuuji, giving him the most devious smile. "Looks like someone has a crush on Y/n, Kugisaki" Yuuji teased, covering his mischievous smile with his palm. "Careful Y/n, he might actually mean 'I do' at the wedding" Nobara added.

"Shut up- both of you" you huffed, cheeks burning with embarrassment, throwing a pillow at Nobara- only for her to catch it with the same delinquent smile.

"But he did tell you it was possible for him to love you- romantically, right?" Yuuji questioned, his tone more serious than it was five minutes ago. "Yeah but he was weird about it- he said something about 'not knowing how to love someone the right way.' Whatever that means" you explained.

Yuuji took a moment to think of his words, debating in his mind if this were the right moment. "Maybe there is another way for these trials to stop" Yuuji uttered, his voice with a hint of embarrassment.

"Which is?" you asked, somewhat annoyed.

"Well...No one wants to hurt someone they're in love with right?" Yuuji confessed, his eyes glued to a wall, too nervous to look at your reaction.

"Excuse me- You're kidding- tell me you're kidding. Nobara, please tell Yuuji that he's crazy for thinking that I seduce the son of the Zenin family- so he may or may not  spare me from tests, that I have been passing" you argued. To your disappointment, Nobara remained silence. "Don't tell me you agree-" you laughed in disbelief.

"You've only finished two out of ten tests, Y/n. I mean- what if you're biting off more than your chew?" Nobara explained. "What if he makes them even harder?" you argued.

"Why would he do that if he was in love with you" Nobara countered, slightly raising her voice.

"I know- I'm just worried. During my last trial- he was very adamant that I wouldn't want to be loved by him for some reason  " you sighed, in defeat.

"Think about it this way, Y/n" Yuuji spoke up, walking over to you, sitting next to you on your bed, thighs almost touching.

"Wouldn't revenge on the Zenin family hurt Megumi even more if he came from the women he loved?" Yuuji suggested, his tone lingering in your ear. With that simple realization, all the fears inside your head formed into one solo thought,

You must find a way to make Megumi Fushiguro to fall in love with you.

---

It's been at least a week since you had a trial- or even seen Megumi. While you're grateful that you're not having to go through deadly tests, you're getting worried about whether he's scheming.

You feel much safer when you know what he's doing- rather than him being stuck in his room. You have no idea what's going on in his mind this past week... Well, it's not like you ever had a clue what goes on in his brain.

According to the servant's gossip, he's been coup up in his room, not allowing anyone to enter, daring to raise his voice if a servant even dares to step foot into his room to ask if he'd like tea. So this week has just been servants leaving his breakfast, lunch, and dinner on a spotless silver platter in front of his door.

You asked Maki if she had a clue on what was going on behind his doors.

"When Megumi likes this it's best to let him be. Besides, if it was really important he was smart enough to let me know" Maki sighed, crossing her arms.

You really tried to leave him alone, waiting for his phase to pass. But you're losing sleep at night, dreading if he's planning some sick trial.

It was the middle of the night, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, hands clutching your blanket, your body exhausted but your mind refusing to sleep.

God- it's time to put an end to this madness.

You got up, not bothering to change out of your nightgown as you made your way to Megumi's bed chambers. You paused in front of his door, there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be upset with you.

But do you care? Eh- he's done worse.

Not bothering to knock, you slowly opened the door, a lingering creek sound from it, making you cringe. There you saw Megumi, instantly sitting up from his bed due to the noise, chest heaving, body sweaty, cheeks red, hair damp, the damp towel falling off his forehead.

"Oh- it's you" Megumi panted, his voice hoarse, falling back down on his bed.

"Get out" he mumbled, waving you off. "I'm only here to check up on you- I haven't seen you for a week. Are you unwell...I mean- you look ill" you questioned.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed, it's late" Megumi uttered before erupting into a coughing fit, causing you to rush towards him.

"You're not fine. You're burning up" you argued, laying the back of your hand on his forehead, only for him to swat away like an annoyed cat.

"It's nothing I can't handle, Y/n. Go back to your room" Megumi sighed. "What did you tell me before your birthday dinner... Oh right, 'I'm your fiancé. You can't hide these types of things from me.' So let me help you" you quoted, using Megumi's words against him, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"It would be a pain if you'd get sick as well, especially if it were my fault" Megumi mumbled, slightly embarrassed as he pulled his comforter tighter around him.

"Well, unlike you- I don't mind people helping me if I get sick, so I'll be fine" you replied.

"Now stay here, I'll make you some tea" you advised.

"It's not like I could got anywhere else to go" Megumi grumbled.

---

You helped Megumi sit up, carefully placing the white floral tea cup into his hands and then stepping away.

"ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ" he mumbled.

"What was that?" you teased

"Thank you, Y/n" Megumi huffed, blowing air to cool his tea. "Oh, it's nothing. I couldn't just let a person who's sick take care of themselves" you explained.

Yeah- but you also  can't exactly pass a opportunity like this...not when you're desperately trying to get on his good side so you can get a 'get out of jail' card for that fucked up family tradition.

"I'm usually very capable of taking care of myself when I'm unwell. I guess this time is different because of I've been more stressed lately" Megumi confessed, reveling in the warmth of the cup filled with hot tea.

"You're capable of nursing yourself back to health? Is that because Zenins are 'oh so strong and powerful?" you teased. "I have experience, my sister- Tsumiki. She was often sick during most of our childhood" Megumi answered, tone strangely monotone for a person who confessed to having a sickly sister-acting as if it was normal situation to be in.

"I didn't know you had a sister like that" you commented, voice traced with pity. Megumi looked over at you, a subtle smile on his lips, "She's not dead, Y/n. She's not my biological sister either. She just came with the package when my dad decided to marry her mom. After they split, I don't really see her much. I heard from my old man that she's staying at an institution where they can monitor her health" Megumi explained.

"Sorry- you just made her sound...well dead" you replied.

Before Megumi could utter a word, a yawn released from your mouth, the lack of sleep from your anxieties finally catching up with you. "You're tired" he commented. "Yeah- I've been having some trouble sleeping lately. I should get back to bed now" you replied, getting up to walk towards the door.

"Don't," Megumi muttered, leaning over, holding your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, slight anxiety lingering in your voice,

"It's my fault you haven't been getting sleep. I should have personally assigned you a quieter room in the castle- " 

"What are you trying to say here?" you questioned.

"You're not getting sleep because it's easier to hear the forest noises in your bedroom. Why else would you not be getting sleep? "Megumi explained, narrowing his eyes in confusion.  You hesitated before replying to Megumi...because you can't exactly say 

'Oh no- you're wrong. I haven't gotten any sleep because I thought you were planning this crazy death trap that would be probably hurt me in ways more painful than death. But yeah I guess I could hear an occasional wolf howl every other night.' 

Because if you said that any sentimental in this conversation- even if it was little - would probably be destroyed. So instead, you said "I have- but it's no big deal. I'm getting use to it." 

"If you can't sleep in your room, I rather you sleep in mine." 

And with those simple words, your face boiled in embarrassment, mind being filled with every dirty thought imaginable. Megumi's face turned a sudden red as he took in realization on what his words have done to do.

"I'm not planning to have sex with you- Y/n. D-do you really think so low of me?" Megumi huffed, adverting his eyes from yours.

"Beside the Zenin family highly against sex before marriage. I get enough shit for being a bastard child" Megumi added, somewhat easing your concerns.  "Swear " you uttered.

"Swear what?" Megumi questioned.

"Swear you're not going to touch me" you added, embarrassed at your own words.  "Would you prefer if my hands were tied up while you sleep?" Megumi replied, sarcastically.

He turned to his side, "I swear, I will not lay a finger on you" he mumbled. You hesitated before turning off the gas lamp at his night table, slowly easing onto his bed, his back facing you. You didn't dare to fall asleep before he did, so you stay awake till you knew it were impossible for him to still be awake as well.

You heart almost stopped as you watched him turn in his sleep, his closed eyes scrunched as he shifted to face towards you. 

Shamefully there was one thought that appeared in your head,

You could kill him right now by getting on top of him, wrapping your hands around his pretty throat and not go through the trials anymore. You could wake up Nobara and Yuuji and just run away- 

But you're not a killer, Y/n. So you closed your eyes, and Megumi was right- his room was much quieter than your room, only taking a few minutes for your body to ease into a deep sleep. 

You woke up, a strange warmness on your body, you tilted your head and there was Megumi, his chin resting on the top of your head, legs tangled with yours, arm laying around your waist, peacefully sleeping. Your mind instantly went into a internal panic, 

God if Nobara or Yuuji was here they'd never let you live this down. 

You slowly pulled yourself away from Megumi, thankful that he didn't wake up, only grumbling in his sleep.  You tiptoed out of his room, carefully opening the door and slipping out. 

You walked down the hall, trying to get back into your room to change out of your nightgown, only to be interrupted by a sudden force bumping into you, causing you to fall on your bottom. You looked up to see the culprit of your fall, a slightly messy dark hair, sleepy eyed boy in the same knight uniform as Yuuji.

"I am so sorry, are you okay?" the man asked, lending you his hand to help you stand up. You dusted your nightgown, "I'm alright" you replied. 

The man took a good look at you, noticing the expensive material of your nightgown, "Yo-you're princess Y/n, right?" he asked, his voice stuttering as he realized the value of his mistake. 

"That's correct" you laughed, amused by his behavior. "I-I'm so sorry, your majesty. I didn't mean to bump into you- you see I'm actually a new knight and I haven't exactly learned my way around the castle. So I got distracted and I wasn't looking-" The knight rambled on. 

"It's okay, you're forgiven- uh... I'm sorry I don't know your name" you replied, slightly embarrassed at your realization. "Oh- it's Yuta."

"Yuta Okkotsu"

next chapter

[z0mibite]

gif by @prusetch

To be continued...? Let me know 🫠

pairing – nikolai (beyond the rave) x gn!reader

warnings – general vampire stuff, blood/blood drinking, no explicit sexual tension, but cmon, we know why we're reading this, gassing (like in the movie), readers skin is described as 'paling' due to blood loss but not pale.

word count – roughly under 600

n/a – got random inspiration for nikolai after a comment from the lovely @astarions-bride. You all can thank them for this masterpiece. Also, hypothetically, if I continued this, the title would be oddities and curiosities.

You shivered as the temperature within you plummeted, contrasting with the warmth of the firelight from the metal bin nearby. Despite the heated atmosphere, you felt your nerves begin to feel like a grainy tv screen at the oncoming numbness, which was alleviated only by the pain in your neck—your life force surrendered to the vampire. Each lap of his tongue against the wound was punctuated by guttural gulps as he drank your essence. His demeanor bordered on feral, growling and twitching like a starved beast.

Considering he technically was non-human, his animalistic instincts shouldn't surprise you. With each pulse of your blood, moments lingered in the stillness. His consumption is punctuated by ragged breaths, despite the unneed to breathe. He withdrew from your artery after taking notice of your body's cue, the shallow of your breath, the speeding cadence of your heart, and the paling, chilled skin rivaled only by his own.

As he withdrew, a haunting stillness settled over the chamber. In the flickering firelight, shadows danced upon his pronounced features, casting light upon his face, now blushed with your blood. The rosy tint was not merely a visual change; he felt the pulsating warmth coursing through him. Every heartbeat, every surge of life that originated from your veins, manifested as an internal warmth. The heat of your blood became a living caress.

Silence lingered, pregnant with the weight of unspoken desires. His feral demeanor softened, replaced by a contemplative gaze that hinted at centuries of existence. As you lay there, the vampire's voice, resonant and velvety, pierced the quiet.

“You taste different from the others…” Nikolai's words, almost a question rather than a statement, a revelation. From the beginning, he had noticed an oddity with you, a nuance that set you apart. It was this oddity that guided his fangs directly to your neck, unable to wait for the others to drain you dry.

Nikolai confessed to the uniqueness he had sensed in you. A scent, an intoxicating aroma, had wafted from underneath your skin. As his fangs pierced your neck, it wasn't merely a physical need that drove him, but an insatiable craving for the flavor that danced within your essence.

He stared you down, his gaze flickering around your face and body as he inhaled your scent deeply once more. His pupils made his eyes appear almost completely black, only a small ring of blue visible to you with the close proximity. He guided his hand to the side of your neck, his thumb pushing your jawline up as he admired the crimson dripping from the punctures.

Heavy eyelids try to succumb to the combined effects of the gas and the loss of blood, coaxing your body to rest and recover. Each blink became a strenuous effort, it was exhausting just to reopen your eyes. Yet, with each strained effort to lift the veil of fatigue, your gaze persisted, meeting his, full of vulnerability and resilience.

Without clear reason, you wanted to show your strength, to prove your worthiness to him. Worthy of what, you weren't sure. Whether fueled by delirium or the ambiguity of your state, the only certainty that anchored you was the persistent thread of curiosity that connected your gaze to his.

In the windows where a soul should be, a faint trace lingers, revealing a shadow of the one who once was. A vampire, forbidden the warmth of a soul yet touched by a distant, delicate presence. As your eyes meet, you contemplate if the faint trace of a soul in his eyes is merely a reflection of your own.

[cuffmeinblack]

For the prompt list - 6, 19, 20 for Sebastian? Sorry if it's too many 🤍🤍

Stolen glances

Sebastian Sallow x gn!reader

Screenshot: @dingdongdick

Tags: fluff

600 words

"oh, shit. I'm in love with you??" prompts: 6. catching them lost in your eyes. 19. the moment of eye-contact from across the room that magically blurs everyone out of the world.

A/n: Ty for the prompt. I ended up combining 6 and 19 for this! Ugh I love his eyes.

"Sebastian Sallow!"

The exclamation made you jolt, along with half of the class. Professor Weasley's commanding voice echoed through the classroom as you cast a furtive look towards your friend. Sebastian sat across the large, open space in the middle of the room, currently being berated by your teacher in hushed tones. What he'd been up to was anybody's guess, but it had thoroughly distracted you from your mock examination.

As the minutes passed with your mind blank and only the scribbling of quills to fill the silence, you looked up to check on your classmates' progress, only to meet a pair of dark eyes. Sebastian's hand was still, holding his feather quill with a slack grip, which tightened the second he met your gaze. You'd caught him looking, whether idly or not, causing a faint blush to cross his freckled face as he dipped his head once again.

Your own cheeks were burning as you returned to your parchment; a somewhat unexpected reaction. You'd looked at Sebastian innumerable times, met his eyes as you talked and exchanged countless knowing or amused glances in the silence of your classes. Why was this any different? You knew the answer deep down, not daring to dredge it up in case you were mistaken, but his eyes had been so intently focused on you that the look certainly couldn't have been accidental. It wasn't one of distracted daydreaming or deep thought; it was focused intent and...something else.

Your ruminations weren't helping you concentrate on the paper in front of you at all. Thank Merlin this was only a mock exam and not your real N.E.W.T. You hastily scribbled the answers to the last few questions, wondering if you'd muddled the incantations for hair growth and colour, before setting down your quill to wait out the remaining minutes. You eyes flicked up to Sebastian, who's fluffy chestnut head was dipped as he furiously scrawled across the parchment.

You dragged your eyes across the room to Professor Weasley, who was busy at her desk before returning to Sebastian and finding those eyes again. This time he didn't look away, and neither did you. Why was your heart racing as he peered up at you, head dipped and gaze focused? You thought you'd seen that look on other people before; the way one might gaze into their loved one's eyes on their wedding day; but this was Sebastian.

You couldn't look away. He was pulling you in, fading the edges of your vision until there was nothing else left. Pulse racing, your mouth became dry as the seconds ticked by and still you looked, searching for answers. Had he always had those thick brows, those dark eyelashes that framed the windows to his soul so perfectly? Had you noticed the smattering of freckles just below his eyes or the ones that trailed down his nose to his lips...?

"Sebastian Sallow!"

The link was broken at the stern bark of your professor and you re-emerged from the stupor with a gasping breath as if coming up for air from below the black lake. That hadn't been the look from a friend, nor was the one you returned. Your heart had barely recovered by the time your parchment was summoned, slipping out from under your hands and flying onto your professor's desk. Your stomach had barely stopped churning by the time you walked out of the classroom, into the waiting arms of your friend.

The long, lingering glances had passed something unspoken between you both. You moved instinctively towards him, unable to look away even if you'd wanted to. Those dark eyes had you hooked, and a touch on your cheek and you were gone.

"Sebastian..."

"You feel it too?"

You nodded and your lips parted to speak, met with his kiss instead.

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Hi! new follower here! I really, I mean really love your writing!!

If asks are still open can i request 141 + LV, Konig & Horangi x GN!Civvie!Reader?? I know this might be cringe,,

(You can delete this if asks are closed!!)

Civvie!Reader is a happy person but is also depressed but secretly takes Prozac? (Also known as Happy Pills, if i'm not wrong) They don't know about it because they go on missions for like months and stuff,, but they get suspicious of her because Civvie!Reader acts strangely?? How will they react if they found out Civvie!Reader takes happy pills??

Also, please take your time and take care of yourself!!! 💖

H A P P Y H O U S E

Task Force 141 (+König, Horangi & LV) + gn! reader

AHHHHHH. Thank you so so much🥹🥹 I really appreciate your kind words 💘 I love this idea so much because I also do take meds to calm my anxieties and continue living a "normal" life. I love this ask sm, thank you for requesting it :) I hope you love this❣️❣️ Have a wonderful day <3

P.S: This wasn’t cringe at all🩷 Feel free to send anything you want without any second thoughts <3

P.P.S: I had to use google translate for the spanish words so I‘m sorry if there are any mistakes 😅 Correct me if I wrote something wrong <3

✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

König

König returned from another intense mission, a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline coursing through his veins. You awaited his arrival, a subtle smile playing on your lips despite the hidden battles within your mind. And you’re really good at hiding it because not even a soldier knows about your secret.

The two of you had built a connection that transcended the chaos of König's missions, finding solace in the moments you shared.

As König settled into the room, he noticed a subtle change in you. Your normally vibrant energy seemed to be not there and a shadow lingered behind your smile. Unbeknownst to him, you navigated the depths of depression, relying on a secret source of solace – the Prozac you secretly took.

Months passed, and the suspicion grew like an insidious seed in König's mind. The observant operative couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with you, the person he cared for deeply. Yet, the nature of his missions kept him away for extended periods, leaving a void where questions were left in his mind. Was it just you going through a phase or is it just a bad month for you?

One day, as he returned from a particularly grueling mission, the atmosphere between you two shifted. König's piercing gaze met yours, seeking answers veiled behind your eyes. Sensing his unease, you attempted to deflect, keeping the shadows of your struggles hidden.

However, the walls of secrecy could only hold for so long. König, driven by concern and a deep-rooted connection, pressed further, demanding the truth "Schatz, please tell me why you’re acting off these days? Is there something wrong? Did I do something wrong?" . Your heart raced as you hesitated, contemplating whether to expose the truth about the Happy Pills that kept your internal storms at bay.

With a heavy sigh, you confessed, explaining the battles fought in silence, the pills as your silent rises. The revelation hung in the air, a delicate balance between vulnerability and the strength that kept you going.

König faced a moment of internal conflict which was very unlikely for a soldier like him. His commitment to duty clashed with the newfound knowledge of your struggles. The air thickened with tension as he absorbed the weight of your revelation.

With a steady hand, König reached out, offering support in a way only he could. The revelation became a turning point, fostering a deeper connection that transcended the chaos of missions. This was not just your mission but also his.

Simon Riley

You radiated happiness in your everyday life. The laughter that echoed in your shared apartment seemed to drown out the chaos of the world outside. Unbeknownst to Simon, beneath your cheerful facade, you struggled with a persistent darkness that only you knew too well.

Months passed, and Simon's returns became less about the joyous reunions and more about the subtle observations. He noticed the moments when you seemed lost in thought, your laughter a bit too forced, your smiles not reaching your eyes. Concern etched across his face as he began to piece together the puzzle of your shifting demeanor.

One evening, after a particularly challenging mission, Simon returned home to find you sitting on the couch, staring into the void. The apartment, usually filled with the sound of your laughter, now felt heavy with an unspoken tension.

"Hey," Simon greeted, concern etched on his face. "Is everything okay?"

You hesitated, battling the conflicting emotions within. "Yeah, just a tough day, you know?"

Simon nodded, recognizing the weight of their shared profession. "You can always talk to me, you know."

As the weeks passed, Simon's concern grew. The distance between you widened, and the moments of joy became fleeting. One day, unable to bear the weight of your secret any longer, you decided to share the truth.

"Simon," you began, your voice wavering. "There's something I need to tell you."

His piercing blue eyes met yours, urging you to continue.

"I... I'm taking pills, for my depression…" you confessed, the words heavy with vulnerability. "It helps me cope, especially when you're away for so long."

Simon's expression shifted from confusion to understanding. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry," you admitted, tears welling up in your eyes. "I wanted to be strong for you, for us."

He sighed, reaching out to gently cup your face. "You don't have to carry this alone. Remember our vows to each other, y/n?"

John MacTavish

Months passed, marked by the silence of lonely nights and the constant hum of worry that clung to your thoughts. When Soap returned, his presence was a comforting storm that swept through the apartment. You welcomed him with a smile, hiding your internal struggles behind a façade of joy.

Yet, the missions took a toll on you, and Prozac became your silent ally. It was your lifeline, a small pill that held the power to lift the heavy fog that sometimes clouded your mind. As the days unfolded, Soap grew more observant, sensing subtle shifts in your behavior.

One evening, after a particularly challenging mission, Soap's gaze lingered on you as you sat on the edge of the bed, lost in your own thoughts. He sat down beside you, his eyes reflecting concern.

"You've been acting strangely, love. Is everything alright?" he asked, his voice a gentle inquiry.

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing against your chest. "Yeah, just... a bit tired, you definitely know what I‘m talking about, no?"

But Soap was perceptive, his military instincts attuned to the slightest deviations. "It's more than that, isn't it? You can talk to me, you know."

The words hung in the air, and you felt the weight of the truth pressing against your lips. This time your heart is talking instead of your brain. Because your heart has had enough.

"I... I've been struggling, Johnny. It's hard when you're away for so long. I just wanted to be the happy person you deserve."

His expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You don't have to pretend with me, love. We’re getting married in 2 Months. Stop pretending please."

You took a deep breath, the secret threatening to spill out. "There's something else," you confessed, and with shaky hands, you revealed the pill bottle. "I take these... for the low days. To stay afloat when you're not around."

Soap's brows furrowed as he processed the revelation. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You looked down, guilt and fear intertwined. "I didn't want you to worry. You have enough with the missions.This shouldn’t be another mission for you."

He gently lifted your chin, his eyes locking onto yours. "Love, your well-being is my priority. I want to be there for you, through the good and the challenging times." Johnny embraced you, the warmth of his presence

"We'll face this together," he murmured.

John Price

In the living room, John sat on the couch, cleaning his trusty M1911. You joined him on the couch, a book in hand, but your gaze was distant.

Price noticed your mood change. Concern etched across his rugged features, he gently asked, "Everything okay, love?"

You managed a smile, a facade you'd perfected over time. "Just tired, love. You know how it is."

He studied you for a moment, a war-hardened man with a keen eye for subtleties. "You've been different lately. Something on your mind?"

The weight of your secret pressed on you, but you dismissed it with a casual shrug. "Just the usual stress. Nothing I can't handle."

John , however, was not convinced. He set aside his gun-cleaning kit and turned to face you, his eyes locked onto yours. "You can talk to me, you know that, right?"

Your heart ached with a mixture of love and guilt. "I appreciate that, really, but some things are better left unsaid."

———

One evening, as Price returned from a particularly grueling mission, he noticed the pill bottle peeking out from your bag. His expression shifted from exhaustion to concern and worry. "What's this, love?"

You hesitated, caught off guard by the discovery. "It's just something to help me cope. No big deal."Price's eyes bore into yours, searching for answers. "Coping with what, exactly?"

Torn between honesty and protecting him from the harsh reality, you sighed. "Life, John. It gets heavy sometimes."

He sat down beside you, his rough hand finding yours. "You don't have to carry it alone. Talk to me."

And so, the conversation unfolded—a delicate dance between confession and reassurance. "I wish you had told me earlier," he admitted, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "We face enough demons out there. Let me help you battle the ones within."

Kyle Garrick

Kyle, fresh from a lengthy mission, entered the apartment he shared with you. The scent of your favorite coffee filled the air, but something seemed off. As he approached, he noticed you sitting on the couch, staring into space, a faint smile playing on your lips.

"Hey, love. Missed you," Kyle greeted, wrapping his arms around you. You leaned into the hug, but there was a distant look in your eyes.

"Missed you too, Kyle" you replied, your voice lacking the usual enthusiasm.

Concern etched across his face, Kyle sat down beside you. "Is everything okay, love? You seem a bit... off."

You sighed, hesitating for a moment before opening up. "I've just been feeling a bit down, but nothing serious. Just life stuff, you know?"

His brows furrowed with worry. "You can talk to me about anything, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," you said, forcing a smile. "I just need some time to sort things out. It's nothing you need to worry about."

Over the next few days, Kyle couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. You became more withdrawn, and he often caught you staring into space, lost in your thoughts. Finally, unable to contain his concern any longer, he gently broached the subject.

"Baby, I can't help but notice that you've been acting a bit... different. Are you sure you're okay?"

Your heart raced, but you maintained your composure. "I appreciate your concern, Kyle, but I promise it's just a rough patch. I'll get through it."

Despite your reassurances, Kyle's concern lingered. One evening, he accidentally stumbled upon a small prescription bottle while searching for something in the apartment.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up the Prozac bottle.

You froze, your heart pounding. "It's just... something to help me stay balanced. Don't worry about it."

His expression shifted from confusion to understanding. "You've been taking Happy Pills? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to burden you with my problems, especially when you're out there risking your life on missions," you confessed, avoiding eye contact.

Kyle gently lifted your chin, making you meet his gaze. "You're not a burden, You. We're in this together. I want to be there for you, no matter what."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you finally let your guard down. "I didn't want you to see me as weak or incapable of handling things."

Kyle hugged you tightly. "You're not weak, and taking medication doesn't change how strong you are. I just want to support you, okay?"

Horangi

You sat on the couch, anxiously twirling a strand of your hair as you waited for Horangi to return from his latest mission. You were grateful for the moments you shared when he was home, but the weight of your secret lingered like a shadow.

Horangi finally walked through the door, a weary but triumphant smile on his face. He dropped his gear by the entrance and moved towards you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "Missed you," he murmured against your hair.

"I missed you too, Horangi," you replied, managing a smile despite the persistent unease within you. The balance between the joy of his return and the fear of your secret being exposed was a constant struggle.

Horangi began to notice subtle changes in your behavior. Your laughter didn't ring as true, and the spark in your eyes seemed to flicker at times. This evening, he caught you staring into space, lost in thought.

"Is everything okay, love?" he asked, concern etching his features.

You looked up, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just tired from work, you know?" It was a half-truth, one you had repeated countless times. The Prozac helped you maintain a semblance of normalcy, but the battle was getting harder to overcome.

But it didn’t stop here.

Horangi's suspicions deepened each time. He decided to confront you one evening, concern etched across his face. "You've been distant, and I can't shake the feeling that something's off. Please, talk to me."

You took a deep breath, hesitating before finally deciding to trust him. "Horangi, I've been struggling. I... I take Prozac."

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Prozac? Why? What's going on?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you began to unravel the truth. "I've been dealing with depression, and these pills help me get through the tough times. I didn't want you to worry, especially with your missions taking you away for so long."

His expression softened as he took in the weight of your confession. "You should have told me, Y/N. I'm here for you my beautiful partner."

"I was afraid, Horangi. Afraid that you'd see me differently, that you'd worry too much," you admitted, vulnerability laid bare.

He gently cupped your face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "I love you, and I want to be here for you. We're in this together, remember? You don't have to carry this burden alone, my Love."

Alejandro

Alejandro returned after a long mission. You greeted him with a bright smile, your eyes hiding the sadness within. The two of you had found peace and happiness in each other. But what he didn’t know is that you are on the edge of falling apart.

Alejandro continued his missions, leaving you to navigate through your own life. You maintained the façade of a happy soul, laughter echoing through the rooms when he was around. But, behind closed doors, you confronted the darkness, relying on Prozac.

One evening, as Alejandro unpacked his gear, he noticed the subtle changes in your behavior—the lingering sadness, the guarded moments when your eyes flickered with pain. Concern etched across his face, he gently inquired, "Something seems off, mi amor. Is everything okay?"

You hesitated, crafting a smile to mask the turmoil within. "I'm fine, just a bit tired, you know?" But Alejandro wasn't easily convinced.

He took your hands, his gaze penetrating. "You can tell me anything. We're in this together."

Your breath hitched, torn between the desire to confide and the fear of burdening him. "I... sometimes struggle with my emotions, but it's nothing major. I promise."

His eyes softened with understanding. "You don't have to carry it alone, cariño. We face battles together, remember?"

Alejandro observed the nuances in your behavior, the way you withdrew when the darkness loomed. The realization struck him as he stumbled upon the carefully concealed bottle of your happy pills, after deciding to put his clothes into the washing machine. A torrent of emotions flooded him—concern, empathy, and a tinge of hurt that you hadn't told him.

Quietly, he approached you, holding the bottle. "I found this. Why didn't you tell me?"

Tears welled in your eyes as you stammered, "uh…I uhm..I didn't want to burden you. You have enough on your plate with missions."

His gaze softened, and he cupped your face. "We face these things together, remember? Your pain is mine too."

Rodolfo

Rudy‘s daily life was on his extended missions, you on the other hand navigated your daily life, concealing a battle against depression. The small pills were your silent companions, providing a fragile balance to the storm within. Despite the challenges, you maintained a facade of happiness, always eager to cherish the fleeting moments when Rudy returned home.

Rudy,because of his strong instincts, noticed subtle changes in your behavior upon each return. Your laughter seemed a bit forced, and the sparkle in your eyes, though still present, appeared dimmed. Concern grew on his face as he began to sense something‘s wrong, forcing him to investigate.

The evening Rudy saw you sitting on the couch, lost in thought after having dinner together. His expression softened as he took in the weariness etched across your face. "You okay, amor?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You forced a smile, brushing off his worries with practiced ease. "Just tired, babe. You know how it is."

However, Rodolfo, read in reading between the lines, wasn't easily convinced. He persisted, gently pressing you to share your burdens. As you hesitated, a moment of vulnerability slipped through, prompting you to reveal the existence of the little pills that brought temporary peace to your depression.

Rodolfo's eyes widened in realization as the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. He listened attentively as you explained the battles you fought silently while he was away. The weight of your revelation hung in the air.

A mix of worry, guilt, and love clouded Rodolfo's features. "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered, his voice heavy with regret.

"I didn't want to burden you with my problems. You have enough problems with your missions," you admitted, a pang of guilt creeping into your voice.

Rudy, however, embraced you, dispelling the notion that your struggles were a burden. "You're not alone in this, my love. I love youu" he asserted, his commitment unwavering.

[ineffablecpp]

OK so my first Johnlock fic. Canon divergence. Post Reichenbach. Scifi AU. HE (sort of).

English isn't my first language so if you find any mistakes pls tell me!! Thanks so much!!!

I'm Here.

1.

John had just exited the door of 221B Baker Street and was about to call a taxi when he saw the car.

It’s been over a year since he last visited this place-- he only came today because Mrs. Hudson called, and wanted to return some of his personal items left in the apartment. She insisted that paying a visit could better John’s mental conditions, though John wouldn’t agree. Yet she seemed determined about it.

“You should know that he loved this place, John. He loved the time he spent here, with you.” She said.

There weren’t many things he needed to retrieve. A mug, a few of his clothes, and a notebook that hasn’t been written on for ages. But he lingered in the room he was only too familiar with.

“Moving on” was never his thing. Any time he lifted his head up and gazed at the two vacant seats, the dimmed fireplace in between, and the dusty mirror above, everything would rewind inside his head.

His roommate would put his palms together under his chin, his smile as mysterious and proud as always. “You simply see, but not observe,” he’d say in his low and magnetic voice, “What is going on in your funny little brains? So confusing-- the evidence is right in front of you, yet you do not know how to analyse it.”

He might even be sitting on the chair now, looking up banteringly at John. *Sentiment*, he’d say, *you’ve always been like that. Fascinating.*

It took as much courage to come as it took to take up the mind to leave. John felt his heart hallowed out as he stumbled down the last step, opening the door of 221B and said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson. But the hole seemed to have been there for ages-- once, three years ago, it was filled in the echoes of “Afghanistan or Iraq?”-- but now it has reappeared along with the sudden Fall. But revisiting this painfully familiar place reinforced the presence of the hallowed space, as its roars were too much of a sting to be ignored.

A black vehicle was parked by the road. At first John didn’t take notice, nor was he in the mood to care-- probably just a passenger who happened to have reached their destination. But before he could walk away, his phone started ringing.

“Get in the car.”

He knew who it was without asking. But the question was-- he hasn’t heard of the voice in ages. So long, it made him wonder whether it was in his past lives that he’d gotten used to being pulled on a car without reasons.

“...Mycroft? I really couldn’t guess what you possibly could need from me now.”

The voice on the other end sighed after a moment of silence.

“It’s about Sherlock, John.”

The name cut through his heart like a blade. Everyone was still talking about him, as if it’s not over yet. But he was the only one who knew that it was all over. Everything from the past, every memory, every nuanced flutter he felt had been buried into a tomb called time.

Even so, Sherlock’s name was like a spell that could compell John to do anything at his own will. If his friend was in trouble, even after his death, John knew he had to help. It was his deepest and most desperate wish.

John sighed, and pulled open the car door.

2.

The elder Holmes in front of him didn’t change much since their last encounter, which got John wondering in frustration whether Sherlock’s death had effected him so destructively more than anyone. But Mycroft seemed to have been fatigued by his work-- even though all the Holmes had a sort of talent for hiding their true emotions and mental status, John could feel that Mycroft’s workload in the past years have only been increasing.

For a few seconds they just stood there in dead silence until Mycroft took out his empty hand which wasn’t holding the umbrella to break the ice: “Good to see you again, John.”

“Likewise.” John shook his hand and took a deep breath, “So. What you said. About Sherlock. What is it? His will? Or something about the media?”

Mycroft hesitated-- not something he normally does. This fueled the doubt in John’s mind since his arrival. Mycroft only had three reasons to see him: 1, Sherlock wouldn’t accept his help, and he needed John to look after his brother; 2, The government needs Sherlock’s help but he refuses to, so Mycroft needs John to persuade him; 3, Sherlock’s in danger, and he needs John to figure out what’s going on to protect him. This time, however, doesn’t fall into any of the categories.

Then his words froze John on the spot.

“...Sherlock isn’t dead. But, precisely, he isn’t alive either. I’m truly sorry we haven’t told you earlier, John. But now that it’s all settled, we think you have the right to know.”

John blinked, staring puzzled at Mycroft.

“What do you mean by... He’s not dead, but not alive either?”

Mycroft thought for a while before he started: “As Moriarty became to much of a threat to be overlooked, Sherlock and I started to come up with a few possible plans. He saw it coming that Moriarty wouldn’t make things easy for him, and he foresaw that Moriarty was going to hold his dearest friends as hostages-- Moriarty would never stop until he sees Sherlock’s dead body. One way was for Sherlock to fake his death, change his identity and leave the country for a few years, returning after his reputation has been cleared. But Moriarty blocked every way out on that roof of Bartz. He took away Sherlock’s phone and cut all possible communication pathways, so all the plans that required him faking his death wasn’t going to work. But, we still had a plan B. The last resort. A plan that could barely be called one.”

John nodded, signaling him to continue.

“This plan requires the most advanced scientific team at my disposal. It’s an unprecedented risk, a huge, long-shot bet. --preserving human organ at low temperature. This technology has appeared long before, but even a few hours of preservation takes strict environmental conditions and advanced equipment. You’d know best as a doctor. We did it with little hope, but miraculously, it was a success. Within minutes after Sherlock’s fall, we managed to preserve his brain. But what came next was only more complicated and impossible.

A super bio-computer. In fact, the government had a blueprint for this plan several years ago, but due to its high technical difficulties, cost and energy consumption, it was never implemented. Using the human brain to connect sensors for data transmission, after connecting to the Internet interface, you can access all the information currently possessed by humans, and have ultra-high computing power.”

“So... you made him... into a computer? Is that even moral? Did he agree?” Overwhelming information and a series of perplexing nouns rushed into his brain, and for a moment John felt as if his legs were giving up.

“You can put it like this. In other words, he is now basically a computer working for the British Government with self-entertaining software installed.”

John lifted his chin up, staring unbelievably into Mycroft’s calm eyes, to which he responded with a helpless sigh, “It really was the worst move.”

John closed his eyes. Though he’s always considered his roommate “a machine with no human feelings”, it now seemed like an unfortunate prophecy he did not wish to have made. He was now imagining Sherlock’s brain floating in a tank filled with nutrient solution, multiple sensors and intersected data transmitters attached to it, the entire cabin lit with dim lights, performing countless calculations within second -- from the probability of a terrorist attack to the likeness of a traffic accident, from one side of the world to the other-- all the while joyfully extracting interesting cases from documents and cracking them one by one at a rate countless times faster than before. He had to admit that Sherlock was probably enjoying this. But beneath all these absurd yet rational incidents a question still lies, one that he cares too much to ignore.

“Then... can he still feel everything? Feel the world around him? Or... communicate with us?”

“Sadly we’ve never succeeded in doing so. We haven’t completely mastered this technology yet, so all we could do is to solve one problem after another and analyse what we get like a Black Box. For now, what he could know, and what he could feel, remains unknown.”

Not dead, yet not alive either. It was now coming to John how fitting a description it was.

Sherlock was never someone who blended into the society, or someone who’s used to complicated social relationships. On the contrary, he always seemed to be walking on the edge of everything, a sane lunatic, a sober drug addict. This way of being now is like a portrait of him "before death" : an emotionless machine, an observer outside the world.

But without a body, with out the final proof of being “human”, will you remain to be “you”?

John realized he couldn’t come to a conclusion.

3.

Mycroft lead him through winding hallways, one locked room after another, and they finally reached a small door that didn’t seem to stand out at all.

The sign at the entrance reads in large, bold letters: "Experimental Base - Do not enter".

“Whenever you’re ready, John.” Mycroft nodded slightly, and laid his hand on the silver door knob.

John closed his eyes, and nodded after a few deep breaths.

The door opened, giving way to him.

Things were very different from what he had imagined. There was no brain floating in the middle of the tank, no flickering lights and darkened halls, no shrill whining of instruments. It was just an ordinary room, in fact, quite similar to his memory of a high school classroom-- only that where the whiteboard should be, there was a giant display screen; On the desk where the lectern is supposed to be, lies a computer with a small screen and only one input box that took up half the screen.

Then it came to John. Such delicate thing as a brain culture tank could never have been accessible for tour. This was just the operating interface connected to the biocomputer for testing inputs and outputs.

He turned around, but there was no one else left in the room. Mycroft had given him privacy.

John sighed, forcing himself to turn to the blank screen. This *is* Sherlock, he told himself, this is who your best friend is now. Whether you like it or not, it’s him.

And now you’re here to visit.

Slowly, he walked towards the table, and placed his hands on the keyboard. After a few moments of silence, he typed out his first question.

“Tell me about identifying 243 types of ashes.”

Enter.

The cursor on the large screen flashed for a moment, then waves of information began to emerge. John could tell that a considerable percentage of them came from Sherlock’s essay from his website, but other information came from different sources, so its identification methods and usages could be explained clearly to whoever asked the question. The narration seemed Wikipedia-styled, calm and objective, exactly like the answer of a machine.

It *is* a machine, John reminded himself. That’s what he is now.

“You still remembered quite clearly.”

The keyboard clicked as he typed.

“Please tell me the basic structure of the Solar System.”

Again, after a few seconds, it gave a clear and precise answer, even presenting a graph showing the spatial relationship between the sun and the various planets, and giving the orbital parameters of each planet.

“I see you finally have enough memory for this,” he lowered his head, a giggle escaping his lips.

Then he tried asking many other questions -- mostly things that a normal person with a lot of spare time on their hands might Google. He also tried searching some of the cases they investigated together, and Sherlock-- the computer-- gave every single detail without mistake. John marveled at the amount of advanced technology used in this project, but at the same time, he found himself reading the information in his head using Sherlock’s voice, an impulse he couldn’t resist. Every word he read echoed with Sherlock’s voice in his mind like a prerecorded audio.

“Please tell me the stories of Sherlock Holmes.”

This time it took longer for the computer to buffer. Then, Sherlock’s identity, main achievements and relevant information started appearing on the screen. First his personal information, date of birth and death, family relationships and so on. “Working partner: confirmed bachelor John Watson.” Smiling, he shook his head. *These media workers are ever so rude.*

This was followed by a brief synopsis of a series of cases he has solved, many of which derived from John's blog, and some of which even canonical references to his blog's "literature review." The text scrolled along at a pace John’s comfortable with.

Then followed the media’s comments on him. First they were news before Moriarty messed with people’s minds. “The Reichenbach hero”, “Hat-man and Robin”, “Highly intellectual detective”, all of which John was familiar with. Seeing them again pulled on John’s heartstrings. But it was just pain-- it was a bittersweet warmth, a sense of retrieving a long lost possession.

Public opinions seemed to had turned against him overnight. The forces of group polarization were so powerful that all it took is a groundless suspicion to condemn someone once on a pedestal, to hell. There's a fine line between a hero and a demon. John didn't want to read any further -- he clenched his fists, felt the cruel words whirling and screaming in his head, rattling his already fragile nerves again and again.

*No, he's not like that. I know him, and I know him best. He is the wisest and bravest man I have ever known. He would never do such a thing. He would never--*

“THUMP!”

The next thing he knew he punched the desk with his fists.

The output on the screen came to a sudden halt. The cursor stopped at the last unfinished sentence, flashing like a puzzled child’s eyes.

He had an impulse to smash open the obnoxious screen in front of him, and scream to Sherlock himself. But what could he possibly say? What could he possibly do? Not to mention that yelling at a brain that’s already lost its sensing functions cannot solve anything.

It’s too late.

It’s always too late.

*You’re* the mad ones, *you’re* the arrogant people-- he’s gone already, so why on earth does he deserve to be treated by the world like this.

John felt the flames inside slowly consuming every last part of him, burning his throat, and spreading into his stinging eyes.

He shoved back the keyboard, and slowly allowed himself to bend over the table, lying on his arms, until all there was left in the empty room were suppressed, sobbing sounds.

He didn’t know how long it had been-- probably to the point where John worried Mycroft couldn’t wait any longer-- until he finally straightened up, refocusing his sight on the screen from a blurred vision.

The last search record has been cleared, and the screen has returned to a blank, vacant image, like how the universe was before the Big Bang.

He gently pulled the keyboard back in front of him, typed, slowly but solemnly, and not pressing enter.

He heard footstep drawing near-- possibly from Mycroft. Straightening his collar, John took one last look at the screen, turned around, and left.

The unsent message lit a silent white light in the room, like a calm, grieving soul.

“I love you.”

4.

John hasn’t written anything on his blog for a long time.

Occasionally he still helped out Scotland Yard on some trivial matters, but they were nothing compared to the excitement and thrills that constantly struck him when he was on a case with Sherlock. The feeling of blood pumping through his veins once reminded him of what “being alive” feels like. And now, everything was back to normal. Sometimes the thought would hit John, that maybe everything that happened in the last few years was just a dream too good to be true. Maybe he never met such a man after returning from Afghanistan, a man who could tell everything you did yesterday, who liked to talk to skulls in a surprisingly fast pace, who could solve the strangest and hardest cases in the world.

But everything around him was a constant reminder that it was true. Everything did, in fact, happened.

And he couldn’t tell which was more painful.

On the way back, John allowed himself to replay every single memory he had since he met Sherlock like a movie, as he watched the rain picking up outside the car window.

Sherlock taking his phone, asking, *Afghanistan or Iraq*?

Sherlock rushing down the stairs then turning back towards the door, the light flashing dangerous signals inside his eyes, a fascination that took him spellbound. *You’ve seen a lot of blood and injuries, violent deaths, then? Want to see some more?*

Sherlock at Angelo’s, pausing slightly after being asked “do you have a boyfriend, then?”

Sherlock’s look of shock and subtle delight after he blurted out “amazing” without thinking.

Sherlock’s proud and effortless look after every time he solved Moriarty’s puzzles.

Sherlock standing in front of the door of 221B, looking at him with a smile. *I’d be lost without my blogger*.

Sherlock pulling the coat embedded with bombs off him by the pool, for the first time he’s ever seen, in panic and relief.

Sherlock walking behind him in Baskeville, in his most sincere tone, *I don’t have friends; I just got one*.

The Woman looking at him, an either teasing or scornful tone, *Are you jealous? You are a couple.*

Sherlock handcuffed together with him, raising his hand to fire a gun into the sky.

They were dashing as fast as possible on the streets in London as accomplices. He heard Sherlock utter, *take my hand*.

Then he did.

Sherlock standing on the rooftop of Bartz holding his phone, alone.*Goodbye, John*. He said.

Then he did.

...

He felt himself reliving those years as Mycroft parked his car in front of 221B.

Every memory were brand new, yet so fresh they were dipped with bright, red blood, dripping down along John’s heart, dripping into the very depths of his aching soul.

When he came home this time he opened his blog website once again. He wanted a formal farewell to the Sherlock of his past, and he wanted to continue their story. It may be a lot more plain and dull than it used to be, but he believed that Sherlock, now a machine for calculation, could see. No matter if he could comprehend, or if he could remember, every letter John wrote would enter his database through the transmission lines and become a part of him.

Entering username. Password.

Wrong password.

Perhaps he mis-typed a letter.

He deleted it, and tried once more.

Wrong password.

John frowned. He didn’t remember changing his password even once in the past years. Though Sherlock had cracked it within a day, he didn’t really care that much, nor do something about it; even if he changed his password, all Sherlock would have to do was to crack it again. It would be useless. --Furthermore, even if Sherlock saw it, it wasn’t a big deal. He’s Sherlock Holmes.

...He’s Sherlock Holmes.

The sentence echoed louder and louder inside his mind.

*He’s Sherlock Holmes.*

Who could’ve possibly changed John Watson’s password except him? He’s always kept the laptop beside him, and even Moriarty, who once broke into his account, had now killed himself and was no longer here.

“When all the other possibilities are ruled out, and there is only one left, no matter how impossible it is, it’s the truth.”

It was Sherlock who changed it, John. A voice inside his head said ever so firmly.

John could feel his heart racing faster and faster. Yes, Sherlock has access to all the information possible on the internet now. It would only take a few lines of code to alter the password of a blog account. But why would he? And what would he change it into?

*Think, John, think.* He heard Sherlock’s voice.

What is a code that only belongs to them? What is a metaphor that only they knew? What code could only be cracked by John Watson?

His fingers trembled as he started typing.

*Vatican cameos.

...

Logged in.

5.

John could barely contain the tremors in his fingers as he scrolled down the page in great effort.

He clicked into some of his most read blogs immediately. No new messages, no new comments. The numbers of views were still rising.

For a moment he started to doubt whether he himself had changed the password in memory of their past, but forgot about it after grieving day after day.

Until he scrolled back to the top of the page.*

You have one new private message.*

Unknown address. Unknown sender.

The message was simple.

“I’m here.

-- S.H.”

His hand hovered above the keyboard. For the split of a second he seemed to forgot how to breath and how to make his own heart beat. The word spun and collapsed from around him, falling apart into an ocean of chaos and darkness. The only anchor in thunderous waves and dizzying swirls was the computer and the simple message on the screen. It kept him from falling down, and kept him safe and steady.

John felt his phone vibrate inside his pocket.

One new message.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face.

-- S.H.”

A complex wave of emotions flooded him. He felt himself smiling, so uncontrollably like a child who retrieved his favorite, lost toy, but there were uncontrollable tears streaming down his face, dripping hard onto the keyboard in front of him, a symphonic harmony with the pouring rain outside his window.

“You’re a complete jerk.”

“When all that’s left of you is a brain, it’s likely you’ll also become more reckless. No one can ever punch you in the face again.

-- S.H.”

“...Utterly unbelievable.”

“John, for your information, I can still see the messages in the input box even if they weren’t sent.

-- S.H.”

“...”

“John?

-- S.H.”

“I’m here.”

“I heard you.

-- S.H.”

END.

[alanaplucked]

Sonata

part three

part four| masterlist

Matty assumed he had been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour. The silence was beginning to irritate him, a vast comparison to the scenery he was used to.

His mind was stuck on a loop, looking in on one specific emotion; one he tried so hard to overlook. To which he could not deal with anymore.

He soon found himself slinging a sweatshirt over himself and padding down the creaky staircase towards the outdoor studio. Unaware of the faint incandescent light radiating from the upper window.

Love found herself cross legged on the floor with an acoustic in grip. Eyes scanning the various books and papers around her, occasionally bending down to scribble something new down.

Her mind worked wonders in the late hours yet nights like these drained her emotionally, despite the great song material she got. Back facing the door as she intently mustered up potential lyrics in her head.

Her fingers tenderly picked the strings as lyrics just above a whisper fell from her mouth. She knew the song being conjured up wouldn't be heard to anybody but her, it was too impassioned. It could only act cathartically.

Yet the frame leaning against the door said otherwise. His stare acted unnoticed. It was pure and he found himself dazed at the young girl.

A sight so raw and unintentional, a sense of intruding struck over him as the room fell silent following the last strum. He knew he wasn't able to leave without her turning and noticing him followed by an awkward next encounter.

"That was so alluring - sorry I didn't know you would be in here I didn't wanna interrupt" He had added on once she spun around. A small sense of shock on her face.

"Oh god no don't be sorry. I'm the one who's not actually meant to be in here" Love’s cheeks had flushed, she wasn't usually nervous but considering Matty had walked in on such a vulnerable moment. "Let me just grab my stuff, I'll be out of your-"

"No no don't, I mean I don't think I would be able to deal with the silence. That's why I came in here" Matty hadn't recalled deciding to be so honest, though it came naturally.

"yeah it can get like that" Love spoke slowly lowering herself back into her original position. A low silence fell between them. A warm glow saturated the room, lamps were littered upon the studio. She found it comforting and supposed her father had too.

"I couldn't imagine living here" His body was now slouched against the leather couch only a couple metres away from herself. Sincerity radiated from him as his head dropped back against the brown leather. "I need the city noise"

"I try not to most of the time; live here that is" It was true though she hated to admit it. Yet she had imagined Matty had noticed she wasn't here the entire two months they had been recording.

"Do you not then feel like you're taking it for granted" Despite the nature of the question it didn't come across rude or prodding. Now meeting her gaze he could tell she was slightly uncomfortable.

Love was slightly confused, this wasn't the Matty Healy she had googled only a couple hours ago. Leaving the studio that morning led her to be curious of the new face. "yes and no. I feel like it's a small dose kind of thing. you can appreciate it only when it's necessary, plus i've spent my whole life here"

An uncomfortable silence was now lingering, well maybe that feeling was one sided because Love was at peace picking the strings of her guitar, despite her feeling his stare follow her every move.

"I listened to your album, you know, it was very impressive. I mean when I was seventeen I was writing about sex and girls with boyfriends" He was the first to break the silence and a small smirk rose upon her face though she was weary of whether he could see it or not.

"Is that surprising that I liked it?" He had noticed.

Straightening her face and turning to face him "at first, but I don't know any musician that is only subject to their own genre"  Her statement was followed by a low hum on his end.

"So what kind of music do you like?" Matty couldn't help but prod.

"Anything really" Love’s fingers were still picking and Matty wondered if it would lull him to sleep.

"Anything?" His voice echoed her own and she had to stop herself from looking up at him. Keeping an overly disinterested act as though she were far too busy for such a conversation.

"Yeah I guess-" It was true. Love’s father had produced a variety of different genres and his record collection was just about diverse as New York City.

"What so like metal to classical" Matty couldn't imagine this girl listening to anything different to her innocent guitar picking. It was silly of him to imagine that the daughter of one of the best producers in the world only listened to the top 40.

Love was confused to say the least but a small smirk picked up her lips and she scribbled down another lyric. surprised she would still be able to work while holding such a conversation. It helped she couldn't look him in the eye though she was starting to realise he's not as intimidating as he seemed hours ago.

"those are very basic genres, the average normy would listen to those without thought. plus, you can't say you like music if you disregard 99.9% of it"

"the average normy?, what are you implying we are?" Love realised she hadn't heard him laugh and she wished nothing more than to play it on repeat. If she could make him laugh like that again she thought she would be content forever.

"well obviously geniuses, or deities at least"

"ok, so let me get this right you listen to everything offered under the sun except my music" He had simply assumed. And by the look on her face as she got up to swap guitars- he was right, she had no clue as to who he was until she was caught in the studio.

"I actually listened to your album-" Love turned herself around to sit back in her spot that was now occupied by Matty, eyes scanning her lyrics.

"I'm sure you did" His head rose with a smirk; that was until her saw her frozen in the middle of the room, eyes burning on his finger trailing the fourth line of her page.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"yeah you shouldn't have" Love got herself to finally move and pick her journal up when he cowered back.

He sat back in shock at her current change in demeanour and said something he probably shouldn't have. "how'd you make an album if you can't handle someone reading your lyrics"

She felt the gentle tug at the tears gathering in her eyes as she moved to tidy the chaos she had wrought in the studio.

"that wasn't for an album, it wasn't for you, not for anyone" it came out gentle, Matty hated how beautiful he thought she sounded.

"it should be"

"excuse me?"

"that's better than anything you've got out there, truthfully. Are you making another album?" Frankly Matty had been feigning for more after listening to her album all those months ago. She hadn't gone on a tour, done any shows, press, there were no unreleased leaks, no covers on social media; she hadn't even had an account on anything. The most he had found was an old youtube video her father had posted of her singing 'both sides now' when she was twelve.

"not for a long long time" She had calmed herself. She thought as though Matty would 5150 her after reading what she had wrote.

"like Fiona Apple?" He had lit a cigarette now and reclined into the base of the couch, she had been leaning her hands back into the desk.

"Sure, she's great"

[yupyor]

The Thing About Midnight

Summary - Jason takes you out on a date in the middle of the night, saying it's far more romantic when more than half of the city is asleep.

You sighed, the day's exhaustion you had accumulated through the day getting to you. Jason was still getting ready, shouting now and then to prevent you from being on with everyone else, and falling asleep.

It was your 2nd anniversary. The day you and Jason met each other, and instantly sealed the deal. The day you both looked at one another, and decided that each other was the one.

It was odd at first, if you're being honest. At the beginning he would constantly disappear for a prolonged period of time, and then abruptly show up back with a subtle scar, or a few bruises here and there. It had you more than confused, and primarily concerned. It took him almost a year, and the painful moment of your relationship's near-death experience, for him to fess up about his otherworld activities.

It was scary, knowing the danger he was making him self susceptible too—though in the end it also had you liking him more. You don't know why, honestly, but the fact that he was an undercover vigilante out to make the world a better place made him even hotter. Like it gave you bragging rights, lol.

"Yea! My man fights to make the world a better place, literally. What does yours do?"(that was my attempt at humor, LOL)

You smiled, the softness of your expression not going unnoticed by the sudden figure that loomed over you.

"Is that what sleep deprivation looks like for you?" Jason joked, wearing nothing but a wet black towel wrapped around his waist. He looked better with his hair wet. "Normally people'd get cranky, so you smiling 5 seconds after yelling at me irritatingly through the door has me scared."

You ignore the comment, looking into the deep blues of his eyes, smitten. Now that you think about it, you've never actually told him how much you fell for him. Sure, you've both said the occasional I like you, and oftentimes I love you, but you never went into depth with it.

You were in a dark place when you had met each other, and he had stuck with you throughout that despite the present difficulty, guiding you to your way out, and simultaneously to happiness.

So in a way, he saved you. He saved your heart, and it would be unfair to not tell him, especially on your 2nd anniversary. You've already missed the first one, putting it off as trivial, thinking he already knew—but it wouldn't hurt just to make sure, or at least confirm his suspicions.

So you leaned back as far as you could with the chair supporting you, and nestled into his hunched form, making sure to make the eye contact of your life, and whispered, "I love you."

It came slowly at first, though all at once. The confusion, fear, and utter bliss coinciding in his eyes, and the contorts of his brows leaving you appalled. He seemed conflicted, and that made you question whether you had said something wrong. Which was very alarming considering you had only just said the 3 most important words that anyone who loved you could, like, ever say... Till he wasn't.

Jason smiled, the raw endearment in the depths of his eyes making more of a sight to see than his damp chiseled form wetting the floor beneath him, only breaking the lingering silence to mutter a few cherished words of his own.

"I know." He reaffirmed, the curves of his lips edging into a broader smile than before. It had lacked his usual smugness, devoured entirely by the moment between the two of you. "But I love you more!" Though thinking it would last was a fool's expectation.

The laugh that broke out of you at the revelation ruined whatever you both had going on at that moment.

"I'm serious!" You bemoaned, and all Jason could do was smirk, albeit fondly. He liked seeing your smile. It made him happy. He doesn't think we could go a day without at least seeing it once.

Making sure to leave a brief kiss on your forehead, Jason parted from you with a quick, "I have to get ready," disappearing into the darkness of your living room, and more than likely heading straight for your shared bedroom.

Maybe this night wouldn't be as bland and tiring as you had first thought it out to be. Maybe this would amount to be the most special night you and Jason would have throughout the longevity of your relationship—and maybe this night would make you fall even more for him.

Though you hope you both could eventually upstage it.

It was then you realized your love for Jason was beyond comprehending.

He was just... the one. A fact that will permanently remain true.

[deathofpeaceofmiiind]

illicit affairs | nine

*Noah’s POV* Ellie was consuming my every thought after we left Vancouver. Her perfume was still lingering on my hoodie and it was the same scent she wore when we were together. I thought I was going to be okay seeing her again, but I wasn’t at all. It was game over when I saw her smile and her bright eyes. Even her shorter hair made her more beautiful, which I didn’t think was humanly possible. I fucking missed her so much. It wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t be on this bus right now. I should be with her. This is a fucking waking nightmare.

“Hey, can we talk?” Nick looked up at me from his book and just nodded. I plunked myself beside him as a heavy sigh left me. He was the only one I felt comfortable enough to talk to about Ellie. He always told me what I needed to hear whether I liked it or not. 

“So, I saw you and Ellie talking.” He said breaking the silence, “it looked pretty intense.” “She asked me if we would be okay, and then she apologized for what happened between us.” I shrugged as my hand reached up to my necklace, spinning the whale charm between my fingers. Nick chuckled a little bit, “wait, she apologized? That girl has such a good heart.” “I know.” A small smile appeared on my face just thinking about how good of a woman she really was. “I wanted to say so much more to her, but he was there.” “You and I both know that’s not going to last.” His blue eyes darkened a little as he thought of what to say, “I just don’t think you two are done…you should’ve seen the way she looked at you when you walked onto the bus.” “I just don’t know what to do…” Nick stood up, crossed his arms as he sternly stared at me. “I have a question that should motivate you - how mad are you that you’re not in Vancouver right now?” “Excuse me?” “How mad are you that Matt is in Vancouver with her instead of you?” He repeated, this time with a more stern tone. “Don’t…” I snapped, feeling my hands ball info fists at my sides. “Use that anger to fight for her Noah. I know you want to.” He left me with my thoughts and my head hit the back of the couch. He was right. Being near her again and being in that city just made me realize what I really wanted in life and I had to stop fighting it. I pulled out my phone to call her, my thumb trembled over her number before I finally tapped on the screen. It went straight to voicemail, which was a bit of relief. “Hey Ellie, it’s Noah. I don’t think I was fully honest this morning about us being okay.” I paused as I felt tears begging to escape. “Truthfully, I miss you. I miss us. If you feel anything for me please call me.”

Moments later, my phone buzzed with a text.

I wasn't truthful either. I think I still love you…

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The last sound of love

Warning : angst, blood, tw death, emotional, hurt/comfort

Masterlist, next part

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

She knew that she was a target. For Milo she was easy to get. All three knew that, but the question was would the vampire dare. As soon as the door closed she felt how nervous she was without Michael. Whether it was because her conductor was gone or their hearts weren't beating in unison, she didn't know. But what she did know was that Michael was always watching her...or so she hoped. The short echon of the door had faded away and beside the everlasting seconds ticking of the clock it was deadly quiet in her room. No noise and no words only the silence.

Alone and only the darkness around her. Alone with the darkness around her, everything seemed all the more threatening. The dreams especially the last one made her particularly worried. She could see it clearly in her mind's eye. The burned Milo slaughtered and lost in the fight against his best friend. Michael, who she still didn't know if he had killed her or if it was Milo after all. And she herself with the deep bleeding wound at her side.

Goosebumps formed at the thought and she tore herself away from her seat. She went to her record player and tried to calm herself one last time as if she knew it was the last time with her favorite symphony. While the gentle stroking and plucking as well as the guided notes sounded, she went a few meters further to her kitchen. She took a simple glass of water which was soothing for her dry throat. She was glad Michael hadn't broken her neck or crushed her windpipe. It seemed even as a monster he still couldn't be sure whether to spare her or suck her dry.

Greedily she drank the glass and was about to refill it when out of the corner of her eye she noticed something flitting quickly. Immediately there was tension in her body and she stepped away from the compressed kitchen area into the more open living room area. Her eyes darted from window to window as fast as she could see. She knew that even if it was Michael, she would not spot or recognize him.

What she did see was the infinite darkness at her window. It was as if the bat's wings had wrapped around them and no light could pass through. She knew that Michael would have already come in, but she hoped that he was outside flying around to protect her. A foolish but human lie. She felt it the short but quick cool breeze. Just like Michael...and Milo. But before she knew what was coming there was a clang and a rattle. The window that was opposite her was broken and the reason for it emerged from the shadowy fog. ,,Milo" his name came over her lips and she hid her fear behind a mask of composure and calm.

She was even more worried that the window had been broken after he entered. Another proof of his speed as well as his greater strength. ,, Hello Y/n," he said, and she could hear the mock niceness behind it. The cold of the night came in from outside and gave her goosebumps again.

A brief smirk came to his lips as he seemed to take in her condition. ,,Cold?" he asked, almost amused, ,, A little, I mean my window," she said quickly. Milo looked behind him and made a dismissive gesture. ,, There are...worse things than a broken window Y/n" he said and took a step towards her. She didn't want to retreat, she wanted to be strong, but when her mind made it clear that she was nothing compared to him, she took a step back. But the worst thing was her heart. No matter what she tried she could not calm down.

Where are you Michael? she thought desperately and gripped the glass tighter. ,,Y/n say, you don't happen to know where Michael is? " he asked, eyeing her from top to bottom. Her heartbeat seemingly stopped for a moment as his eyes lingered on her neck and went back to her eyes. But his eyes were not dark, they were blood red. ,, No, I don't know, I haven't seen him in a while" she lied and she knew he saw through her. But it didn't matter, she knew that the only thing she could do was to wait until Michael came back.

Again he came closer and held out his hand. Fear was in her gaze as she realized where he wanted to reach. She lunged and threw the glass at him, of course, a futile desperate attempt. The glass was intercepted by him and thrown back at a speed she had not seen. It had missed her head extra, but she winced as it rattled against the wall behind her. She looked behind her and saw the glass lying on the floor.

A choked sound escaped her as Milo grabbed her by the neck and jerked her against the wall. Trapped like in front of the mirror only she looked into the face of her tormentor and not into that of herself or Michael. ,, You are brave...I like that" he said slowly and she heard the beast's desire behind it. Whether he wanted her or her blood was probably the same for him. His hand on her neck did not loosen and her hands, full of life, clawed at his wrist to get him away.

But it was nothing but desperation. ,, So you don't know where Michael is and what is this?" he said softly at first and then with such a threatening coolness that she was afraid he would break her neck here and now. Instead, his hand left her neck and, with fury behind it, tore the bandage from her neck. She suppressed a panicked sound and turned her head away to hide the bite wound. ,, Look at me!" he ordered Y/n, but she did not obey his command.

She would try anything to buy time for Michael. When she felt his cold hands painfully on her jaw and her head was turned in his direction, she saw his blood red eyes again. ,, He bit you and yet you still love him why?" he asked and his fingers ran over the still unhealed wound. She tried to look away again, but he held her even tighter. ,, He doesn't see me as an object or prey. He loves me for who I am and what I am. He is my heart and I am his. Something you will never have," she said and saw how something seemed to break inside him.

As if she had made something clear to him that he was trying to suppress. But he didn't answer, instead his fingers increased the pressure on the wound and she suppressed a cry and inhaled sharply. ,,He was so brutal, almost careless, you slept together, didn't you ? He was driven by greed when he sank his teeth into your throat, wasn't he? " came the rhetorical question and she didn't quite know what he was getting at. ,,Let me help you and in return you scream his name for me, I want him to hear you, do you understand?" he asked and she had an anxious fearful expression on her face before she felt a sharp but incredibly painful and ripping pain. ,,Michael!" she screamed, whether it was a result of his command or because she couldn't take it any longer, she didn't know, but it hardly helped to suppress the pain.

He was more brutal and reckless, he was a monster and she felt his teeth digging deeper than Michael's. It was as if he was going to kill her. As if he wanted to make her his. It seemed to take an eternity until she felt him almost agonizingly slowly detaching himself from her neck. ,, You taste so incredible," he murmured, but seemed to hold himself back from going to her neck again. He came closer to her his lips were still slightly stained with her blood and she felt the warm blood running down her neck. Since he had let go of her jaw, she turned her head away from him as he came closer and tried to kiss her.

She could hear the growl as his fingernails grew longer and sharper, his eyes seemingly even darker before his fist landed next to her head in the wall causing a deep dent and crack. ,, It seems he can't hear you, just try a little louder," he said and she knew his patience was over and her time was almost up. ,, No," she said and shook her head slightly. To her surprise, he let go of her before saying, ,, Yes you will," before she felt an even deeper and worse pain at her side. It was only a fraction of a second but it was enough for the vampire to cut her side with his claws. Instantly the blood stained her fabric before it dripped to the floor. And she screamed, but she did not scream for Michael.

Her trembling left hand moved to her right side and pressed on the wound. More pain flooded through her and she tried to find support on the wall behind her. Her bloody hands, however, found no support and she slid to the floor. Another cry of pain escaped her as she hit the floor and tears gathered in her eyes. Before they flowed down her cheek with a blink. ,, Such a waste," she heard him mutter, knowing that he was referring to her blood. He knelt down in front of her and put a finger under her chin to lift her head and look at him. ,, I'll make a deal with you either you call for him or I'll make you mine and we'll rule the world together you as my queen" he said his deal and her heartbeat stopped again.

She didn't want him to make her a vampire. She wanted it from Michael. She knew she couldn't stand to be by his side and look over a world knowing that he had killed Michael, he was insane. But she also knew that she would die in a few minutes and only the transformation could save her.

A painful whimpering mixed with a desperate sob was heard from her. ,, Desperation hurts, doesn't it?" she heard Milo say, standing up and looking down at her. ,, So your answer," he said, leaning down and stroking her head before wiping away a tear and going to her neck. ,, Together forever you and I" she heard him say and she knew what to choose.

She took a breath but coughed slightly because of the pain before she said, ,, Michael ". It was weak and barely more than a soft call, but she knew it would be enough. It had to be done, because her time was about up. She saw Milo looking at her angrily and dismissively, but removed his hand from her neck. Instead Instead, he picked her up and she made a pained sound before he said, ,, Did you hear that Michael, she wants to die for you, come and get her" before she felt a breeze and the cool night was around her. Her eyes grew heavy, her side ached and she noticed the blood still running out. It only took a few moments before Milo landed on the roof of a tall building as far as she could tell.

He carried her to about the middle before laying her on the ground. ,, I could have made you my queen... I could have loved you" he said and she heard him take it that she had not chosen him. She coughed and tasted the metallic taste in her mouth. Bittersweet irony in everything. ,, No, you have only brought me death," she said to him before he turned away with a last look and disappeared. Now she was alone and she noticed her irregular breathing and gasping for air. The bite wound on her neck was deeper than she had assumed and was still dripping from it. Her body felt heavy and everything around her seemed to slowly become quieter and colder. But inside she was terrified, scared out of her mind. ,, Michael...help me" she said weakly and tears ran down her face before they mixed with the blood.

Her eyes closed but she was still conscious, she could still feel the cold, the roar of the cars, her own irregular heartbeat, everything. Even the breeze and her footsteps that followed. ,, Y/n my heart" she heard him say before he gently lifted her with caution. His voice was brittle and full of shock, he knew as well as she did that it was her end. ,, Michael," she said weakly, trying to give him a smile, which only led to a wince and a painful hiss. ,, Don't move, everything will be fine, I promise," he reassured her and his one free hand, which was not on her neck, gently rested on her cheek.

,, I'm sorry, everything will be all right," he assured her, and she felt her heartbeat slow down, both because of her fading life and because of him. ,, No, it won't, we both know that," she countered, seeing the broken look on his face. He bent down to her and gave her the last kiss. The last kiss of their common symphony of love.

The love between a vampire and a human and yet it was indescribably loving. She bit his lip lightly and could taste the metallic taste again shortly after as he pulled back. ,, So that's what it feels like," she said softly and slowly reached out a hand to him.

One last time she stroked a strand of black hair from his face. ,, Use me against him so you can win," she told him the last thing she could give him before her hand left his cheek and fell powerlessly to the floor. ,,I love you Michael". ,,I love you too my heart" was the last thing they said to each other before she closed her eyes with the image of her love before he sucked her blood.

She could still faintly feel how she was getting weaker with each passing second and minute. But at that moment, it was okay. Dying for someone you love was a good way to die. The only thing she regretted was not spending more time with Michael.

And yet she remembered all the beautiful and loving moments. She had experienced love and it was wonderful. Thank you Michael she thought and the darkness came over her like an old friend. But this time she was looking forward to it. Because she knew she would meet Michael in the castle and together they would be there for each other in eternity. And the flickering of the candles would be their only witnesses. Because in death they were together for eternity. And so the symphony ended with a last beat of her heart.

[butmakeitgayblog]

So I was reading (not for the first time, what's new?) CI snippets and the last one I read before deciding to go to sleep (thing that I'll do in a minute because it's late) is the snippet where Lexa and Clarke fight over Costia (more or less, you know which one) and a question popped in my head.

Does something like that happened to Lexa about Clarke? A moment of jealousy or something else that made Lexa so angry that she needs to have a discussion with Clarke like the Costia one? It doesn't need to be about jealousy per se but something about a specific thing that made Lexa insecure and that Clarke needs to solve.

Maybe somewhere in the future, when they are already married, because I can see why they would discuss before, for the Bet, for their relationships with other people or in general, but when they are already married and they are already a team that everyone knows about? 🤔

Thank you!

Honestly, jealousy? Not really, especially not late in their relationship. Any real jealousy on her part that isn't just used as fucked up foreplay gets handled gracefully and forcefully pretty quick once they get together, because Lexa's not the type to let things linger that she doesn't like. If it pisses her off she's gonna say something and, bless, she doesn't do the whole storming out way of handling thing Clarke does. Instead she gets... eerily calm. Which Clarke learns is always more dangerous.

There's a time shortly after they'd just started sleeping together that Clarke spends the night at a friend's house without telling Lexa. As in, Lexa just comes home for the evening thinking they'd spend the evening together as usual. And waits in her room as usual. And Clarke just doesn't show up. No call, no text. Just nothing.

Lexa is not pleased.

It's not as tho Clarke can't go out with friends or stay out all night or that she has to ~check in~. Nothing that childish. But when you're with someone there is a certain level of accountability you have to that person. And when an entire evening passes with no word from her girlfriend (whether Clarke even really understands that that is what she is yet or not), Lexa realizes they're gonna have to have a talk.

Because Lexa is fully aware she's taking this emotionally stunted dipshit she's in love with kicking and screaming into an actual adult relationship. And spending the night worrying about her girlfriend, only to wake up to Clarke's entire feed filled with tagged photos of her at dinner and then a party and then apparently snuggled up with a choice few acquaintances that Lexa knows quite well would fuck her very beautiful and very flirty girlfriend if given half the chance, just isn't something that's going to become a recurring thing in their time together.

However long that may be if the little dumbass doesn't get a fucking clue.

So it's like stepping into a lion's den when Clarke waltzes into her office for a surpise lunch because she's missed her and wants to tell Lexa all about her fun night out and also just maybe has a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach over the fact that her... whatever the hell Lexa is to her, keeps reading her 'good morning baby' and 'I'm thinking about you' and her disgusting 'my lips are lonely beautiful, come home' texts, but not answering. Not an equally disgusting text back or something deliciously profane. Not Lexa's usual lamenting about missing her too or vows to take care of her and kiss her pretty face off the second she sees her or detailed plans of how she's going to lock them in her room and fuck Clarke until she can't walk.

Just her normal sweet things.

Instead it's radio silence, and with Lexa that's fucking terrifying.

Which, yeah, that feeling of doom turns out to be just good instincts if Lexa's incendiary stare when Clarke plops down on the edge of her desk is anything to go by.