#but my inner child is stomping their feet and demanding I should be the one in her place

[rayvern-sheep]

I’m so jealous of that little girl in S2E15 of TNG… I would’ve killed to be holding Data’s hand as a kid, wandering around on that set oughhhhh

My inner child is screaming yelling crying stomping their feet, swinging their little fists around in a whirlwind

[solohux]

I was the anon who req the one with hux having a small daughter, and it was soo cute😍 But how about we reverse it? Kylo is the one with a daughter from a former relation, hux is tasked with watching her, he thinks she will be a brat, But she is just a little ray of sunshine:3 and Then she tells him her daddy has a crush on him💜

I’m so glad that you liked that first request! I had a lot of fun writing that one! And this one too!

If it weren’t a direct order from Supreme Leader Snoke himself, Hux would have refused to become a babysitter for the afternoon. The child’s father had requested Hux’s presence personally for the task of watching his daughter, and Hux supposes he should take that as a compliment considering the parent is Kylo Ren.

“The Knight who was protecting the child has been called away on a very important mission, General,” Snoke had said, his holographic form leering down at Hux. “Kylo Ren has asked that you be the one who oversees her care until he returns. I do not need to express to you that this is an honour to be called upon to supervise the daughter of Ren.”

An honour indeed; a glorified babysitter to little Ciara Ren. Presently, Master Ren is being held up on a mission somewhere in the Inner Rim, away from his five year old daughter who resides on the Finalizer. Her existence is no secret since she’s often seen sitting on Kylo’s shoulders or upon his hip or even sitting in the gymnasium rooms and watching her father train.

At first, Hux had assumed that the girl was adopted by Kylo but he later learned that the dark-haired, purple-eyed girl is the result of a romantic relationship that Kylo had with one of his Knights, one who carried and birthed the child but later passed away before the child’s first birthday; Kylo has been a single father ever since.  

It’s admirable, Hux thinks as he enters Kylo’s chambers with the personal access code that Snoke passed onto him from Kylo, to raise a child and continue the mission of the First Order and the Knights of Ren. Too bad that the child will, no doubt, be a spoilt brat. Whilst she’s Kylo’s biological child, the six remaining Knights of Ren dote on her like she’s one of their own; Hux can’t imagine that she’s ever told no very often.

From the looks of things, the Knight who was in charge of Ciara has already left since the girl is playing on her own when Hux enters. She’s wearing a long black cape that looks to be one of Kylo’s old ones shoddily cut so that the youngling doesn’t trip when she runs. Clasped tightly in her hands is some sort of short pole—like an old-fashioned broom handle—painted red to look like a lightsaber, though the girl stops her game as soon as Hux steps in.

Having little experience with children makes him hesitate, “Uh. Hello.”

“Hi,” Ciara replies with a smile, waving her ‘lightsaber’ toy at him. “Are you Hugs?”

“Hux,” he corrects, though tries not to be stern about it. “Did Kuruk tell you I was coming?”

“’Wuk had to go.”

“Yes, I know. I’m here to look after you until your father comes home.”

“Hux,” she says his name, struggling a little with the ‘x’ sound and making it sound more like ‘hugs’. He thought she was merely repeating a nickname that Kylo and the Knights give him—General Hugs—but it seems to just be a genuine, childlike error. “I like your funny hair.”

Hux raises an eyebrow, wondering how his perfectly groomed hair could be deemed as funny to a four year old. “T-thank you?”

“Come on!” Ciara leaps to Hux’s side and grabs his hand, pulling him towards the black couch until he’s sitting down upon it. The girl’s purple eyes are filled with wonder and excitement as she dashes around the room, clearly looking for hings to show him. “This is Fluffy!”

An extraordinarily fluffy Vulptex plushie is pushed into Hux’s arms.

“Hello, Fluffy,” Hux says, pretending to pet the toy’s head and getting an excited giggle from Ciara as he does so. She keeps doing it, bringing each of her toys to introduce to him until he can’t hold anymore, in which case Ciara puts them at his feet, surrounding him in a mountain of toys.

He’s so amazed that the girl isn’t demanding that he be her servant but instead just seems to want to play like any ordinary child would want to do. There’s nothing bratty about her in the slightest, she even apologises to him when she accidentally stands on his boot.

“Do you wanna be pilots now?” Ciara asks, leaning on Hux’s knee and staring up at him with big doe-eyes. From this proximity, he can see the freckles and moles on the girl’s face that look just like Kylo’s—not that Hux has ever payed such close attention to Kylo’s beautiful moles.

“Pilots? How do we play?” Hux asks.

“We dress up!” Ciara announces before she dashes off to the big, hand-painted toybox in the corner that has her name elegantly painted on in grand calligraphy. The lid flips open before the girl has even got there, though it comes as no surprise to Hux that Kylo’s daughter would be Force sensitive. Ciara searches the box until she finds two pilot’s helmets, almost identical to the ones that Hux’s very own TIE fighter-pilots wear except that these two have names painted in white across the sides; Ciara and Daddy.

Hux stares at the latter’s name, thinking of how lonely Kylo must get sometimes being a single parent. Does he crave companionship? Someone to help him with his daughter? He’s done a good enough job raising her on his own but it’s no wonder that Kylo’s temper can get the better of him sometimes when he’s on the bridge; he must be exhausted.

“Here,” Ciara says, pulling off her cape and handing Hux a helmet. “You can wear Daddy’s. He won’t mind.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to make him angry.”

“No, silly,” Ciara puts her helmet on though it’s much too big for her and falls over her eyes. “Daddy loves you.”

The girl acts as though she’s said nothing of importance whilst Hux stands frozen to the spot.

“Loves me?” He repeats, kneeling down to Ciara’s level. “Ciara.”

“Yeah?” She lifts her helmet up, her purple eyes sparkling. “Hux!”

“Did you just say that your Daddy loves me?”

“Uh huh. He always talks about how much he likes Genewal Hux.”

“He…does?”

“Yeah!” Ciara jumps up and down. “When Daddy and I see you, he talks aaaall about how he would make a wish that you were fwiends.”

Hux sits back, stunned. All this time, Kylo has been harbouring a crush on him?

Before he can ask anything else, the door into the chambers swishes open and Kylo stomps in, still in his full robes and heavy, muddy boots. His helmet is in his hands so Hux can see his eyes search the room for his daughter as soon as he’s over the threshold.

“Daddy!” Ciara charges up to Kylo with her arms open and leaps at him, and he sweeps her up into his arms and kisses her all over her face, making her squirm and giggle.

“I missed you so much,” Kylo says, combing his fingers through his daughter’s dark hair.

Hux watches in awe. Like his daughter, Kylo is smiling, beaming like he’s the happiest soul in the galaxy right now. It’s the most beautiful sight that Hux has ever seen.

“Thank you, General,” Kylo says, holding Ciara in his arms so she’s resting on his hip. “For watching her. I know you’ve got more important things to do than this but I…didn’t trust anyone else with Ciara’s care.”

Ciara’s words echo in Hux’s mind, wondering if they’re true or whether it’s just a little girl’s way of having fun with her father, but Hux has never been in receipt of anything more gratuitous than Kylo’s thanks for taking care of his daughter. The sparkle in his eyes is the same that Ciara has.

“It’s my pleasure, Ren,” Hux smiles. “Kylo.”

When Kylo smiles back, Hux knows that Ciara is telling the truth.

[sinkix]

Bakugou Imagines │ With Calm & Indifferent S/O

I thought this dynamic would be hella interesting and fun to write about in a lil piece. I may make it into an entire fic?? Who knows, my ass is literally numb from sitting in one spot through the entirety of typing this - Anyway, enjoy this 2AM shitpost of mine!  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I feel like this GIF would sum up the dynamic perfectly.

Bakugou: Angrily yelling during a porcupine rampage

S/O: Continues sipping their tea and minding their business while riding through their inner turmoil “Do fish get thirsty?” “I wonder what I should have for breakfast tomorrow.” “Do spiders pee? Have I ever sat in spider pee?” “I should really check my mail.”

This initially frustrated Bakugou to no end, he felt as though you were treating him as some insignificant extra. Yet the more he observed you, the more he found himself grossly fascinated by your existence. It seemed as though you were that way with everyone, but why? 

Surely there was more to you than that unreadable persona, right? Did you feel more than you let on? Think more than you spoke?

The more he found himself thinking about you, the more frustrated he became.

Until one day he slammed you against a wall in the hallway, Izuku stumbling upon the scene and debating whether to step in and diffuse the situation, but he was shocked to find that judging by the look on your face, you literally could not give a rats ass about the close proximity with his snarling face inches from yours, staring at him as though he was chatting about the weather.

“Yeah?” You spoke, gazing up at him with typical aloof glaze over your eyes that made him almost short circuit as badly as Denki.

“The hell do you mean YEAH? Why you always looking at me with that damn face, don’t I scare you?”

Bakugou was used to people cowering in fear or becoming prickly with edge from his volatile nature, tip toeing around him in hopes he wouldn’t blow a gasket, so why the hell weren’t they? He was inches from your face and towering over you in the corner of an empty hallway, yet you didn’t even bat an eye. Was he that unintimidating? THAT insignificant to the point you didn’t even register his presence? Was he--

“No, you don’t. Why would you? You have a temper, but you mean well.”

Bakugou stood there stunned, scanning your face for a hint of expression along the deadpan painting your features. 

“Plus, you’re cute, even when you’re in a fit of rage like a toddler.”

Bakugou could have sworn he choked on his own saliva in that moment, cheeks burning ablaze as he tries to register what had come out of your mouth. Hold on... toddler?!

“The HELL DID YOU SAY TO ME?”

“Look Bakugou I gotta go, I have assignments to do. Join me if you want, I’ll be in the library. You usually study alone, right?”

He tsk’s and kicks his feet idly against the ground, just how much attention did you pay toward him? The thought of it left a disgustingly giddy feeling in his chest that he attempted to shove into the sand.

“...fine.” He mutters, sauntering alongside like a petulant child, unable to get the word out of his brain.

...Cute. She thinks I’m cute.

2 months pass by and you notice Bakugou becoming increasingly more docile in your presence, what was once a heated and one sided clash, arose a peaceful atmosphere in it’s place. Where normally he’d be in a fit of rage, Bakugou was acting far more tamed, dare I say rational, and unusually quiet whenever he was around you.

The other 1-A classmates suspected it has something to do with you, also becoming aware at how he seems to hover around you after class until you were ready to walk back to the dorms together, hell he even started to mumble a “Good morning” In the dormitory kitchen to you.

You didn’t mind Bakugou’s company, you enjoyed it even.  And the feeling seemed to be mutual.

It was as though you balanced one another out. Bakugou encouraged you to be more passionate and fiery with your opinions and feelings, which everyone began to pick up on at your recent abnormally out-spoken nature. 

And you encouraged Bakugou to reign in his temper, seeing things from a point of view that he wouldn’t even normally give a second glance to, teaching him to think before he makes decisions and the consequences of such.

One thing that you both had in common was your blunt honesty and disdain for sugar-coating, it meant that while Bakugou is normally a pain in the ass to talk to, let alone understand emotionally, you did with relative ease. You didn’t see the point in lying about how you felt toward something or someone, and this effect benefited you two greatly.

Bakugou gradually became more accepting of his feelings, thanks to you.

After around 5 months of this dynamic gradually bringing out the best in each other, Bakugou finally decided to acknowledge the one feeling he couldn’t seem to accept.

It happened when you were in the common room chatting to Todoroki, and Bakugou just happened to pass by after his training session toward the showers. He paused for a moment, observing you and smiling idly to himself like an idiot. 

However, something didn’t sit quite right.

No, not right at all.

Todoroki was WAY too close for comfort. 

It made Bakugou seethe with rage, reeling it in at the reminder of you and your example. 

Gritting his teeth, he observed your interaction with you two being none the wiser. 

What Bakugou didn’t expect was for Todoroki to lean forward, hand extended as though he was about to cup your cheek.

That was it.

Bakugou marched over and barked at the pair of you, demanding what it was all about.

Secretly he had always felt jealous of you and Todoroki. While you spent most of your time in his company, he had always felt that maybe Todoroki was better company for you instead, since his personality was much similar to yours in comparison. As if he felt inferior.

Whipping your head around to face him, he noticed the specks of chocolate cake dusting the outskirts of your lips haphazardly, lowering his eyes down to the now cleaned plate. Looking up and glaring daggers at Todoroki, he also clocks the napkin folded neatly into his hand. The gears turning in his head finally clicking as he looks well and truly embarrassed for misreading the situation. Tutting to himself and wordlessly stomping toward his room.

10 minutes pass of him slumped onto the crumpled bed covers feeling like a total fool. A single question running rampant in his mind that he simply can’t ignore.

Why did he react that way back there? Surely it’s none of his business, right?

Bakugou dwells, then dwells some more. Until once again, the dots finally connect.

He wasn’t in love with you, was he?

Surely not.

There was no way-

Knock knock.

He hauls himself up and grumbles, moping toward the door and swinging it open.

The sight nearly sends his knees buckling then and there.

You were stood, wide-eyed and flooding full of concern, head cocked to the side in a manner of question. Only Bakugou saw this level of expression from you, and it made him feel special. You were his.

Wait what.

“Are you okay?” Your voice was even, but you couldn’t help faltering at the end.

“Yeah.” Bakugou rubbed the back of his head in annoyance.

“...Well, No. But that doesn’t matter dumbass.”

“It matters to me.” You stand your ground, folding your arms in protest and narrowing your eyes in a refusal to break contact. 

So damn stubborn. He thought, grinning internally.

“Fine, come in.” He mutters, extending his arm out toward his room as you nonchalantly walk inside.

“I was going to anyway.” You state, Bakugou scoffing at your ‘matter of fact’ tone, it was something he couldn’t get enough of.

Stop.

You plop yourself down on the edge of his bed in a lackadaisical fashion, patting the seat beside you, coaxing him to sit.

He complies, parking himself beside you but finds his body beginning to sweat from the minuscule proximity between you two.

Since when the hell was he ever bothered by that?

Keep it together, Katsuki.

It felt as though the entire world as he knew it was crumbling beneath his feet. 

But little did he know, you felt the exact same way, thoroughly shaken with the level of anxiety and anticipation that flooded your body at the realisation your shoulders were brushing.

Since when did he have this effect on you?

“So, mind telling me what that was about?” Surprisingly, you were able to retain a level of composure, though Bakugou now looked well and truly distraught, not that he would admit it, not over his dead body.

Bakugou stayed silent for a moment, before shifting himself to meet your gaze, something shining in his eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint, his body language suggested he was fighting some serious conflict right now. About what? You didn’t know.

You stared at each other once again, either of you in total refusal to look the other way. The air was hot, thick, and dense - it sent the nerves in your body standing on alert, but not for the reason it should.

What you didn’t expect was for him to press his palm against the comforter, leaning forward with that same glint of battle in his eyes.

“You know I’m not good with words, right?”

“You’ve improved a lot Bakug--”

“Katsuki.”

“What?” You stare at him dumbfounded, as though he had sprouted horns and learned to fly, which wouldn’t be far fetched in this society in all honesty. 

“I said call me Katsuki.” He huffed, biting the inner corner of his mouth in an act of unknown self restraint. No one called him Katsuki except his parents.

“...Katsuki.” The name rolled off your tongue like music to his ears, and it was in that moment Katsuki knew he couldn’t control himself anymore.

Using his extended palm to push you down on to the bed, your lips connect before you could even utter a yelp, his hand snaking round to the back of your head in offer of gentle support. Despite the aggression in his kiss and expressions he wore moments earlier, his touch was surprisingly gentle.

He parts away before you can even register the current events sprung on you seconds earlier, a small string of saliva connecting the two of you as proof that you did in fact just kiss.

Your heart flutters and thuds rapidly against your rib cage, cheeks flushed and mind whirring with questions. But before you can get a single one out he speaks again.

“I’m gonna take a leaf from your book this time.” Bakugou states, his tone now firm and serious

“I love you, so fucking much that it hurt me to see you so close to him. Your mine-- I mean I want you to be mine. I know we aren’t even technically friends yet but--

Before he can finish you cut him off with an equally impassioned kiss, threading your fingers through his spiked and dishevelled locks, earning a low grunt of approval, pulling away as reluctantly as he had.

“I love you too Katsuki... I- uh... I want you to be mine too.”

“Wow, now look who’s the one finding it hard to communicate.”

“Shut up you dork.” Punching his arm playfully, he bears the shit-eating grin you’d grown accustomed to loving, pulling him in for another kiss as if it would be your last, intending to prolong this moment as long as possible. “You really are cute.”

Who knew such opposites would attract?

[thegreenfairy13]

A Gotham Ghost Story - Part 5

When Oswald shoots Jim on the pier, his ghost is doomed to haunt the mobster. You can read the full story here. 

Thank you @mexican-texican for the beta! <3</p>

What follows feels like an onslaught. Jim is left with no choice but to follow the woman down gloomy corridors as he’s being pulled around corners and up the stairs. He wonders if death will always remain like this, being reduced to a sentient being that only observes but is unable to act.

A door behind him slams shut and the blonde hurls around to lock it. Finally, the cop can take a better look at her and gasps. He knows her, recognizes without a single doubt on his mind Gertrud Kapelput’s face however it can’t be . It’s a cop’s curse, being unable to forget a face, and even if he only ever saw her once he’s still absolutely certain.

But when looking closer, he notes how it can’t be, mustn’t be. The fragile woman might resemble Gertrud, they share the same nose, cheekbones, lips…but it can’t be. This woman is in her twenties, at most, and most notably, she’s got a ferocity and purposefulness to her that Oswald’s mother always lacked.

This young lady might be terrified but she’s not helpless. Jim observes her shoving a couple of dresses and some personal belongings into a bag before turning towards the window, for sure assessing the height and her chances should she be forced to leave the house by jumping through it.

They both freeze at the sound of steps coming down the hallway and before Jim can react, the woman does. “Hold the door!” she shrieks, looking directly at the Commissioner. When he doesn’t budge she repeats her request, more commanding this time.

Unable to process what’s happening, Jim does what he does best: saving someone. Turning, he drops his entire weight against the door. Closing his eyes, all he focuses on is the task at hand. James Gordon is still a cop and this woman is an innocent citizen demanding help. All he has to do is keep this door closed - at all costs. He sinks into the wood, feels each and every little atom, breathes the scents of wax, wood, and metal, imagines the lock fusing with the frame, imagines this single door holding up entire armies because if he doesn’t, whoever makes it through will kill her. He knows that with the same certainty he knows he’s dead, and he knows he won’t allow for it to happen.

The woman glances at him from the other side of the room, smiling gratefully. Jim smirks back at her and it suddenly hits him. She’s resilient, she’d make it without him too, but he buys her the time she needs. Another item follows the ones already in the bag and for a reason unknown, it makes him incredibly happy she’s able to gather everything she requires.

“I’m ready,” she states, already opening the window, preparing herself for the jump from the first floor. Holding out her hand, she invites Jim to follow her. Dazed, he takes it and for the second time today, he actually feels anything . He senses her warmth, picks up on her scent, which is also vaguely familiar, and vows to protect her.

“We’ll land softly,” she orders and Jim nods.

“You can see me,” he states, slightly awed and noting how his state of mind resembles being drunk. Not that he minds - it’s wonderful, as if someone had taken his brain and wrapped it up in clouds.

“Of course I can see you, silly,” she responds. “I conjured you,” the woman declares matter of factly. “I prayed for a guardian to watch over me and my child, I made the sacrifice - what good would it be if you’d appear and I couldn’t see you?” She shrugs as she tries ushering Jim toward the window.

Someone’s banging against the door already. However, Jim is certain they have all the time they need. Not a single second extra, but not one less, even. It’s a funny thing of her to say that though, that she made a sacrifice when he’s the one who died, he muses.

Jim already wants to contradict her when remembering he still has to get his facts straight first. “You’re Gertrud, indeed,” he asserts, waiting for her to confirm.

“Who else would I be?” she laughs a little bit, probably wondering what type of third-class guardian her magic procured. Given the circumstances, Jim accepts the concept of conjurings with shocking ease. Compared to dying, it’s not that outlandish though.

The lawman wants to laugh out loud. When truly taking in her physique, Jim wonders how he possibly could have missed her circumstances in the first place. Gertrud is delicate, way too thin for it to be healthy, therefore the slight swell of her belly should have caught his attention earlier.

“You’re pregnant,” he points out, feeling a bit foolish for stating the obvious the second time in a row.

Instinctively, she covers her belly with her free hand. “You’re here to protect him first,” Gertrud orders. “My safety is secondary. We made the deal, demon!”

“Demon?” Jim chuckles bemused and Gertrud’s face falls.

“You’re not…?”

“A demon?” the dead man finishes. “Hardly. I have no idea what I am. I only know I died and it was because of the baby you’re carrying.”

The women’s eyes open almost comically as she backs away from Jim in sudden horror. She grabs her bag, makes for the window once more, however backs down in sudden desperation.

“But you helped me,” she cries out, frantically looking for another way out. Feeling guilty, Jim raises his hands placatingly.  

The door behind Jim rattles again, louder this time, and the cop feels a sudden wave of urgency, as if he was forced to carry on, else he might give away his chances.

“I’m a cop, I help people,” he says matter of factly, opting for a soothing tone.

“You’re a liar, demon!” she accuses instead, eyes rolling wildly from here to there and suddenly, it hits him. Jim didn’t recognize her right away but now, as she’s pacing the room hysterically, running her hands through the strands of her hair, he perceives the madness.

In later years, her mental decline will be clear for everyone to see, but today the illness is nothing but a small seed. One day, she’ll seek salvation in the illusions her mind will gracefully procure for her and the thought alone saddens the cop. How must it have been, being raised by a mother gradually unable to differ fiction from reality? Is it the reason Oswald never told her about his true profession? It must have been easier, leaving her to her delusions and letting her see whatever she chose to.

Stomping her feet, she focuses all her rage towards the cop. “I’ll raise a good boy!” she declares with conviction. “I’ll have a beautiful baby boy, and he will be happy, he’ll be honest, he’ll be generous, and he’ll know nothing but love. I swore,” she almost screams and Jim shakes his head.

There’s something about Gertrud that makes arguing quite difficult, impossible even. “I said your baby is the cause for my death,” Jim sighs wearily. “I never said he’s responsible for it.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s a lie Jim can live with. Everything considered, dealing with men like Oswald on a daily basis is like playing Russian Roulette; he had it coming, especially after meddling with his freedom the way he did. Heck, he got ten good years, even.

Jim wishes he could close his eyes for a second, escape this new reality for a second. The only grace he’s being given is the ability to stare at a stain on the wall. He wills himself to focus.

“So it was an accident?” the future kingpin’s mother inquires curiously. “And even after your death, you’re here to help?”

“One could put it that way,” Jim admits drily.

The door rattles for the third time, a warning for the both of them to hurry up as a vivid image flashes before the cop’s inner eye: he observes himself stepping away, sees a lock breaking and wood splintering, he sees an outraged man storming inside, Gertrud screaming. Jim sees blood and he feels nauseous. He never could, could he?

Taking a deep breath, he imagines Gertrud’s lifeless body, a baby never born. It feels wrong and terrible, this death.

‘I will faithfully serve and protect anyone in need of a helping hand. I will never kill unless there is no other option to fulfill my vow.’ Jim silently recites the oath he took when joining the force, pushing away an image of his daughter running joyfully towards him. All of this is just a test, Jim tells himself. None of this is real and the past can’t be changed, he remembers his physics-teacher from fifth grade saying so.

Face lighting up, Gertrud claps her hands. “He’ll be exceptional, won’t he?” she muses. “What a man he’ll grow up to be, how much he’ll be loved when his friends even seek to protect him after their death?”

“You are friends, aren’t you?” she urges after a moment, giving him the same treatment he received the first time Barbara introduced him to her parents. It’s a look of pure scrutiny as she carefully sizes him up, for sure wondering if he’s good enough for her precious Oswald.

“We’re friends,” Jim rushes to clarify, fully aware he’s finally saying the words her son longed to hear for years.

Gertrud opens her mouth, indecisive. Jim isn’t sure why he’s secretly proud of the fact that she seems to be slightly disappointed in the statement before her demeanor changes again. It’s slightly endearing how much she and her son have in common.

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she assesses the dead man once more. “You said you’re a cop,” Gertrud recalls. “If you are indeed a cop, why would you , the corrupt scum of Gotham, be friends with my baby boy?”

Rolling his eyes, Jim prepares for his well-studied not-all-cops speech, the very same he bestows upon hesitant witnesses.

“I’d teach my child better than to hang out with cops and robbers,” Gertrud declares furiously and honestly, Jim can’t blame her, yet he’s got a trick up his sleeve that works even better than any type of persuasion.

“All honest cops have either quit or died,” he snaps back. “As we both can see, I’m the latter,” he adds drily.

Despite herself, Gertrud chuckles. “Can’t argue with that, darling,” he declares warmly.

“We should leave now,” Jim reminds her when he feels something pressing against his back. There’s no urgency though. He feels it again, this floating, unearthly sensation of being a mere pawn in a greater game, unable to act but to follow the path of destiny.

“Do you think you can help me?” he wonders out loud when taking Gertrud’s hand, leaping out of the window together with her.

He hears the wind rustling through the trees the very second she shouts her answer. They land on the grass, both chuckling in delight when she brushes off the leaves from her dress while Jim is still completely unaffected.

“Who was that lunatic anyway,” Jim wants to know, already running into the woods with her, admiring the long strands of hair dancing through the air. She looks so alive , like that, not even knowing how close indeed she’d been to death. If just one tiny thing had turned out differently, if she had tripped, if she had been silent instead of loud, if the door had not been made from oak, if…

Life always beats death, Jim decides. There’s no hidden romanticism in a life cut short, in a heart stopped from beating. Gertrud is gorgeous, and full of hope and love for her son’s future. He couldn’t take that from her even if there might have been a chance it would have stopped his own suffering.

Laughing in sheer relief, Gertrud runs through the trees, the bag flapping over her shoulder. “Who should it have been,” she grins. “My baby boy’s grandfather, of course.”

Even Jim has to giggle. For Gotham’s standards, that sounds like such a mundane family-drama.

“I need your help, though,” he shouts in lieu of an answer. “I need to be alive again,” he adds and Gertrud stops.

The good mood from mere moments ago is lost instantly and Jim swears he can almost feel the temperature dropping himself when his stomach falls.

“Oh, my poor baby,” Gertrud says, cupping his face lightly between her hands. “My poor, poor baby,” she repeats sadly. “The dead can’t return to life. Not like that. Either, they are gone, or they need to fulfill their purpose.” Jim hopes it’s only a trick of the light she suddenly sounds crazed.

After pondering for a moment, her face suddenly lights up. “But I can do one thing for you,” she proposes excitedly. “I told you I’d make sure my son stays away from cops. I’ll teach him not to befriend one, maybe…”

The gunshot echoes through the woods, cutting her line of thought short. That has been the last warning and Jim can practically feel the time running out as his mind is getting dragged through space and time, hurled mercilessly through the void back to where he started.

The feeling is similar to a cramp, only worse, and a hundred times more painful. Here goes his only chance for help, Jim thinks, as Gertrud leaves him behind, taking his ability to communicate with another living being with her. He screams after her, begs her to call him back, to help him however possible.

Turning, she reaches for him, tries grabbing his hand again yet they both already know she can’t follow. “I promise,” she shouts after him and Jim wants to weep.

[ilikeyouxactually]

Welp it took me a few hours, but I spit out my first Rocketman fic and I’m simultaneously very nervous and excited and proud of it. Please don’t hate for writing this. This movie just gave me so many emotions and I loved how pure and raw everything was. You could really feel all the emotions conveyed between the characters and it just gave me a lot of inspiration to write. Please enjoy <3

Title: Take Me to the Pilot

Summary: Elton has never felt wanted. Not until he met John Reid after his performance at the Troubadour. Their encounter afterwards is everything Elton has ever wanted with another person—feeling needed.

Read is on AO3 here — https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413451

Loneliness was something Elton had become accustomed to. Having grown up in such a broken family with a distant father who showed absolutely no interest, and a mother that was only concerned with herself, he became used to the idea of being alone, feeling unloved, not wanted. Especially after the night his father left—he didn’t even say goodbye.

As his family fell apart, he couldn’t help but detach himself from others, wanting nothing but to just immerse himself in playing the piano. It was his escape, the only way he could truly feel something. But as he grew older, he couldn’t help the longing for another. To feel someone’s love and affection. He began to think that it would never come. Sure, there were times when fellow band mates would throw him a wink, or even push him against a wall with a quick kiss before a show, but that’s where it ended. He wanted more. To be held and feel like he actually mattered. For someone to show him what love actually was.

Then John Reid happened.

That beautifully confident man who offered countless smiles and nods of approval from the bar during his performance at The Troubadour. Elton had of course noticed the looks he was getting, but pleaded with himself to not lose his focus as he belted the lyrics to Crocodile Rock, slender fingers slamming the piano keys.

The show came to a close with endless cheers and chants from the crowd. Adrenaline clouded his senses, and before he knew it he was being whisked off to some party. He was excited to celebrate with Bernie. They did it. Their music got them all the way to America, playing at a famous night club in front of the fucking Beach Boys and Neil Diamond. They deserved this celebration. But just as soon as they arrived at the party, Bernie was abandoning Elton. Something about some girl named Heather and going to a tipi.

Elton just brushed him off, anger filling him as his friend was ditching him when they should be sharing this moment together. Basking in the pure accomplishment of where their music got them. Instead, his best friend found it more important to shag some random chick.

Again he was alone.

When John Reid first approached him, Elton tried to dismiss him. Insisting on wanting to be alone. Not needing a drink. But John wouldn’t have it. “You can’t deny the kindness of a stranger,” his accent was thick and purely tantalizing, sending a shiver down Elton’s spine as he finally accepted the drink, downing the dark liquor as fast as he could. The liquor and the weed made it impossible for Elton to shamelessly not stare at John’s plump, inviting lips. God they looked so soft.

They chatted for what seemed like hours. Talking about their history, how they got to America, their ambitions and dreams. Somewhere along the way, John invited Elton over to his home. We can talk there instead, it’ll be more private. The way John’s deep blue eyes narrowed as he said “private” made Elton squirm with need. Private. That definitely sounded good.

The moment Elton’s feet crossed the threshold, John had thrown him against the door. Hungry lips crashed against his own. John’s tongue wasted no time before dragging across Elton’s lips. Elton’s body went limp, knees buckling and struggling to keep him standing from the sensation. John’s warm body pressed firmly against him to keep him sturdy. A low moan escaped Elton’s mouth, granting John the access to slip his tongue inside. Elton welcomed the gesture, eagerly kissing John with as much fervor as he could muster.

John guided Elton’s limp body towards his bedroom, Elton happily seeming to float along, completely lost in thought of holy fuck this man is actually kissing me. When they reached the bedroom, John situated them by the window, bright moonlight casting down on them like a spotlight. Warm hands shrugged the patched jean jacket off Elton’s shoulders, placing it carefully on the chair beside them. Elton looked up at John helplessly, as if his eyes could beg for him to make the next move.

If Elton were being honest with himself, he had no idea what he was doing. He had never had sex before, let alone with a man—a very attractive man who oozed confidence and experience. Things Elton didn’t have much of at all.

Sensing Elton’s worries, John cupped a tender hand to his cheek. “No worries, love, I’ll take care of you.” Elton melted into the touch, John again pressing their lips together not a moment later. His hand wandered from Elton’s cheek, down his neck before slender fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his neck. Elton hummed against kiss, eliminating the remaining distance between them as he pressed their bodies together. His arm snaked its way around John’s waist, desperately pulling him closer. The low moan that came from John gave Elton a shudder, deciding he really liked the noises John made—wondering what other sounds he could elicit. Elton gave a quick nibble at John’s bottom lip, rolling the plump flesh between his teeth, John shaking against him. “Oh fuck,” John groaned, shamelessly rolling his hips against Elton’s. Elton tried to fight back a smile, instead just focusing on doing whatever he could to make John do that again.

John pulled Elton towards the bed, plopping down clumsily. Elton crashed his lips to John’s, hot tongue instantly darting past his lips. Unable to contain himself from exploring every inch of John’s mouth. He tasted like alcohol and weed—but there was something else. Something sweet like candy. Elton couldn’t place it, but it was delicious and he knew it was a taste he would crave once it was gone. Before he could continue, John pulled away breathlessly, his whole body shaking.

”Jesus Elton, you’re so sexy.” That was the first time anyone had called him sexy. Elton’s heart beat erratically in his chest. He had never felt sexy in his entire life. Having always been an awkward child with glasses, he was usually on the receiving end of being endlessly bullied by his peers. No one had ever looked at him with such desire. It was so strange—but amazing.

John carefully removed Elton’s glasses, setting them on the bedside table gently. Warmth suddenly spread over Elton at the tender gesture. Total opposite from the time a kid on the playground forcefully ripped his glasses from his face before stomping them to pieces. The flashback was cut short by John laying Elton back against the matttress, crawling on top of him with a playful smile splayed on his lips. He rolled his hips against Elton beneath him, watching the way Elton’s eyes fluttered shut, and mouth hang open shamelessly wide. John took it as an invitation to return his mouth to Elton, kissing him hungrily as if he couldn’t fast enough.

Elton’s head spun with desire, the weight of John on top of him made his toes curl, letting his hips roll up against John’s with need. His dick was painfully hard pressing against John’s inner thigh. John pulled away from the kiss at the realization, lips spreading into a wicked grin.

”Oh? What’s that?” He teased, giving his hips a torturously slow rock against Elton.

”Oh fuck, John—I need you,” Elton’s eyes rolled back, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

”Tell me what you want, Elton,” John’s voice was low and commanding, making every inch of Elton’s body tingle.

“Want you,” Elton muttered helplessly, trying to press up against John only to discover he had moved away so he was leaning over Elton.

“Look at me Elton,” John demanded, the huskiness instantly forcing Elton’s eyes to snap open. “Tell me what you want.” John’s brows were straight and serious, eyes narrowed as he stared only into Elton’s.

”I want you to fuck me.” The plea was helpless and needy, Elton didn’t care. The way John’s hands roamed over his body with such adoration as they explored was unlike anything Elton ever thought he could experience. Feeling needed. It was so new. But the sense of John’s warmth was too inviting. “Please fuck me, John,” Elton grabbed John’s shirt, pulling the man down onto him. John couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face, fingers immediately searching for Elton’s belt, stumbling as they attempted to remove it. Needing nothing but to get Elton out of those damn trousers. Elton quickly found himself mimicking John’s movements. Both assisting each other out of their clothes. Suddenly, Elton wondered why he had decided on these pants and all these layers. The trousers seemed to have way more buttons than necessary. Goddamn pants, he silently cursed himself.

Once they were down to just their briefs, Elton became hyper aware of the lack of clothing and space between them. They had moved up on the mattress, nestled up by the pillows. John’s strong hand was smoothing over Elton’s chest and stomach, making the younger man gulp helplessly. No one had ever seen him like this. Exposed. He had always been self-conscious of his figure—always comparing himself to others. He wasn’t fat. Not even pudgy at all. But something about the way his stomach would squish and his thicker thighs just made him convinced no one would find him attractive.

Even now looking down at John, he was so much more desirable than Elton saw himself. John’s stomach was flat and toned, thighs muscular, and strong arms to match. Elton raked his eyes over John, trying to calculate how a man like him could find Elton attractive in any sense. Perhaps he was just too drunk to care what Elton looked like. The most probable scenario.

John grabbed Elton’s jaw, bringing up his gaze to meet his own eyes.

“Elton,” John started, thumb smoothing tenderly over Elton’s lips, “you think way too much, love,” he cooed before placing a warm kiss to Elton’s forehead. Elton’s body relaxed with a sigh of relief. John seemed to know just what Elton needed and when he needed it.

Without hesitation, John brought his hand down the waistline of Elton’s briefs, fingers tucking under the band before long fingers curled around Elton’s erect member.

“Ohhhh,” Elton shuddered, toes curling and legs tightening at the delicious touch. That warm hand pumped Elton several times, slow and experimentally, curiously searching for the rhythm that would leave Elton begging for more. It wasn’t long before Elton was breathless, anxiously trying to meet John’s movements with desperation. “John... don’t stop...” The moan rolled off Elton’s lips shamelessly. Before he could let go, John had removed his hand, leaving Elton feeling suddenly cold and needy for more. John frantically tugged down Elton’s briefs, immediately shrugging out of his own.

Elton couldn’t contain himself as his eyes scanned John hungrily. His mouth filled with saliva, making him quickly gulp. John dragged his tongue over his hand, quickly returning it to Elton, pumping him rhythmically. Elton let out a gasp, feeling John’s wet hand wrapped around him. His body shook with need, grabbing at John’s biceps and digging his fingers into the soft flesh. That would most definitely leave a mark, but that was the last of his worries. John let out a sharp hiss, Elton’s grip encouraging him to work faster. He gave a firm squeeze to Elton’s throbbing cock, pumping his hand more enthusiastically. Just a few moments of this and Elton was turning into a puddle under John, body twitching helplessly. Elton grabbed at John, sloppily crashing their lips together again. He trembled as he finally came into John’s hand, warmth washing over him from head to toe. Elton lazily bucked against John’s hand, riding out his orgasm, moaning against the other’s lips.

***

Elton lay curled into John’s side, arms wrapped around him tightly. As if afraid if his grip was any more loose, there might be a chance John could slip away.

John had been slow and tender. Listening to Elton carefully, watching his body react with every new touch, only wanting to make him feel the way he deserved.

Truthfully, Elton never thought he could feel so connected with another person. It was warm and sensitive. Caring. Very different from the more abrasive behavior he had been given by others in the past. John hadn’t been selfish at all. He had known it was Elton’s first time, and John had done everything he could to give Elton all the attention.

Elton glanced up at John, humming happily to see the gaze of the other looking down on him. He pressed a soft kiss to John’s cheek, fingers searching to intertwine with John’s.

“You’re so beautiful, Elton,” John’s voice was soft and raspy. Elton decided John’s post-sex voice was his new favorite—he sounded so spent. A rush of heat crept up Elton’s cheeks, quickly trying to bury his face into the crook of John’s neck.

“John...” Elton groaned sheepishly.

”Mean it,” John started, thumb brushing lazily over Elton’s, “you were fucking wonderful.” Elton’s heart leapt in his chest, unable to contain the goofy toothy-grinned smirk that spread over his face. Someone thought he was wonderful. Someone thought he was beautiful. Someone actually looked at him and wanted him. John gave a tight squeeze to Elton, trying to pull him closer. Fluttering his eyes shut, Elton let out a content sigh.

This was nice. The warmth of someone. Filled with the contentment that he could make someone else feel good, and in return could make him feel things he had only dreamed of. After so many years of feeling cold and alone, for the first time, he felt like he was right where he needed to be. And for once, everything felt right.

[imagine-loki]

Packless Monsters

TITLE: Packless Monsters CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 46/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a werewolf who ends up in the company of Loki in the Avenger’s tower after saving Pepper’s life RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

  Loki gave you a stubborn look and planted himself firmly between you and the door, obviously preparing himself for an argument. You stepped up to him, dressed and ready for this visit home. “Put on your armor and let’s go,” you told him firmly. His expression changed from stubborn and confrontational to surprised.

    “You are not going to try to argue that I should stay behind?” he didn’t believe you, but his armor shimmered into place. He was coming with you whether you wanted him to or not. That’s what had caused his stubborn look in the first place.

    “I was counting on you coming with me,” you replied instead. You really had been counting on his presence. He looked relieved at that. “If you’re not going, I can face them alone,” you amended quickly. It really wasn’t fair to get him involved in werewolf politics, at least not until he had to be.

    “Over my dead body,” he replied sourly. You smiled at him and put your car keys in your pocket.

    “Ready, then?’ you asked.

    “Are you?” his tone and expression were both concerned. He knew how long it had been since you’d been home.

    You sighed heavily. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you took his hand to walk with him to the garage. Your grip was too tight out of nerves, but he didn’t complain.

    “Darling, I can teleport us there…” he offered, making the comment in regards to your nerves.

    “They’d kill us on sight. We have to drive,” you told him and headed for the driver’s side of your usual car. Loki’s hand was around your arm an instant later.

    “Let me,” he said and held out his other hand for your keys. You shook your head, tightening your grip on your keys. “You’re a mess of nerves, little wolf…”

    “I have to do this, Loki,” you told him firmly. He hesitated, but saw your resolve.

    “Very well, but kindly do not crash the car. It is bothersome…” he would only be bruised at worst in a car crash.

    You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I won’t,” you promised. “Thanks for understanding.” He kissed you and still insisted on opening your car door for you. You drove in silence most of the way. You couldn’t believe you were going back after four years.

    You turned off the main road onto the gravel path and your hands tightened on the steering wheel. Though you had barely left the compound before you turned 18, you knew this path, these woods extremely well. It was home and you dreaded being back here. “Are you alright, love?” Loki asked when he saw your grip tighten, your expression hardened. Overprotective boyfriend was paying especially close attention to your emotions.

    “It’s been four years… I just never thought I’d be back here…” you told him as you pulled up to the security gate. You rolled down the window to face the guard.

    “What business do you have here?” he demanded automatically. He didn’t recognize the car since it was one of Tony’s. “Y/N!? You’re back!” he exclaimed when he finally realized who you were. “Who’s that?” he growled at Loki, who growled right back. You rolled your eyes at the display of testosterone. You really were home…

    “Jack, I’m here on pack business,” you told the guard firmly, drawing his attention back to you. “This is my mate, Loki of Asgard.” Jack glared, but finally nodded and stepped back from the car.

    “I’m sure you know where you’re going. Welcome home, Omega,” he told you and opened the gate. You rolled up your window and drove through. You headed down the long drive, around a bend, and fought back tears when you saw the compound. Not tears of joy at being home. Not relief. Not fondness or happy memories.

    Tears of grief that you were back in this hell.

    The compound looked and felt just like a prison, thick concrete walls, barbed wire fence and all.

    You managed to park the car in the lot before you were shuddering with tears and emotions that you just couldn’t hold back anymore. Loki somehow, probably through magic, got you over the center console and curled into his lap and he held you safely in his arms while you wept and shuddered and just… couldn’t stand the thought of being back here, of the memories of this awful place that wasn’t home.

    “You grew up here?” he asked horrified.

    You nodded, your head against his shoulder. “I never left that building, the Alpha’s house, or these woods until I turned 18 and ran away. There’s a school, food, everything behind those walls. My entire life was spent behind those walls and fences,” you told him softly. “It was all I had to call home, and it was no home at all. Not when I was a thing, not a person,” you told him, weeping at the years of painful reminders just being outside of this hell brought back to you.

    “One day, my darling. One day I shall take you to Asgard, take you to the golden city. I’ll show you the palace and demonstrate how a princess like you should be treated,” he promised with soft, loving, caring words that soothed your bruised soul. You caught the slight edge of his tone that told you quite clearly that he’d very much like to kill every single person who had raised you here. Everyone who was the cause of your tears now. “Why don’t we just leave. We’ll go get ice cream on the way home and forget all of these idiots,” he suggested with a small smile in his voice. Silly Trickster loved ice cream. “What’s so important that you have to come here and let them hurt you like this?”

    “I killed Jareth. I killed their Alpha,” you told him softly, drying your eyes.

    “He deserved to die,” Loki snarled and growled softly. You turned his head to you and kissed him to calm him.

    You gave him a small smile. “That he did. But I still have to face…justice… for my actions,” you told him. You sighed and opened the car door. Time to face the music.

    “Are you sure?” Loki asked before you could climb off his lap.

    You nodded. “Duty demands it,” you told him and clambered off his lap. He was out of the car right behind you. You straightened your spine, took his hand, and tried to walk confidentially into the compound. Loki squeezed your hand, reassuring you with his strength.

    “Oh shit. Y/N?” Asked the guard behind the desk just inside the main entrance.

    “Greg, tell Samuel and Fenrir I’ve arrived,” you told him firmly. You had to pretend to be stronger than you were. At least until you could get the hell out of this place.

    “They’re waiting for you in the conference room upstairs,” he told you. You nodded and stepped toward the inner door. “Who’s he?” he demanded, glaring at Loki. Loki growled in reply. Greg actually looked away from the challenge, acknowledging that Loki was more dominant than him, which was impressive since Loki wasn’t a wolf…yet?

    “This is Loki of Asgard, son of Laufey, adopted son of Odin, master magician of Odin’s court, god of mischief, chaos, and lies, and my mate,” you told him firmly. Greg bowed his head, actually bowed his head to you, to you, the Omega.

    He knew.

    Of course he knew.

    They all knew what you’d done.

    “Yes, of course,” he said, subserviently. You stepped forward through the inner door, into the compound proper.

    “You just love rattling off my titles,” Loki teased you softly.

    You laughed. “Nah, the werewolves just like titles and order. It’s a dominance thing. Sorry I’m showing you off. Putting you on display. It’s rude…” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to…” you added quickly. He kissed the top of your head.

    “It’s alright, love. Anything to keep you safe. I know you, little wolf. You don’t take advantage of my skills, Odin’s beard, you barely accept my help when it’s freely offered,” he reminded you.

    “What did I ever do to deserve you?” you asked him and squeezed his hand.

    “Saved me from being alone,” he told you warmly.

    You led him upstairs to the central conference room and heard voice inside already waiting for you. Greg had said there would be. You opened the double doors dramatically. All the heads in the room turned toward you and Loki, who was a step behind you in guard position. You stomped your way into the room. The most dominate wolves in the pack plus Samuel and Fenrir were in the room waiting for you.

    “Gentlemen,” you greeted them, standing at the head of the table.

    “Omega,” the men besides Samuel and Fenrir snarled. Those two got to their feet, kissed your cheek, greeted you and Loki warmly.

    “Shall we begin?” Fenrir asked as he and Samuel retook their seats at the table. You stood, facing the inquisition, Loki at your back, guarding.

    “A little girl could not have taken down our Alpha!” one of the wolves yelled.

    “She did. I was there as witness, as was Dan. Call him if you wish,” Samuel replied calmly.

    “Why is he here?” another demanded, gesturing at Loki. “He’s not a wolf and has no business here!”

    “This is my mate and the one infected by Jareth. In case you don’t know, let me make this clear: my chosen mate is Loki of Asgard, son of Laufey, adopted son of Odin, brother of Thor, Master Magician in Odin’s court, member of the Avengers Initiative, god of mischief, chaos, and lies. You know his skills. You saw the events in New York.” You said a mental apology to Loki for bringing that up, but the wolves needed to know who they were dealing with.

    They grumbled, but accepted Loki’s presence. He had rights to be here. He was infected and your mate. But even the wolves weren’t stupid enough to tangle with a god.

    “The fate of the pack cannot be left in the hands of a child, a defective Omega,” another wolf snarled, drawing the anger and attention back to you.

    You growled and shifted to hybrid form in an instant, growling a challenge, though not drawing a blade, not yet. “I am not a defective Omega,” you growled. “An Omega with no peace to offer cannot share it with the pack, as you should all well know. And I killed Jareth for purposely infecting an individual against his will, as is my right and duty,”

    “I challenge your right to determine our lives, Omega,” the second snarled, getting to his feet.

    “Whosoever kills the Alpha must either take the Alpha’s place or choose a worthy successor to the position as Alpha,” you recited pack law to them. “I killed the Alpha,” you reminded him firmly. Any of them could smell the lie if you were telling one. You weren’t.

    “My challenge remains, child. Prove that you are worthy of determining our fate,” the second ordered. You lunged across the table, shifting as you did to wolf. You were fast after your months of training with the Avengers. Before he could move, your jaws were around his throat, your teeth digging into his throat, drawing blood.

    “Yield!” he spluttered.

    You dropped his neck and trotted back to Loki, who stood up from where he was leaning casually against the wall, unconcerned. He petted your head and stepped in front of you while you shifted back to human. You glanced at your outfit. Super sexy lingerie as per usual. You sighed in exasperation and held out your hand where Loki could see it. He chuckled, summoned his cloak and handed it to you. “Why? Why are you like this?” you teased and wrapped the cloak around yourself, while the men pretended other things in the room such as the ceiling and their shoes were extremely interesting. Nudity didn’t bother them, nudity came with shifting forms, but the sexy underwear bothered them. That wasn’t for any of them to see. Also the fact that your mate, an actual god with a known vicious temper, was in the room and obviously going to defend you made it prudent that they demonstrate their lack of interest.

    “Because I love you, my darling little wolf,” he told you warmly and kissed you full out, claiming you in front of all of these men before they got any ideas. “Shall I kill these men for you, my sweet?” he asked too politely when the kiss had ended, too casually, too kindly. There was a malicious glint in his eyes, one you didn’t see often, but you knew the protective glare over you.

    You kissed his cheek, reassuring, calming. You didn’t need him killing them. Yet. “No, love. I think these gentlemen and I have come to an understanding,” you said, looking at the men around the table. They were quick to agree with your assessment.

   They would much rather deal with you than your mate.

[hazbin-nova]

Supernatural - Dean x Reader

The pounding on the motel door was so loud and intrusive that it was impossible to ignore. You sighed and held your head back beneath the showerhead, trying to focus on the drumming of water against the shower curtain instead but it was no use; nothing could drown out the insistent knocking. You turned the water off and slapped open the shower curtain. 'This had better be God damn important,' you thought to yourself as you ripped the towel off of the rack. Water dripped from your hair and skin as you stomped to the door and ripped it open to - completely unsurprisingly - reveal Gabriel on the other side. You glared at him. "Hello, Y/n." "Gabe," you groaned. "And Luci!" came a voice from behind him. You groaned again and stepped back, allowing both of the archangels to come inside. A scene would be made if you'd forced them to wait outside while you talked. Lucifer swung the door shut and smiled at you, holding his arms out. "Honey, time to come home." "Clever," you commented, monotone, "but no thank you." "Whyyy?" Gabriel whined, not unlike a child. "Haven't you given Dean enough of the cold shoulder? The guy is practically frozen over by now. Have a heart, Y/n." "Since when do you even care about Dean?!" you demanded. "Oh. I don't," he clarified. "But what I do care about is not having to listen to Castiel's damn inner-monologue every night." "Why won't Dean call Y/n? Why does he ignore me when I talk about her?" Lucifer sighed dramatically, using his hands to make small, fluttering wings on his back. You almost smiled. "They were so good together. What could I have done to change this?" "Every. Night. The same thing." Gabriel eyed you pleadingly. "So will you please just go make up with the guy?" "No, but feel free to send Cas my way. I'll tell him to shut up for you." "Alright, well, we tried," Lucifer said, heading towards the door. "Have a nice life, Y/n." "It'd be a lot nicer if you'd stop interrupting my showers!" "It'd be a lot, LOT nicer if you'd stop putting that towel on when we do." You shoved a laughing Gabriel towards the door. "Get out of here!" Once the two of them were outside, you slammed the door shut and slunk back to the bathroom to change, sighing. *TIME SKIP* "We have a problem." Those were the first words out of Gabriel's mouth when you'd answered the phone the next morning. "What kind of problem?" "Luci and I went to go see Castiel. We were gonna send him your way so that you could tell him to shut up like, as promised," he explained. "Yeah?" I say not knowing what to expect "And...he's gone," Gabe said all seriously "Gone?" I questioned "As in, he's off looking for his pets," Luci asked "What pets?" Gabe asked "Sam and Dean," Luci replied "Where are they?" I say immediately "If I knew that, would I be on the phone with you?" Gabe says "I'm gonna call Cas," I say almost hanging up the phone before I hear Gabe telling me "Won't do any good," he told you, "Luci and I have been blowing up his phone for the past hour and he isn't answering." "Sam and Dean have been gone for an hour and I'm just finding out?!" I yell at them There was a short pause. "Y/n?" Lucifer eventually said and you sighed. "Could you turn down the attitude a little? We're both feeling kinda attacked right now." "Where did they go missing from?" you snapped, ignoring him. "According to a note that Castiel left for you--" "He left a note?" You grabbed your car keys off of the counter and headed towards the door. "Where are you? I'm coming." "We're--" Lucifer cut off when you opened the door and almost walked face-first into the two archangels. You let out an exasperated noise and stepped back, glaring up at them. "--Outside your door." "Give me the note," you demanded, holding out a hand. Lucifer gave it to you and you turned, stalking away from them. They followed you inside the room and Gabriel closed the door. "Sam and Dean are not answering their phones," you read out loud, "I cannot get into the bunker. I'm listening for their call." You furrowed your brow and looked up at Luci and Gabe. "Where did you find this?" "Doesn't matter," Gabriel said, waving a hand dismissively. "What matters is where you plan to start looking for them." "I have a key to the bunker. I guess I'll start there." You furrowed your brow confusedly. "But Cas has one too. Why couldn't he get in?" "Let us know when you find them!" Lucifer said, placing two fingers to your forehead. You closed your eyes, felt like you were inside of a vacuumed tube for a split second, and then opened your eyes to find yourself standing right outside of the bunker. The Impala was not outside so you let yourself in to start searching for clues as to where they'd have gone. *TIME SKIP* Nothing. That's what you came up with during your sweep of the bunker. Sam hadn't left a shred of research lying around that could hint where they'd been heading whether it's for a hunt or to get some food without leaving a note. You had gone through each room twice, searching for anything out of place, but you still came up empty. The sound of the front door slamming shut startled you in the kitchen, making you drop a freshly opened water bottle. You reached into the back of your pants and pulled out your gun, switching off the safety. There were footsteps coming towards the stairs and you stepped around the steadily growing puddle at your feet, inching slowly towards the doorway. You aimed the barrel of your gun around the corner first, back to the wall, and peered conspicuously into the library. Two men, judging by the heaviness of their steps, were halfway down the stairs when you threw yourself into the room and pointed your gun at them. "Stop!" you shouted and two pairs of legs immediately froze in place. "Get out before I shoot." "Y/n?" came a familiar voice and your brow drew in. "Sam?" "Yeah." He started to walk down the stairs again and you pulled the hammer back. "Stop!" "Okay, okay..." He froze again and you walked towards the staircase, peering up into the faces of the two men that you'd thought to be kidnapped. You stared at them, gun still aimed; Sam had his hands partially raised and Dean was staring at you, dumbfounded. You looked back and forth between them, brow drawn in. "What are you doing here?" "Uh, we came to see you," Dean said and it almost sounded like a question. You glared at him. "I thought you were taken." "What?" "Who told you that?" Sam asked and you turned to him. "Gabriel and Lucifer. They told me that you'd been taken and Cas couldn't find you. They sent me here to start looking." Both boys look dumbfounded now. "Uh, Cas told us that you'd gotten hurt on a hunt but had found your way back to the bunker," Sam told you. "We were just heading to visit Bobby but we turned around." "Are you hurt?" Dean asked concernedly and you shook your head. "No. I'm fine." You lowered your gun to your side. "And you're not kidnapped." "No." Sam looked back and forth between you and Dean. You were both avoiding each other's gazes. He cleared his throat softly. "So, uh...looks like we've been set up." "Yeah," Dean agreed and turned to look up at his little brother. "You weren't in on this, were you?" "No, of course not," he said, his voice dripping with lies. Dean glared at him. "I'm gonna go get some lunch." "Sam!" Sam practically ran up the stairs and out the door, leaving you and Dean alone in the bunker. Dean still stared after him though, no doubt drawing up all sorts of plans for revenge later in his mind. Eventually, he looked back down at you, rubbing his hand along his jawline awkwardly. "So, is it okay if I come down there now?" he asked and you turned the safety back on. You stuffed your gun back into your jeans and stepped away from the staircase. "Yeah." Dean squeezed past you into the library and your chests almost brushed from the close proximity. Your heart sped up a little and your cheeks warmed. You turned from him quickly and grabbed hold of the railing. "Sorry to bother you guys." "Hey." Dean grabbed your arm before your foot had even gotten onto the first step. You looked over at him, surprised by the urgency. He didn't let go, afraid that you'd dart up the stairs before he'd gotten the chance to say, "You don't have to go yet." "I was just zapped here," you informed him, "I'm a little tired. I want to go book a room and sleep." "You've still got a room here." "Yeah, but..." "I won't bother you. As soon as Sam gets back, we'll head to Bobby's as planned. You'll have the bunker to yourself until you're ready to go...wherever you've been." You stared at him. "I'm not gonna kick you out of your house." "You're not kicking me out." You took a few moments to study Dean's face - a face you hadn't seen in quite a while - before asking, "You know why they did this, right?" Dean nodded, rubbing at his jawline again. "Yeah." "I can't believe Sam pulled off tricking you like that." "Hey, my judgment was clouded!" he argued. You half-smiled. "Why?" He took a moment this time to collect himself before saying, "When Cas told us that you were hurt...that's all I could think about. I didn't ask questions, I just turned around. I should have known they were pulling something but...it didn't matter at the time." You subtly swallowed a small lump in your throat. "That's how I felt when those two idiots told me you and Sam were gone." You shook your head. "I should have known you were fine. I should have just called. You probably would have answered." "I would have," he corrected and you looked up at him exhaustedly. "Okay, I get it. I was stupid." "No," he said, taking a step in. Your eyes widened a little. Funny; you'd stood this close to Dean before and yet your heart was jumping like it was the first time. "I mean, if your name ever popped up on my phone, I'd answer. Don't care what I was doing." You rolled your eyes. "Even if something had you pinned three feet up a wall by your throat?" "Even then." You raised an eyebrow and he smiled. "Can't believe we got tricked by a bunch of angels..." you muttered softly, shaking your head. "I was tricked by Cas and Sam," Dean pointed out. "That's understandable. But c'mon, Y/n. Gabe and Lucifer? You're better than this." "I thought you had been taken!" He smirked and you narrowed your eyes. "My judgment was clouded." "Why?" "Because the two of you play damsels in distress every other day," you answered without missing a beat and his face fell. You grinned triumphantly, then softened your features. "And because I really thought you were gone. I had no idea where to start looking. I thought that the way we ended things was gonna be...the last time that we..." You trailed off, your throat growing tight. You lowered your eyes but Dean kept his focused on you. You shrugged, unable to continue and he took another step in, touching his hand to your cheek. You looked up at him and were surprised to see that his eyes were just as glossy as yours. He raised his eyebrows. "So basically what you're trying to say is..." He paused to brush away a tear that was threatening to spill from your eye. "That you're still madly in love with me and couldn't handle the fact that your last words to me were, 'drop off the face of the earth, Winchester'?" "I meant figuratively!" you explained exasperatedly. "And I wouldn't say madly..." "A simple 'lose my number' would have done the trick." "Well, what about you?" you snapped, eyes suddenly dry again. "You came rushing back here when you'd heard that I was 'hurt' but haven't bothered to check on me for three months?" "Hey, I've called!" he argued. "You never answered. That's not my fault." "You didn't leave messages or try to text me." "I got the feeling that you didn't wanna talk." He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So I 'dropped off the face of the earth as you said." You frowned up at him. You had said those words in the heat of a moment and hadn't meant a single one of them. Your pride had gotten in the way and stopped yours from turning around to take them back. But your pride was swallowed today so you finally told him, "I'm sorry." "Me too." You furrowed your brow confusedly and he elaborated, "For making you leave." "You didn't make me leave." "Well, I sure as hell didn't try to make you stay." "I wouldn't have either if I were you." "Hey..." Dean's hands found purchase on the sides of your face and he tilted it upwards. You looked at him, ashamed, and he leaned in to kiss you. Your breath caught in your throat for a split second before you responded. You touched his sides and curled your fingers around the fabric of jacket, pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss and, a few seconds later, you felt something small pelting the top of your head. "What the...?" You and Dean pulled back and looked up the staircase to see that you now had an audience. Your cheeks became engulfed and Dean looked annoyed. Lucifer reached into his bag of white rice and tossed it over the two of you. "I know this is usually saved for weddings," he acknowledged, reaching into the bag again, "but what the hell?" He tossed some more rice onto you and Dean and you brushed it out of your hair, annoyed. "Do you mind?!" "Sam, get them out of here!" Dean shouted. "Sorry, they sort of invited themselves in..." "Well, invite them out!" "No need, Sambo," Gabriel said, "we were just leaving." "Yeah. We're done meddling," Lucifer promised, rolling the top of his bag of rice shut. "Should I leave too?" Cas asked and Dean sighed. "No. You can stay. But you're on probation!" "Okay." "Aren't you even gonna thank us?" Gabriel asked and Dean glared at him. "Alright, alright, you don't have to." He smiled and winked. "Have fun, you two." "Goodbye!" you laughed and waved them out of the bunker. Sam and Cas slipped past you and Dean to go preoccupy themselves elsewhere while the two of you continued to catch up on lost time by the staircase. Only once your lips were almost numb from the kissing did you finally pull away. "Still tired?" Dean asked as you caught your breath and you smiled sheepishly. "A little." "I can think of something that would wear you out." "Oh yeah? What's that?" Dean smirked and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards your room. *TIME SKIP* "This...is...amazing!" you exclaimed, your feet sinking into the mattress with each word. You jumped up and down beside Dean, holding onto his hand. He grinned and dropped down onto the bed, making you lose your footing. You collapsed into his lap, breathless. "Why'd you do that? That was fun." "Too much exercise for me," he said and you laughed, throwing yourself backward against your pillow. Dean followed suit, pulling the blanket over you both. You turned on your side and smiled at him as he began to play with your hair. "So..." You started to draw wavy patterns into the chest of his shirt. "I can tell that you're trying to decide whether or not to kick their asses later." "Oh, you can, huh?" "Yeah." "What do you propose I do?" "Let them walk around on edge for a few days and then tell them he's off the hook." Dean laughed and said, "Good plan." You stretched your neck and kissed him sweetly. "I missed you." "Missed you, too." "How much?" He kissed you again and muttered, "So. Much," between them. You closed your eyes and smiled, snuggling into his side. "I love you." His response was a soft, "I love you, too," and tightening of his arms as you sunk into a deep sleep with him wrapped around you. And for the first time, you actually had a full nights rest.

[kyuuzuchibi]

Infinite To Me

To: quiet-kunoichi’s Kimiko (OC) Under cut for length

I head away from my home, which is nestled on the outskirts of the village, shut away from prying eyes and difficult to find. It’s a place one simply stumbles upon, and they’re promptly sent away if they happen to. One of the beautiful things about this sliver of land is that in three directions spread the purity of the wilds. Even more beautiful: head the last direction and you’ll make it back into civilization quickly enough but not too quickly for my taste. Even more beautiful: it’s mine alone.

Well, it was… until she came.

Heading north on a path that’s been beaten by me alone, ducking beneath low-hanging branches and winding around large clusters of tree trunks, I keep sneaking glances behind me. I could have turned her away. Maybe I should have. I didn’t though. She was standing there, soaked to the bone and determined not to be frazzled, and I admired the way she refused to sacrifice even a shred of her dignity. She would have walked away had I told her to, but I didn’t. Somehow, I just couldn’t.

Maybe I was trying to atone for my sins. Maybe I thought doing this would right at least some of my wrongs. Maybe I knew, even then, without knowing it at all, that she would change my life. Maybe I knew I needed that, even though I couldn’t know what was coming.

I’m content to walk in silence, and so is she. This isn’t the first time we’ve shared this walk, but I’m seeing things differently this time around. My eyes slide to their corners and I look sideways, sure to keep my head straight so as not to be conspicuous as I stare at her. Now that we’ve gotten through the thickest of the thickets, there’s enough space to walk side-by-side, so we do.

It’s hard to remember how long she’s been here. It feels like a lifetime. Every single day with her feels like a lifetime, actually, and I don’t mean that in a romantic way… or maybe I do. It’s just that… when you start an argument with her, it never ends, but maybe that’s my fault too. Everything about her is never-ending–her passion, her ferocity, her power, her strength, her stubbornness, her snide comments, her challenging stares. When she starts laughing–a rare occurrence–it seems to stretch on into infinity. Even her hair seems to flow for days when the wind whips it enough.

She is infinity.

Her eyes flicker toward me and her head turns slightly. I look away quickly–too stubborn to let her catch me caring about her presence. The air between us has been tense for days. She’d say it was my fault, and I’d say it was hers, but we both know we share the blame equally, or at least we both want that to be the truth, even as we cling to our separate claims of innocence.

When we break through to the meadow, she makes her way toward the narrow stream at the far side and I linger a few steps behind–an excuse to watch her without her knowing. Of course, she feels the intensity of my gaze on her back anyway and ends up whipping around.

“What’s your problem?” There alights a familiar fire in her eyes.

I sigh. It may sound as though this is bothersome and I’m already bored of it, but really I’m just tired. “You didn’t have to come.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” she says, arms folding across her chest. Her chin inclines and she looks down her nose at me. Her lip even twitches into a slight scowl.

I sigh again, and I can see it’s really grating on her nerves. I open my mouth, but she’s quick to the draw.

“Forget it,” she snaps, turning away and starting for the stream again.

She doesn’t seem to fit the scenery anymore. Her feet are heavy on the earth, leaving stamps where she’s been walking. Her hands slap at the tips of the long grass as she sways her arms with the same ferocity of her steps. She kicks a rock and sends it flying into the stream, and I sigh again. I truly am weary.

When she looks back at me, my expression stays as blank as ever, as if I couldn’t be bothered to be moved by her behavior. On one hand, I can’t. On the other, I inevitably am. I’ve just mastered the art of concealing any inner conflict I might subject myself to. It’s a survival skill, and she has it too. It should say something that she’s willing to let that veil down around me, but it doesn’t dawn on me until this very moment in time that I should feel blessed by such an honest display of emotion.

Can’t I return the favor?

I close the gap between us, and she starts laying into me before I even get there. “What’s your problem?” again, and “Why are you such an ass?” and other things like “Who gave you the right? Where do you get the audacity? Do you think I’m a child? Would you like to tame me? Because let me tell you–!” and it just goes on for so long that I start to tune her out.

Eventually, I just repeat myself. “You didn’t have to come.”

She huffs, folds her arms, and stares straight across the stream. She doesn’t say anything more, but I can feel the irritation coming off of her in waves. It’s a warning sign: “Back off if you value your life.”

So I do. I walk a few paces away from her and sit on a large stone.

I started this walk for some peace and quiet, and I didn’t mind when she decided to join me. I didn’t invite her, but I didn’t reject her company. I simply announced that I would be heading to the stream and didn’t bat an eye when she trailed along. I didn’t think it would be like this though. I thought the point was to get away from our disagreements, but they seem to follow us everywhere, thickening the air between us until it’s insufferable. Usually, we just mutually let it go and never speak of it again until it becomes good ammo for the next firing round.

This feels different though.

I get so lost in my idea of what this should have been like that I ignore what it’s become, and before I know it, she’s walking away. I turn to see her hair swishing back and forth as she stomps away. My brows crinkle in confusion and, for some reason, my lips open to beckon her.

“Kimiko…”

She stops promptly and spins around, narrowing infuriated eyes at me. At that moment, in which we share an intense gaze, I start to understand her. Beneath that thick veil of anger sits a delicate pain. I can’t know why it’s there, for something tells me it isn’t about me at all. Yet, I struck the match, but I’m not willing to be responsible.

“What?” she snaps. The tone is sharp, but I can sense an insecure warble to it that she’s trying to hide. She doesn’t wait long in my silence before she just starts walking away again.

I watch her go, and nothing really happens. There’s nothing that breaks inside of me. Nothing tells me to follow her. Nothing. I just.. watch her go, but I do start to think once she’s completely gone from view.

Maybe I’m a little coarse. Well, actually, we both know that I am, but she is too. She and I share so much in common, but I guess we could both probably agree that I am the colder one between us two. I thought we were both okay with that, but maybe not. She can be crass, tactless, cruel, and heartless like me, but she’s not aloof like me. She’s in every moment. She feels everything. She knows when to craft a strong visage, but she isn’t afraid to be whatever she may be at that moment.

I’m never in anything. I’m always removed. It strikes me that I may come across as too good. Do I come across as high and mighty? To be fair, I am higher and mightier than most, but not Kimiko. She has to know that I don’t think that lowly of her. I’m not too high or mighty for her at all. In fact, I respect no one in the way that I respect Kimiko.

It occurs to me that my behavior may have dug this hole for me. I like to think it’s a back-and-forth, a banter that leads us to these stalemates, but maybe it’s just me.

I sigh, yet again, and head after her. I can’t imagine myself unloading this huge confession, but I can, at the very least, attempt to bury the hatchet for real this time. And I’m not talking about letting it die for now. I’m talking about letting it go. Maybe this warrants an actual apology.

It takes me a while to get home, for I’m wandering leisurely, but I eventually walk up along the side of our small garden. The back door is half open, so I close it behind myself. I intend to sit at the kitchen table until she’s ready to face me again, but I hear a rustling that intrigues me. Being nosy, I walk down the hall and peek into Kimiko’s bedroom. She’s stuffing clothes into a bag furiously. She wipes her hand across her face after a couple of paces and I wonder if she’s crying.

“What’re you doing?”

I almost regret saying anything. She looks at me with so much fury in her eyes that I swear I’ll burn down to ashes right then and there. It ignites a fire within me too.

“Don’t fuckin worry about it!” she spits before going back about her business. I open my mouth, but she stomps over and slams the door in my face before I can say anything at all.

I’m angry at first, but I calm myself pretty quickly. It’s foolish to let myself be riled up by this. What does it say about me if I get moved by something like this? What does it say about us?

Or… more importantly… why am I so scared of what it says about us?

Nevermind that.

I walk out into the living room and sit on a chair that allows me to watch the hallway. I think for a long time, so long that I start to think she was just bluffing. Eventually, she does come out though, bag in hand. She heads straight for the door, and I don’t expect her to acknowledge me, so I’m surprised when she stops.

“Kimiko…” The word is soft on my lips. “You can’t go.”

Her gaze is almost… pleading… for a moment, and then it gets hard again. “Why? Why can’t I go?” she demands to know.

I don’t say anything for a while, and the pleading look comes back again. “Just look at the fucking truth Sasuke. Tell yourself, and then tell me. I’m tired of waiting for you to open your damn eyes, and I’m not gonna sit around and force you to see things differently. Either you will, or you won’t.”

There’s a spark between us, and I’ve been mistaking the root of the friction. Maybe it’s deeper than I want to admit. I can’t just… I can’t just understand these things so easily though. This is the first moment that I’ve started to wonder at the meat of what’s really happening between us. She can’t expect me to make grand leaps in one day, can she?

Her tone is low–a mixture of defeat and anger. “I guess you won’t.”

She turns to go, and I can’t stand to see her turn away from me one more time, so I leap forward. My hand is gripping her elbow and I’m yanking until she’s facing me again. “I’ll be better…” The words just tumble from my lips–a promise so honest that I don’t get a chance to filter it at all. It just comes pouring right out of me. My brows have crinkled together and my lips have pulled down into the slightest of pouts.

To my surprise, she looks right past the look of vulnerability on my face… unless it’s not there… unless I’m so cold that I can’t even show it anymore. She scoffs at me, and it chips away at my core, and she says, “No you won’t.”

Just like that, she’s gone, as if she’d never been there in the first place.

For days, I wait for her to return. I amble around like a ghost. And even though it was like this before she ever came, I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s almost as if I never lived a life before her. The garden dies, and I run out of food, so I end up having to go into the village market to spend what little money I have to spend. I’ll have to take a mission to make more money now that I’ve let my delicate lifestyle slip. The balance is easy to break, and it forces me out of my solitude.

Time melts away, and I don’t know how long it’s been. I don’t know if I just miss her, but I see her at the market one day after an especially long mission. I’m stopping on my way home after getting paid, just to grab a few things, and I see her. I rush forward, and I grab her elbow, and I expect to be disturbing a stranger, but there she is. Her eyes don’t go half as wide as mine. Her heart doesn’t seem to be shooting off nearly as wildly as mine is.

We stare at each other for a long moment. Her brow arches expectantly, and then I ask, “Where have you–?”

“I’ve been around,” she says simply.

“Come home.” It’s a demand, but it’s soft. It’s new to me. I haven’t yet learned how to make it a question, but can she just give me credit for making it gentle?

There’s none of the vulnerability ripping out of me reflected in her eyes. She turns, she whispers, “Stay healthy,” and she walks away.

My heart feels as though it’s been ripped in two, but I quickly get a handle on that. I don’t want anyone who doesn’t want me. I stew on that thought for days. I wonder if that’s what she was thinking when she left too.

‘I don’t want anyone who doesn’t want me.’

To my surprise, I come home from a short mission a few days later to find her sitting on the back porch. Her bag is at her side as she sits in one of the rocking chairs sipping some tea. She could have easily let herself in–in fact, she did, when she went to make that tea–but she didn’t put her things away, as if she’s trying to make a gesture of it… or maybe she just doesn’t plan on staying.

I walk right up through the downtrodden garden and take a seat in the chair opposite her. I look sideways, but this time I turn my full head. I don’t try to catch a covert glance. I don’t try to hide that I’m looking her way. I just look, and I bury the shame I used to feel at being so openly drawn to her. She finally glances at me, and maybe she thinks the look in my eyes is pitiful, because she scoffs at me.

“Our garden looks horrible.”

My lips pull up at the corners. That’s all I need–just the intoned ‘we’ of it. Ourgarden looks terrible.

“I’ll be better,” I promise, and we both know by now that I’m not talking about the garden.

She murmurs around the lip of her teacup, “I know.”