#i think all my dream ideas are gold until i fully wake up and realize they make 0 sense and/or suck

[ragingtwilight]

i had a dream au idea for fnaf where like sun and moon were the angel/devil on ur shoulder

idk if thats something yall would be interested in but it was a neat dream lol

[jingyismom]

Thanks everyone for the prompts! I decided to try and knock these all out in one go:

@thegirlwhotrashcans: remember, you asked for it. au, nobody dies, wwx and yanli bodyswap. they're married to lwj and jzx. 100% crack. bonus points if jin zixuan completely loses his shit and lwj looks very calm but loses his sh*t after everything is back to normal

@alightbuthappypen: Competency kink! One or both of them (when I say 'them' I mean wangxian obvs, I know what I'm about) getting hot and bothered about the other being amazing. On a nighthunt maybe? Or anywhere else that strikes your fancy!

@hearteyeswangji: WRITE MORE P*RN

I think I can manage that. With a few tweaks, accidental seriousness, and broad, ridiculous fix-its tacked on. I have no idea how long this might be. Let’s try it in installments? I’ll reblog and add on as I go. Maybe it’ll be fun. We’ll find out.

Disclaimer that this is just gonna go for it with no revising and no beta readers, so pls do not hold me to any conceivable standard of coherency thx

--

WILL INCLUDE: wangxian, xuanli, let jyl and lwj be friends agenda, canon divergence, fix-it, everybody lives, arranged marriage, bodyswap, light angst, getting together, Attempts at Comedy, eventual (light?) wangxian smut

The Sunshot Campaign has just been won. Everyone goes over to Jin Guangshan’s house after the Nightless City banquet, to Negotiate Stuff, and some hasty political marriages happen resulting in Xuanli Wedded Bliss and Wangxian Un-confessed Wedded Tension. Then, suddenly...a curse befalls our brave heroes.

--

Wei Wuxian wakes suddenly, feeling odd. He’s sleeping on his stomach for one thing, which is not his usual, but he feels warm and comfortable enough that he doesn’t think it strange. But then there is the scent of peonies and gardenias, which is both familiar and alien, somehow. It makes him open his eyes. 

Which is when he sees the hand before him on the bolster. It is slender and elegant. Small. Pale. Familiar? Wearing a jade bangle. He pushes himself up a bit, startled, only to see the hand move when he does. 

The hand. Is his hand. He stares at it. The shock of it, coupled with the early hour, leave his mind working very slowly.

At length, he becomes aware of an odd weight across his back, which then shifts. Wei Wuxian turns.

He is met with the sleepy, moon-eyed stare of one Jin Zixuan, still cradling him in his arms.

“What the fuck,” says Wei Wuxian. His voice is. Soft. And high.

He would think this was all some messed-up dream if not for the fact that his dreams of late have all been messed up in an entirely different way. He’s also certain, in an odd, detached way, that he never would have imagined the battle scars that mar Jin Zixuan’s distressingly visible skin.

Jin Zixuan’s brow furrows, and he blinks. “A-Li?”

“...What the fuck.”

~~~

When Lan Wangji wakes at his customary hour, he is just slightly more tired than usual. The coverlet over him is oddly heavy, but he does not give it any thought until light from the rising sun slips over an unfamiliar sill and into his eyes. His entire body goes tense as he remembers. 

Jinlintai. The long hours of debate, of negotiation. The hasty marriages. 

He sits up in his strange bed and turns. There, in the bed opposite, is Wei Ying’s sleeping form. Close, yet still distant. Safe, at least.

Lan Wangji relaxes, and takes a breath. It was a near thing, keeping the sects from demanding more and more from Wei Ying, from treating him like a criminal instead of the hero he is. But somehow, Jiang Wanyin and Xiongzhang ended up on the same page, defending him, working tirelessly toward a compromise with the more critical parties. And now Lan Wangji has the dubious honor of ‘keeping Wei Ying in check,’ as Yao-zongzhu so inelegantly put it, through marriage. 

A strictly political marriage. A convenient solution. To bind them together, to keep Wei Ying tied under the umbrella of Lan Wangji’s rigid honor. 

It is unclear, as of yet, if Wei Ying resents this arrangement. He has not been himself since Nightless City, and the destruction of Wen Ruohan’s forces. First his long coma, then a lingering tiredness that he has not seemed able to shake, which dampens his normally-vivid expressions of feeling.

Lan Wangji is worried. But this, at least, Wei Ying has made clear is unwelcome. He seems to want to pretend that nothing has changed. Not about himself, and not between the two of them. Lan Wangji has done his best to honor his wishes, despite everything.

Now, he rises and dresses before sinking into his morning meditation. It is still strange to do so fully dressed, weighed down by the propriety required for the public, but it has felt necessary, now that Wei Ying shares chambers with him. A physical manifestation of the barrier between them, more important than ever now that they are, bizarrely, married. 

Before his meditation is finished, he hears Wei Ying stir. It is unusual for him to wake so early. Lan Wangji’s eyes snap open, immediately searching him for signs of pain.

Wei Wuxian turns over, then goes very still. He sits bolt upright, searching the bed with wild eyes, then turns them on the room at large. When they land on Lan Wangji, he curls in on himself, the fingers of one hand tightening at the collars of his sleeping robe, clutching it closed.

“La—Lan-er-gongzi?” 

His voice is oddly breathy, and his eyes...they are wide with confusion, with just the slightest tinge of fear. Lan Wangji is struck nearly senseless by the term of address, aberrant in Wei Ying’s mouth.

“What is wrong?”

Searching the room again, Wei Wuxian moves toward the edge of the bed with a strangely graceful modesty. It looks alien on his long limbs. “My...my husband. Where…?”

The word jolts through Lan Wangji’s entire body. He has never heard Wei Ying say it before. He has...wanted to hear it. Dearly, he realizes suddenly. But it sounds wrong. Distressed. Everything Wei Ying says sounds wrong.

“Wei Ying,” he says. 

Wei Ying’s eyes snap to his. “A-Xian? Where is he? Is he with A-Xuan? Are they alright?”

Lan Wangji blinks at him, uncomprehending, for several seconds. Then he begins to understand.

“You are not—”

The doors to their chambers burst open, and Jiang Yanli rushes in. The tasteful purple and gold robes she has adopted in the few days since the weddings are loose, uncharacteristically askew—not impreprietous, but verging on it. She spots Lan Wangji and her stormy expression clears.

“Lan Zhan,” she says, and her shoulders droop. 

Lan Wangji blinks at her, thrown by her use of this name, then glances at Wei Ying, who has gone completely still, his mouth open in a small, shocked ‘o.’ Jiang Yanli follows his gaze and freezes.

Just then, Jin Zixuan comes barreling into the room, significantly more unkempt than his wife. He has not even tied back his hair. 

“A-Li,” he implores, “what’s happened? We can’t just go barging into our guests’,” he pauses, and bows awkwardly, hastily, to Lan Wangji and Wei Ying in turn, “rooms like this. Please,” he takes her arm, but she shakes him off. 

She’s still staring at Wei Ying. “Sh...Shijie?”

Wei Ying startles, and looks down at himself. He holds out his arms, his hands, and looks at those too. Then he looks up at Jiang Yanli. “A-Xian?”

“Shijie,��� Jiang Yanli says, and slumps over to the bed, embracing Wei Ying.

“A-Li,” hisses Jin Zixuan, scandalized. 

Lan Wangji glances at Jin Zixuan’s wife embracing his own husband on the bed, and rises. He walks briskly past them all to shut the door. Then he returns. 

“Wei Ying,” he says again. Jiang Yanli looks up at him.

It is obvious, now that he has realized it. Her face, animated by his personality. The soft warmth of her eyes sharpened just so. The deliberately graceless way she threw herself—himself—into Wei Ying’s—no, Jiang Yanli’s—arms.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. “Is this a curse?”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says with Jiang Yanli’s face, but his own certainty.

“How can we break it?” Lan Wangji asks.

“I”m not sure, not yet. I need to try a few things—or—having the original curse would be safer.” He looks at his sister in his own body. “I...don’t really want to experiment with this.”

Jiang Yanli tsks and bumps his shoulder a little too forcefully, jostling Wei Ying in her currently slight form. “Vain,” she says, teasing.

“Shijieee,” he whines. It sounds bizarre in Jiang Yanli’s voice. “I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“I know,” Jiang Yanli says, soothing. 

“Do you feel alright?” Wei Ying goes on, urgent.

“Perfectly alright, now that you’re both here,” she says, smiling at the newcomers in turn.

Something sharply acidic surges in Lan Wangji’s stomach at such a look on Wei Ying’s face, directed at...Jin Zixuan.

“Really, though,” Wei Ying presses, “any nausea? Dizziness? Pain? You’re not worried?”

“Not at all. Our A-Xian will figure it out.”

Lan Wangji watches as the appearance of Wei Ying’s knuckle affectionately brushes Jiang Yanli’s nose. 

Strange. It is all...so strange.

“If—”

“What is happening?” Jin Zixuan interrupts.

All three of them look at him. He stares between them, wild-eyed and desperately askew. Lan Wangji has never considered him to be particularly slow on the uptake, but he supposes allowances must be made for the stress of waking up with a stranger in one’s bed.

He does not care to investigate the perverse pang of jealousy he feels at the thought.

“A-Xuan, it’s me,” Jiang Yanli says. Jin Zixuan stares at her in Wei Ying’s body, uncomprehending. She goes on slowly, but not unkindly. “A-Xian and I have been cursed into each other’s bodies. He’s in there, and I’m in here.”

Her husband blinks several times, very quickly. Lan Wangji recognizes the moment it sinks in by the deep flush that rises across his entire face, and is certain he does not wish to know what precisely inspired it. 

Jin Zixuan takes an involuntary half-step back, then forward again, as he speaks with renewed urgency. “Why has this happened? Can it be undone?”

“Great questions,” Wei Ying says, falsely encouraging. Lan Wangji exchanges a glance with him, and it almost feels natural, to share such a thing with either Wei Ying or Jiang Yanli. “Someone was clearly either targeting me—that’s Wei Wuxian, that’s me, in here—or you...whom you know to be Jin Zixuan. I hope.”

Jin Zixuan turns a deeper shade of red. “Obviously,” he bites out. “But why?”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes dramatically. It is not something Lan Wangji ever imagined Jiang Yanli doing.

“We don’t know yet, but we will once we find and question the person responsible,” Wei Ying says. Jiang Yanli grips his arm suddenly. Wei Ying looks at her. “And yes, it can be undone. Of course it can. I’ll figure it out.”

“Cast a rebound,” Lan Wangji says, brisk. The more quickly they are done with this, the better.

Wei Ying’s face falls. “Ah,” he says, “well, we…”

“My cultivation is too weak for him to reliably use,” Jiang Yanli says suddenly. “And I’m not very good at the method, I’m afraid.”

Lan Wangji nods. Steps forward. Then hesitates. “If the curse was cast in such a way, one of you may end up in the caster’s body. And they in yours.”

They all look at Jiang Yanli. Her expression grows grim. “Alright,” she says, then looks to Lan Wangji. There is something steely in her expression that is familiar on Wei Ying’s face. “Thank you for the warning. Go ahead.”

Lan Wangji hesitates only a moment longer, expecting protests from the other two. But Wei Ying is wearing a small, knowing smile, and Jin Zixuan merely nods at her, reassuring. Lan Wangji senses his esteem for the Jin heir rising at such solid trust in his wife. 

He steps forward and casts the rebound. They all hold their breath. 

Wei Ying glances around, his wry expression entirely foreign on Jiang Yanli’s face. “Anything?”

“No,” says Jiang Yanli.

Wei Ying sighs. “More work for us, then.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, taking gentle hold of his wrist. “You know what this means.”

“Ah?”

“You’ll have to be me.”

“Ah. No, I—”

“A-Xian.”

Wei Ying scratches his head, a not-at-all ladylike gesture. “Or we could just stay in here and let these two investigate?”

The smile Jiang Yanli turns on him is tender, and knowing, and indulgent. “I’d like to see you try to sit still when there’s a puzzle to solve.”

He sighs. “Alright. But you have to be me, too.”

She nods, and theatrically slouches into a sprawling, sloppy posture. Wei Ying laughs, his head thrown back, a hand on his stomach. Jin Zixuan turns around, looking almost ill. 

Lan Wangji understands, and he doesn’t. It is dizzying, and distinctly wrong-looking, to see both of them this way. Yet there is also something endearing about it. About the parts of them that do overlap, and fit into each other better than one would expect. 

“A-Xuan,” Jiang Yanli calls softly, noticing her husband’s distress.

Lan Wangji gets the distinct impression that that tone in Wei Ying’s voice is not helping the situation.

“Jin-gongzi,” he says. “It would be best for all of us to go about our days as normal, and not to arouse suspicion. Wei Ying sleeps late, and will not be missed for the morning. Jin-shao-furen may claim mild illness until the afternoon. But you and I must behave as normal. There are still the other sects to host.”

“Yes,” Jin Zixuan says absently. He runs a hand over his face. “Yes. You’re right. A-Li—” he turns and looks at the pair of them on the bed, and pauses. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I’ll go back and dress. Join me when—or—Wei—” he stops. “I will be attending my duties. Please let me know what else I can do.”

“Remember to act natural,” Jiang Yanli says. “When A-Xian joins you later, try to look less like a roasted tomato, hmm?”

Jin Zixuan’s mouth twists into a wry smile, and he nods at the floor, then flees the room. Jiang Yanli and Wei Ying turn their eyes to Lan Wangji.

“I shall also depart,” he says. He circles his arms to bow to Jiang Yanli, but Wei Ying stands and pulls him over toward the door. Lan Wangji lets him, and tries not to pull away from the improprietous touch from a married lady. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, hushed and urgent. “I’m not...you don’t think I’m hurting her, am I? Just by being in here? Can you sense any resentment?”

Lan Wangji feels something tighten in his chest. Wei Ying has not let Lan Wangji so much as examine his pulse since he roused from his coma, but the idea that he is so constantly steeped in resentment as to cause worry that his very soul may be harmful...is distressing. He takes hold of his slender wrist carefully. It is still Jiang Yanli’s body, and he will treat it with the respect it is owed. 

“I cannot,” he says. The only energy in Jiang Yanli’s body is generated by her own small but steady golden core. “I sense nothing that may be harmful.”

Wei Ying lets out a relieved breath. “Alright. But, um. What about the other way? Is her...is my body harming her?”

Lan Wangji turns to go back and perform the same examination, but Wei Ying stops him. “No, that’s alright. I’ll. We’ll just get this over with, and we can. Between the two of us, we can fix whatever...whatever damage I do.”

Lan Wangji stares at him, but Wei Ying refuses to meet his eyes. At length, he nods. “We can.”

“Alright. Ah, thanks. You should go.”

Lan Wangji goes.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

A Future That’s Worth It

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+ (lots of implications but nothing explicit)

Original Idea: Nothing in particular.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I have some headcanons on height and weight of the characters that I used for this one. Have fun!

^^^^^

The bed dipped behind me. I’d been more than halfway to sleep, but the movement shocked me awake. I rolled over.

Rhysand gave me a lazy smile. “Evening, love,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Technically no, but a little bit.”

“Sorry.” The look on his face implied he was in no way genuinely apologetic. He shuffled to get more comfortable, one wing draping over the two of us, and loosed a long sigh. I snuggled against his bare chest, eyes on his tattoos.

“Something the matter?” I asked quietly. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

“If I never have to truly fight again, for the rest of what will hopefully be a very long life, I will be grateful,” he said, breath fluttering my loose hairs.

“Me too,” I agreed.

I felt a claw against my mental shields, a single, gentle drag against the black marble I used to keep my private thoughts private. A request for entry. I reached out tiredly to feel his own mental shield was already lowered. A rare occurrence for him. He had one of the most complex shields I’d ever experienced.

I let the shield drop. His presence overwhelmed me almost immediately. I’d probably never fully witness the extreme depth of his power, but it dominated over my little well of magic by what was probably thousands of times.

His presence was the comforting, healing darkness of lovers clinging to one another. The gentle shade under a wide oak tree on a hot summer day. Nothing of the sharp, secret darkness of spies and assassins. The soft night of dreams. “Do you feel peace, now?” I asked. “Now that the King of Hybern is dead and his army decimated?”

“It’ll take years for me to reach true peace for that, after all the pain and death and suffering. But I feel peace right now, holding you. I feel a grim tranquility in knowing I would gladly cause more carnage if it meant keeping you safe. I hated releasing that beast inside me during the war, but I’ll always go feral to protect what’s mine. You, our family, this city, our people. All of it. I would fight until my own death to ensure the future of those I’m responsible for.”

“Self-sacrificing fool,” I teased. There was no bite to the words.

“You’re one too,” he retorted with the same tired lack of malice.

“Never said I wasn’t. Therefore, you can’t call me a hypocrite.”

“Touché.”

I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer to me. “Get some sleep, High Lord. We both need it.”

He brushed some of my loose hairs from my face. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” I smiled slightly.

The sweet caress of his darkness in my mind soothed all the day’s worries. If neither of us ever had to pick up a blade for a battle ever again, it would be too soon.

I reached up with the hand around his waist and stroked the bone of his wing. He shivered, but he’d taught me where to touch to calm, and where to touch to excite. His other muscles were pliant, relaxed, as I ran my fingers gently over his wing.

We put each other to sleep not long after that.

—

“—told him it was a bad idea, but he was just like, ‘Stop telling me how to live my life!’” Mor’s loud voice woke me the next morning as the doors opened downstairs, the last bit dropping as low as she could go in a horrible but hilarious imitation of Cassian. Amren’s laughter followed.

The bed was empty besides me, but Rhys’ side was still warm.

I got up and pulled on my dressing gown over my nightgown. I brushed my hair briefly so it wasn’t quite so tangled and ventured out of our room.

Mor and Amren had already made it to the kitchen and were raiding the pantry for breakfast.

“What’s a bad idea?” I asked around a yawn.

“Cassian was gonna challenge Azriel to a flying race. From the House to the roof here,” Mor explained, pointing directly overhead.

“Azriel’s gonna win,” I said.

“That’s what I said. Cassian didn’t listen.”

I chuckled, joining them for breakfast.

Amren looked around. “Where’s your High Lord?”

“I was gonna ask you two the same thing. I assumed he got out of bed and came down to talk to you guys. Sheets were still warm when I woke up.”

Mor’s expression turned to one of amused dread. “He’s gonna join the race,” she said.

“I bet you’re right,” I replied. I rubbed my eyes. “They are five-and-a-half centuries old and they still behave like children.”

“Glad you’re his mate and not me,” Amren said with a smile as she drank from her goblet and shuddered. She hated food still, but she no longer had a choice.

“Frankly, me too,” I said. “I can’t imagine the chaos the two of you would cause.”

Mor laughed.

I assume you’re at the House of Wind? I thought down the bond, pushing the thought hard to make sure he received it.

Yep, Rhys’ voice replied in my mind.

I’ll be on the roof. Mor and I will referee.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. The words were too laced with laughter to be the truth.

Children. All three of you, I fired back.

All I got in return was his rumbling laughter. Distant thunder promising a welcome summer storm.

“Wanna join me on the roof?” I offered to Mor and Amren.

“Not really,” Amren replied.

“I will,” Mor said.

The two of us climbed up the stairs and sat on the white-painted iron chairs. Mor had a cup of tea and I had a mug of molten chocolate.

I looked up at the House of Wind. So far, there were no figures flying around its peak.

Mor lounged on her chair and eyed me. “Aren’t you cold?”

I shrugged. The early spring air was still clinging to the cold of winter and my satin dressing gown and nightgown were clinging to the cold right along with it, but it was something of a welcome change after the stifling heat under the covers in bed. “I’ll be fine for how long it’ll take Rhys and his brothers to get here.”

You ready? I asked.

Waiting on you, he replied.

We’re ready.

Then look up.

“They’re going,” I said to Mor, turning my attention back to the House.

Sure enough, three figures leapt off a balcony near the peak, streaking in a straight line toward us, wings barely extended to keep them aloft and at the angle they wanted. From their distance I couldn’t make out who was who yet, but I knew it wouldn’t take long.

“Five gold marks on Azriel,” I said.

“Aren’t you supposed to always bet on Rhys?” Mor teased.

“Azriel is lighter than Rhys and Cassian. I’m making an educated guess.”

She laughed. “Okay. Five gold marks on Rhys then.”

We watched them get closer.

“Rhys is going to be offended you bet against him,” Mor remarked.

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Rhys can winnow and Azriel… kinda does to. With the shadows. I’m not sure how he does it,” Mor mused. “But, Cassian—he just flies everywhere. So he’s probably a little better at it than both of them. More practiced, you know?”

I nodded. “Yeah… how about, if Cassian wins, we each give Amren five marks?”

Mor laughed. “She’d love and hate that. That we made her bet for her and chose Cassian.”

I shrugged. “Probably. But she wouldn’t mind the money.”

“Not at all.”

I caught glints of blue and red. Rhys was on the left, no Siphons, with Cassian in the middle and Azriel to the right. I still couldn’t tell who was in front, but it looked like I might have been right about Azriel. He looked like he was barely ahead of Rhys and Cassian.

As the three drew closer, I realized this was the future we’d fought the war for. The future full of fun and joy. The future of stupid games and meaningless bets. No gambling lives. Just a few marks for no reason other than fun. If Rhys never turned into that beast again, if he’d done enough to ensure our safety and security—finally—then it was all worth it.

They were close enough to see their faces now. Mor and I cleared a place where three could land all close to the same time and not knock over any furniture or trip. While Mor thought it’d be funny, I didn’t want anyone to face-plant off the roof.

Azriel slammed feet first into the roof. I thought I heard the attic rattle. Rhys hit barely half a second after, with Cassian right behind.

Mor gave me a long-suffering glance and sipped her tea. “I owe you five marks,” she said before flouncing back downstairs.

“You placed bets?” Cassian asked.

“You’re surprised?” I retorted sharply. Azriel snorted quietly.

“Fair enough,” Cassian said.

“You bet against me?” Rhys sounded offended even as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His warmth banished the cold clinging to my dressing gown.

I shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to rise to his bait. “Azriel’s lighter than both of you. Skinnier. He can probably cut through the air easier. I made an educated guess,” I said, repeating what I said to Mor. I tilted up onto my tiptoes and kissed Rhys’ chin, since he was too tall for me to reach his cheek.

Rhys chuckled. “That’s okay, because I owe Cassian ten marks. I bet on Azriel too.” He kissed my forehead. The four of us still on the roof started making our way down. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever anyone can find!” Mor shouted from below.

I grabbed Rhys’ wrist and held him so Cassian and Azriel would get ahead of us. When we were alone, I wrapped my arms around him. “This is the future we—you—fought for,” I whispered. “Is it worth it, to you?”

“I can’t think of anything more worth it.”

“Me neither.”

We held each other for a few more moments.

Then Cassian was calling us to haul downstairs before the food was gone.

Laughing, we descended.

[night-filled-mountain]

⚡️- favorite yasha moment

👁 - favorite fjord moment

🤜🏽 - favorite beau moment

wild card: do whichever emoji ask you want to talk about that hasn't been covered yet!!

thanks for doing all of these! They are brightening my day to read them :-)

 Aw, no problem!! 🙂 Sorry this one took a little longer; I’m doing most of these during my lunch breaks at work.

⚡️ - favorite yasha moment

Oh, absolutely the pit fight with Kal Dimmins, the dwarf woman, in Rexxentrum. “Finish it, champion.”

Like...I know Ashley as a D&D player, ok? Because Ashley is me. Outwardly shy and reserved; hesitant to initiate things, RP-wise; lots of good ideas, and even a healthy amount of chaos in her soul, but improv doesn’t come to her naturally. And her long absences certainly haven’t helped. So it’s not often we get to see her 100% take the reins, do her own thing, and engage in RP that blows the minds of the entire cast and audience alike. And that’s what happened here. 

Seeing Yasha work out her guilt and anger in this violent, self-destructive, totally unexpected way? It was complicated, it was terrifying, it was really disturbing, and yet also weirdly hot?? It was everything. I’m so glad we have Ashley back full-time now, that she’ll have so much more time to get comfortable with her characters and all storylines going forward, and that there’s a chance we might get to see many more scenes like this.

👁 - favorite fjord moment

“I pull the blade back and throw it.”

That whole scene is gold, actually. It’s the culmination of Fjord’s entire arc up until that moment, and we couldn’t have gotten a more satisfying climax. First we get the pirate arc, which Fjord spends flirting with darkness (figuratively and literally...), tasting power, and ultimately choosing to let it go. To keep the final cloven crystal, defy Uk’otoa, and go home to pursue his teammates’ goals instead of his own. Then he’s haunted by increasingly threatening dreams, taunted by brief losses of power, all while frantically holding onto the web of lies he’s spun for his found family throughout the campaign...and then this.

The final dream that caused him to snap. “You need me more than I need you.” Plunging the sword into his own chest before finally, agonizingly, choosing to pull it out and pitch it into the lava. The fact that all of this went down at one of the Wildmother’s shrines. The fact that Caduceus was right on the verge of getting a new (well, ancient) sword re-f(j)orged for him. The fact that Fjord and Travis were so obviously hesitant throughout this scene, so uncertain about whether they really wanted to go for it--and then, in a classic Fjord/Travis move, they did. The dizzying catharsis of the immediate aftermath, with Fjord immediately waking Caduceus up to heal him, dropping his fake accent, confessing everything to the party and receiving their unconditional love and all the weapons they had to offer...

I really, really love this moment, anon.

🤜🏽 - favorite beau moment

Oh, this one was hard.

I think I’m going to have to narrow it down to a top three? In chronological order, as always:

(1.) Molly’s eulogy. Honestly, this might win out as my #1. Marisha acted the hell out of this scene. It was devastating, it made me sob like a small child, and it also had such a profound effect on Beau’s character development, on the whole group’s view of Molly, and on the way they used his memory to help define themselves and their mission going forward.

“Do y’all remember what Molly said a few weeks ago when he told us that he left every town better than what he found it?...And I told him this story of ruining a couple’s lives by extorting them because I fucking could. Because I fucking felt like it...And I’m not going to do that again.”

(2.) Talking to the Plank King on Darktow after the Avantika fight. I know the “I......wait?” moment was the obvious choice here, but this is the payoff for that moment: Beau fully growing into her role as an expositor, speaking up when no one else knew what to say or do, choosing to flex her diplomacy and deception skills instead of her fists...and then getting to flex her fists as well.

“I'm with a secret order of the monks from the Cobalt Soul...”

“You have sixty seconds, but I have more knuckles.”

And the final consequence of her magic fists and Avantika’s silence:

"I hope your sea god, or whatever it is, is very merciful on the other side.”

Caleb might have cast the Wall of Fire, but Beau was the MVP of this whole stunning encounter, and it was a delight to witness.

(3.) Addressing King Dwendal and the Cerberus Assembly right after the cathedral fight.

And if you’re noticing a pattern, then yes, I think that Expositor Beauregard, brilliant and respected secret agent of the Cobalt Soul, is the hottest thing in the world. Not only because she gets to prove how brilliant and respectable she is, but because she always takes advantage of her position of power to get in some kind of dig below the belt, whether it’s punching a pirate captain in the face or counter-snarking at the King of the Dwendalian Empire for snarking at Caduceus (“my educated guess,” she says, knowing that he mocked the mellow, slow-talking firbolg for saying it, but he wouldn’t dare do the same to her).

Aaaand I’m editing this because I realized I forgot the wild card!

wild card: do whichever emoji ask you want to talk about that hasn't been covered yet!!

I’m gonna go with:

💕 - favorite cr show other than the campaign

And it’s “Between the Sheets.” I love Between the Sheets. Live interviews normally make me so nervous, like too nervous to watch them. So Brian’s ability to put me at ease with this show, to make me feel like everything will definitely be totally safe and chill and free of secondhand embarrassment, even as the cast members and guests unveil so many deeply personal memories and feelings and make me cry every single time...it’s kind of the best.

[usmsgutterson]

Page Eighty-Three- Kaz Brekker

Real (Page Eighty-Three series, part 3)

And thus, here we arrive at the end of the Page Eighty-Three series! I’ve been working on it almost a week now, and had the idea brewing in my brain for two weeks beforehand, so, considering the way that I’ve chosen to publish all the parts, it’s not gonna be a very emotional goodbye for you guys, but for me, oddly enough, it is?

Its the first fic I’ve done that’s been more than two parts, and I guess that adds to it? I don’t know! But, anyways, on with it!

Also, a gentle reminder, I only have Kaz being a little on the touchier side because this is a bit of an AU of sorts, and they’re around twenty four in this last part, which gave him time to work on his trauma more and get comfortable with touch!

Fic type- fluffy as fuck

Warnings- a very brief mention of the flashback in the first chapter (to be specific, nina says ‘stopped you from getting hatecrimed’) and a brief sexual innuendo

T H R E E Y E A R S L A T E R 

You knocked out after you’d killed your father, and went home completely unconscious on Inej’s boat, tucked onto a cot with Kaz at your side. Genya had decided to spend a little time around Ketterdam, get to know the ins and outs and provide intel for Nikolai when he asked for it, and Nina had decided that her home could be Ketterdam for four months of every year. 

Inej did her thing, catching and killing slavers all around the globe, but her visits to Ketterdam became more frequent after you’d gotten back. 

Jesper took your amplifier and made it a project for himself, removing the claw from the obsidian and instead using his fabrikator abilities to turn it into a bracelet that you wore on your right hand, made of gold, with the claw dulled out so that it didn’t poke you when you moved your wrist.

A year after you’d returned home, when yourself and Kaz had gone into his office one morning, book clutched in one of your hands, the other interlaced with Kaz’s fingers, you found a box sitting on his desk.

A note from Zoya was taped to the top of it. 

A top tier bitch deserves a top tier amplifier, it read. Bracelet. Wear it on your right wrist. It’ll go with the bear claw wrapped in gold.

You kept the note, reading it to yourself whenever you needed a laugh, giggling about it with Nina when she needed a laugh, too. 

All of those small moments ended up leading to a much bigger one, though. The day that Kaz proposed. 

It was a pretty simple proposal, but you loved it. 

--

“I had to get advice from Jes about this,” was how he started it, even before he’d gotten down onto one knee. “He proposed to Wylan in the fall, and I know that the Winter makes Ketterdam look absolutely stunning, and I know that you like the scenery, so, well, here we are.” 

You’d been walking around Ketterdam, the clicking of Kaz’s cane against the pavement a soothing sound for the both of you. 

You’d managed to make it near the outskirts of Ketterdam just by walking, as Kaz’s leg was being decent to him and he wanted to walk until you’d arrived at one of the more scenic spots. You indulged him for the sake of it, making sure you took breaks and that he got water when he was tired. 

It’d been snowing, and the sky had yet to darken beyond a light grey. You and Kaz both had snow in your hair, but to one another, it just added to handsomeness, so neither of you moved to brush the snow out of your hair or off your faces. 

“When we were seventeen,” he began, feeling for the box in his pocket. The one with a ring inside, cushioned by red, velvety fabric. “You read me a quote from the book I’d gotten you that day. You’ve memorized just about every poem in it since, and I happen to have done the same thing.” 

“The quote that you read to me was from The Sun and Her Flowers. It was on page eighty three,” he grinned at you, a fully fledged smile. Something he saved for you and you exclusively.

“I’m going to change the wording a bit, because it’s in the past tense, and we’re not past tense. The quote was ‘you were mine, and my life was full,’,” he said. “I’m changing it to ‘you are mine, and my life is full.’ Because thats how I feel.”

“Kaz?” You asked. “Do you have something planned?” He raised an eyebrow at you as he clutched the box.

“I suck at words, so, from Rupi Kaurs book Milk and Honey, I offer you this,” he carefully got down onto a knee, using his cane to keep him steady for a few quiet moments as you realized what was happening. 

“‘You are every hope and dream I’ve ever had, in human form.” He pulled out the ring, opening the box and holding it out to you. “That’s page forty nine, love.” 

“If you can’t think of an answer, please, just-- anything works,” if Jesper had told sixteen year old Kaz Brekker that he’d end up on his knees, begging you for a response to his proposal at just twenty two, he’d have called Jesper crazy.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “Yes, Kaz Brekker. If you’re asking me to marry you, it’s an immediate yes.” He used his cane to get himself up to standing again, slipping the ring onto your ring finger and accepting the hug that you pulled him into.

You were going to marry Kaz Brekker, the love of your life, and you couldn’t wait for it. 

--

The day seemed to come at you quickly, even though you’d not set the date until Winter of year that you turned twenty four. 

First, it was calling Nikolai and asking if you could cash in the reward for killing your father and doing him and the world a justice that they deserved, then it was finding suitable tuxedos and sending out invitations and planning a million different things at once. 

But, eventually, you, Jesper, Wylan, Genya, and Nina, were all on Inejs boat, headed toward the Little Palace.

Then, all of the sudden, you were in the last stretch of time before the wedding. Alina, Mal, Genya, Zoya, and Nina were talking as Genya tailored you, getting rid of some of the blemishes and fixing up little things about your face that you’d asked her to tailor until the end of the ceremony. 

“It’s weird,” Alina said, pressing a kiss to Mals cheek as she glanced at her own wedding ring. “I remember you as this fourteen year old boy who used to gawk at the attractive guys in the Second Army, the boy who resented his powers and swore at his father at any chance that he got, and now you’re and you’re completely different.”

“Different how?”

“Kaz Brekker,” Genya said, running her finger under one of your eyes gently, as to get rid of your eyebags. “He’s good for you.”

“And you don’t resent your powers anymore,” Zoya adds. “You don’t use them often, but you don’t resent them.” 

“You use them, don’t you, mate?” Mal quipped. “Or were my eyes tricking me when I went to wake you and Brekker up this morning, only to find you keeping light out of your room with a flick of your bloody wrist?” 

“I was tired,” you pouted. “Kaz and I both were!”

“Ah, newlyweds,” Nina joked.

“It’s not like that!” You shouted. “Zoya, help me out!”

“He’s able to kiss you now,” she said. “Like, with tongue and stuff. Theres no reason he wouldn’t be able to enjoy a fun little tumble with you here and there!”

“’Tongue, and stuff,’” Mal repeated. “Yes, Zoya, because, as a twenty six year old woman, that’s totally adult phrasing.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to describe it any better,” Nina quipped. Genya and Alina hummed their agreement as Genya moved to your hair, fluffing it and styling it so it that it looked nice as you adjusted the cuffs on your dress shirt. 

“Wheres my blazer?” You asked, grabbing your tie from Genyas lap, tying it as she evened out some of the color near your roots. 

“Closet,” Alina answered. “I’ll get it for you!” Mal checked his watch.

“We’ve got three minutes to get down there,” he said. “Lets make the most of Y/Ns remaining 180 seconds unmarried.” You laughed, rolling your eyes as Genya stood, helping you up after.

Nina shot Genya a glance, and she took the hint, ushering Alina, Mal and Zoya out of the room and passing Nina your blazer as she left. 

Nina helped you into your blazer, running her thumb along your cheek with a smile. 

“I never thought I’d see Kaz Brekker married,” she said. “But hey, I guess stopping you from getting hatecrimed had it’s benefits, didn’t it?” 

You laughed, shrugging.

“I think that we’ll rebuild some of the Slat,” you said. “Make the rooms bigger. Get plaques declaring whos room is whos.”

“A golden plaque with Nina Zenik emblazoned on it?”

“Bolted to your bedroom door, Neens.” 

“I love you, Morozova.” She said, trapping you into a tight hug.

“I love you back, Zenik.” You said. “Now, c’mon. I don’t think anyone would take too kindly to me being late for my own bloody wedding, would they?” 

--

The wedding was small, taking place close to the entrance of the Little Palace. There were no chairs to sit on, but the few guests you’d invited didn’t mind it whatsoever. 

The guest list was fairly small, considering your tight knit little family. Wylan was Kaz’s best man, Your best woman was Nina. The people standing in the small crowd were all familiar faces.

Wylans mother, Marya Hendriks, and Jespers father, Colm Fahey were the oldest there. Among them were Nikolai, Alina, Mal, Genya, Rotty and Specht, and the two members of the Dregs who’d originated the King of the Barrel nicknames. Their names were Terrowin and Kira, and when you caught their eyes, they were beaming at you both.

Jesper was officiating, and as you met his gaze, you remembered how he was practically bouncing off the walls the day that you’d asked him to officiate. 

“Okay, now that they’re both here, we can begin!” Jesper couldn’t hide his excitement.

“Mr. Brekker,” Jesper laughed through the words. He’d not called Kaz ‘Mr. Brekker’ unless he was doing so in a jokey context. You knew that, had it been anyone elses wedding, they’d probably have gotten angry at Jesper for giggling through the words, but for you and Kaz, it just added to an already perfect day. “Do you take Y/N as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” he said. 

“Mr. Morozova,” Jesper glanced at you, and you met his gaze, having to stifle laughter when you realized just how wide his grin was. How happy he seemed. He looked like he was about to start bouncing off the walls and screaming with joy. “Do you take Kaz as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Hells yes,” you said, giggling slightly. For a moment, Kaz let his lips lift into a grin. You matched it with your own smile and took his hand into yours.

“You’ve prepared your own vows, so, Mr. Brekker, sir, you go first!” Kaz glanced at Jesper inquisitively, grin still on his face as he started talking and met your eye.

“I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you,” he said. “And when my heart says something, I’ve learned to listen to it. I love you with my entire heart and so much more, and I hate that I’m not good with words, because that’s all I can say. Nothing else accurately cultivates the feelings I’ve felt for you since that night, when you were broken and bruised underneath that saintsforsaken lamplight. I promise to love you every minute of every day, Brekker.” You’d agreed to change your last name to his. You’d be Y/N Brekker by the end of the night.

“Mr. Brekker,” Jesper said. “Since you’ll be married in a few minutes and I have to get used to that last name on you, you may say your vows!” 

“When I was fifteen, I was caught and beat broken by a group of eight eighteen year olds,” you began. “But you saved my ass before I was killed, and it seems as though our relationship has been a series of saves ever since. Kaz Brekker, with the ring I’m about to put on your finger, I’m promising that I’ll do that forever. Please, though, try to avoid getting yourself kidnapped too often, okay?” His chest shook in silent laughter as he nodded.

“The rings, gentlepeople?” Jesper asked, Nina passed you the ring you’d slip into Kaz’s finger, and Wylan passed Kaz the one he’d put onto yours.

“Put them on,” Jesper said. You and Kaz both glanced at him once more, meeting each others eye thereafter, grinning and shaking your heads. It’d become very clear to you that the twenty four year old who you’d recruited to officiate your wedding was damn near close to letting out an excited squeal. 

Kaz put the ring onto your ring finger and you did the same for him, waiting for Jespers next words as you took a half a step closer to Kaz. 

“Kiss, you idiots!” Jesper said. Kaz laughed, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He’d kiss you like nothing else later in the evening, when the only thing to bug you was a lamp that you’d left on, but you both agreed that a forehead kiss would be as far as you’d go in front of others. Kisses, to Kaz, were personal, and you respected and loved that about him. 

“Saints, bless this fuckin’ union!” Jesper shouted. You glanced at Alina, who shot you a thumbs up and a nod as the party part of the wedding kicked off. 

Terrowin and Kira were the first people that you and Kaz talked to.

“Did you secure it?” He asked.

“The property?” Terrowin was a Zemeni boy, with skin dark as night and eyes as warm as the sun. 

“Or the trip?” Asked Kira, a girl from Shu Han with hair black as the feathers on a crow and blue eyes as cold as the Fjerdan ice. 

“The property, first and foremost,” he said. “Did you get it? Did you give it the name I asked you to?”

“Yes, and yes,” said Terrowin. “Beside The Silver Six is a bookstore called Page Eighty-Three. It’s scheduled to open in the fall.” Your eyes widened as you made the connection.

“Page eighty-three?” You asked, smirk on your lips. Kaz shrugged.

“And the request?”

“The line from the poem will be put on the wall behind the clerks counter,” Kira said. “Just as you requested.”

“And the trip?”

“Your boat for Novyi Zem leaves in two days, Boss,” Kira said. “Two bells in the afternoon. It’s directly routed to Coftons docks.” Kaz nodded.

“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll see you when Page Eighty-Three opens.” 

“Damn right we will,” you said. Terrowin and Kira laughed as they walked away.

You glanced around the room, spotting Jesper and Wylan perched at a piano, playing the music that everyone was dancing to. Marya and Colm dancing close to them. Nina and Zoya dancing like idiots and laughing throughout. Mal and Inej making conversation and Genya and Alina heading your way.

“Congrats, you two,” Genya said. “Can I expect to see you both tanned and rested up when you get back from Novyi Zem?” 

“You’ll be in Ketterdam?” You asked. Genya nodded.

“For a couple of months, to make sure that your Jesper friend doesn’t colossally fuck things up while your friend Inej is doing her thing on the open ocean,” Alina said. “I’m there to visit for a bit, under the radar.” 

“Thank you, Alina,” he said. “Thank you both. For everything that you’ve done in these past years.” 

“No biggie, Brekker,” Alina said. “I don’t know you that well, but I see how happy you make Y/N, and he’s like a little brother. I care about his happiness.” 

“You two are absolutely bloody adorable,” Genya said. “Now, back to my question, will you be tan, or at the very least, well rested, upon your return?”

“Kaz is pale,” you said. “He’ll burn like a crisp. Me? I don’t really know. I guess it depends.” 

“We’ll be well rested,” Kaz said. “He’s a darkling. He can create shadow. I fully intend to use that to keep the sun out in the mornings.” 

“I won’t do whatever you ask of me!” You quipped.

“You had no issue with that last night,” he said, raising a teasing eyebrow. “Or this morning!”

“Mal was right!” Alina shouted, her and Genya bursting into giggles. “Damn it, I hate it when that happens!” You laughed.

You took another glance around you, spotting your friends.

No, wait. Scratch that.

Not your friends.

Your family. 

Your family was having a good time, eating, talking, dancing, laughing. They were enjoying themselves and congratulating you as you talked to Alina and Genya. 

Kaz had an arm around your waist, his cheek pressed against the side of your head as his other hand gently turned your wedding ring around on your finger. He was talking to people without arguing with them. He was holding you like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

Your life was perfect.

Kaz was yours, you were his, and your life was full. 

--------

tags: @whateverfandom00 @a-c-lee @incorrectquotesconaisseur @the7seannas​ @teatimeforusreaders​ @hunnybunimdun​

[thestarswhim]

Intertwining Connection

Summary: Since MK has Monkey King’s powers, wouldn’t they both have some sort of connection to each other? 

An idea where MK might get a sense of what the Monkey King is feeling. 

Words: 1,757

Notes: Descriptions of anxiety, but nothing major.

It was late at night, a few hours before MK would have to get ready for work, and there was barely any noise except for the occasional cars that drove by. So, it was a wonder when he woke up suddenly, gasping for air as if he just ran with all the strength he had left, and sat straight up. 

He searched the whole room, alarmed, and confused, and uneasy — and when did he start using the golden vision thing? He blinked it away and rubbed at his eyes, trying to take deep breaths, but the weight still in his chest wasn’t letting up. Everything felt vague… like the feeling one would get after waking up from a dream, but… he couldn’t recall any of it if he did. The only thing that kept screaming at him was that someone was in danger. But, who? 

He fidgeted slightly in his bed and clenched his blanket around his fists, causing it to scrunch up in his hands. He bit down on his tongue as he looked over to his gear and then slowly to the window — no. No, no, no, no, no. He was not going to just go out on impulse again and then end up finding nothing. He freaked about stuff like this before, where he felt something was wrong, and usually nothing bad actually happened until a few or more days after. And he took care of those things when they did happen. Most of the time. Besides, sometimes he was just overthinking things and nothing was wrong in the first place. So, he should breathe it in, breathe it out, go back to sleep, and not worry about it (for now), right?

...

But, still… 

This felt different. It was more intense, as if it were a life or death situation, and that, by ignoring it, would be a grim, dark, scary mistake he did not want to consider. 

There began an anxious sensation he didn’t feel before going down his back like some sort of chill, and it felt way too uncomfortable. 

Okay. He should probably go and find that someone. 

He quickly got out of bed, stumbling a bit as he grabbed his jacket and headband, and saw as he was putting on his shoes how much his hands were trembling. He wasn’t scared or nervous; rather, it was that sensation that would not leave, and it was bothering him — and he really needed to go find whoever was in danger. 

Using the golden vision could help most likely, and maybe Monkey King knew what was going on? Given how strong this feeling was, it was probably another power of his, and it would be something MK would have to get used to more often. Great. 

The thought of Monkey King, however, suddenly brought a flash of blue and gold into his mind. His breath hitched at the realization, and all the weight from his chest dropped to his stomach in an instant as he snapped his head to the window.

“Monkey King,” he breathed out, and before he could comprehend it, he was jumping out the window, staff in hand.

How could Monkey King be in danger? He could clearly handle himself just fine. Maybe this was all in his head, yeah. Probably… but of course he was still going to check because… because the feeling was only growing stronger, and the sharp sensation was fully enveloping him, and, and — he suppressed a frustrated groan. Focus, MK! Now wasn't the time! He had to get to Flower Fruit Mountain! 

Before his body would reach the ground, he swiftly landed the end of the staff first with a resounding thud on the street and extended it forward to launch himself higher into the air. It would be quicker this way. 

Though, luckily and surprisingly for him, he supposed, was that not even a second after, he caught an object in his view coming straight towards him, moving in a bit too fast for his liking, actually. 

“Kid!” it shouted, tone tight and on edge, and a wave of dizzying fear penetrated his chest and left all at the same time, making his throat tighten. 

“Monkey King?” MK choked to get out. He was okay! Maybe? Was he being chased probably? That sudden, intense beat of emotion took him longer to comprehend everything properly; it left his whole body fuzzy and dull, but also static with anxious induced adrenaline, his nerves feeling singed at the edge of his mind. 

Which totally made him forget he wasn't on the ground and, rather, still in the air. The momentum he gained before was now dissipating and gravity was starting to catch up to him again, slowly dragging him down. 

Oh.

He made a yelp jump out of his mouth when he hit something sooner than he thought, but as soon realized he wasn't in immediate pain and was being picked back up into the air in a swooping motion. 

His mind processed that his head was against someone's chest, as he heard rapid, muffled thumping of a heart in his ear. Also he heard talking — and oh my gosh, Monkey King! 

He squirmed around in his mentor's grasp, trying to get a better look at his surroundings in case someone was chasing him or something. 

"Woah, hey," Monkey King started, and there was a slight tremble to his voice, but that could be from coming all the way over to the city. "Don't worry, it's just me." 

They floated back down to the ground, where MK found they were on the cloud beforehand, and took a few steps back once he was sure he was not in the air anymore (that was a rollercoaster in it of itself) to assess everything, including Monkey King who seemed fine and gave him one of his side smiles. They were the only two present at the moment; he didn’t hear or see anyone else coming, neither was his senses buzzing out anymore. He slowly exhaled. This was all so intense for no reason.

“You all right, Kid? Why were you so high in the sky this early in the morning?” Monkey King chuckled, in a short, weird way, and, if MK was seeing right, he looked relieved himself. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorta confused, but good,” MK nodded, twisting the staff in his hands. “And, well, I guess — are you okay? I thought something bad happened.”

Monkey King raised his eyebrows, his tail slowly swaying to and fro, and then swiftly changed into a more neutral, chill-like expression. He had been doing that a lot lately. “Of course I’m fine!” He then gazed around the area, eyes focused and distant at the same time. “Why? Did something happen?”

His voice had that certain edge again, but MK tried not to think too much on it right now, and instead relaxed his stature more and shook his head. “No? I mean I hope not. I woke up in this panic and it was not leaving no matter what I did which made me think it was something serious and that someone was in trouble, and then I had a feeling that it could be you? And now you're here, so I guess it was nothing? I’m not sure.” 

Silence… and then, “unless something is wron—”

“Okay, kiddo,” Monkey King put his hand on MK’s head, “before you start freaking out again: I’m fine, and I’m pretty sure everything else is fine. It was probably a dream you had if anything.”

MK thought for a moment. It probably was, but, like before, he couldn’t remember any of it even if he tried. It was weird. He sighed, “I guess. So… why are you here, then?”

Monkey King stiffened, MK could tell from his hand still on his head and the way his fingers twitched in his hair, but it was so subtle and quick, no one would catch it. But, and for some reason, MK kept catching those small moments more and more, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that, or what to think of it. 

His mentor put his hand back down and stretched. “Eh, ‘just wanted to smell the morning air, I don’t do it often. So, I thought I’d fly around the city for a while, and then, to my suprise, there you were nearly falling, so,” his shoulders shook from his small laughter again. “But, I suppose I should head back now since everything seems to have settled down, and you should try and get some more rest before you actually have to get up, okay?” 

“Right,” MK said, and he wanted to say more, that look in Monkey King’s eyes made him want to, but… maybe now wasn't the right time. And maybe he was over exaggerating things. Monkey King was fine, and even if he was hiding anything, MK shouldn’t press on it if he wasn’t supposed to know. He had learned that by now…  

“All right, Kid, lets go,”  Monkey King smiled gently, and, before MK could question anything, he grabbed a hold of him and lifted them both back up on the cloud over to his balcony.

“Thanks,” MK smiled back while he safely landed his feet on said balcony. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Or, wait, today? What time is it?” 

“Way too early to be up,” Monkey King reminded with a smirk, “so go to sleep or else you’ll be sweeping the whole mountain.”

“Wait, really?” Because no. No, thank you. Was that even possible, and who would even sweep a whole mountain? 

Monkey King shrugged with a “I don’t know” noise. “I guess we’ll have to see later today," and, with a short wave and a wink, said, "see ya, bud!" and went zooming away.

MK watched him go once again, leaning his arms against the railing. The sun was just beginning to show up, the dark blue sky becoming a lighter shade of gray with warm tones peeking out between the buildings. As his mind went over everything, he closed his eyes and sighed, letting the light breeze brush over the tips of his hair. 

He probably wasn't going back to bed. 

~~~

Wukong road on his cloud on the way back to the mountain, hoping the wind would take his thoughts with it. 

The kid… was he sharing…? 

No. Maybe. 

He roughly huffed. He had to keep his emotions in check, or else he was going to end up hurting the both of them.

~~~

Notes: This one was a bit shorter, but I wanted to write about it because the idea was pretty interesting to me, and it’d be cool if they explored more on how they’re sharing the same power, so... (and the part where I made Wukong catch MK was what inspired me to write it all in general because I thought it looked nice in my head and it was my first thought for the idea LOL) 

BUT YES, I hope you enjoyed! And if any of you want to write out or do anything about this idea, go right ahead; I would love to see it!!

I might make this a series of little one-shots or even longer stories if I get more ideas for it, but, anywho, thank you so much for reading!! Much Love, and many Blessings! 😊

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

A Treasure Worthy of a King - Pirate AU - 3k words

Nicolo has been the terror of the seas for a solid decade. He’s plundered many ships, evaded many privateers. He’s feared by his crew and the world alike, an image he’s cultivated with carefully selected targets, few words, and several well-timed glares.

Only a handful of his most trusted know the truth. That Nicolo hesitates to take a life. That when he chooses their targets, he specifically picks the King’s vessels with fat payloads, not small merchant ships. That his portion of the earnings is regularly delivered to an orphanage in a small, seaside village.

His trusted few help him pick the targets most deserving of plunder.

So when Nicolo raids a King’s vessel he heard carries wealth only to find a foreign dignitary, a prince no less, with a handful of guards and a skeleton crew, Nicolo is confused. Moreso, when the prince does not look at him with fear, but with a type wide-eyed adoration, like Nicolo is his salvation and not an agent of death.

“We should take him for ransom,” says Nicolo’s first mate Keane, a man Nicolo doesn’t trust or like much, but who has been around long enough to know the job.

“Yes, yes,” says the prince, gold and jewels glittering, though none as bright as his eyes. “That sounds a good plan.”

Nicolo is rendered momentarily speechless by the beauty of this man – for he has much, from the ocean of tight curls on his head to his well-groomed beard to his wide shoulders poorly concealed with silk robes.

“You...” Nicolo pauses.

The prince points at himself. “Yusuf.”

Nicolo shakes his head. That’s not what he’s asking. “You wish to be kidnapped?”

Keane gives Nicolo a strange look. “What are you asking him for?”

Nicolo has never been questioned before. He glares at Keane until he lowers his head.

Yusuf, meanwhile, only brightens, even when Nicolo turns the same glower on him.

“I’m very impressed,” Yusuf says, smiling. “Very... afraid? Is that what you’re after? Please, let’s hurry this along. I would like not to be prematurely rescued.” Finally, Yusuf’s brightness begins to dim, and Nicolo is struck with a rush of regret so sudden that he’s startled.

“To the ship, then,” he says, when he’s recovered enough.

The crew starts for Yusuf, but Nicolo is there first, taking him under the arm and tugging him forward. He wants to be gentle, but forces some roughness for show. Even so, he is much kinder than any of the crew would have been.

“This man is our ransom,” Nicolo tells them. “Any harm that comes to him will be returned tenfold.”

The crew murmur their agreement. Those closest eye Yusuf’s many jewels.

“You will turn over any valuables,” Nicolo says. He is softer than he means to be, in front of his crew.

“A small price to pay.” Yusuf removes them. Keane is the first to take them from his hands.

Nicolo escorts Yusuf to his ship, staring down any who look too long. No one dares question him now.

He starts for the brig, but changes his mind after a single step. He cannot see a man like Yusuf behind bars. Until he is returned to where he should be, Yusuf will remain in the best comfort Nicolo can offer. So he takes him to the captain’s quarters instead.

With the door closed behind them, Nicolo lightens his touch. He guides Yusuf a few steps further, then pulls away entirely.

“Have I hurt you?” he asks.

“No.” Yusuf stretches out his arm. “I expected manhandling.” He’s smiling again. “Your touch is not so unpleasant.”

Nicolo’s mind is caught in a storm. It takes some time for it to clear. “You... ‘expected?’”

“Oh? Of course.” Yusuf turns toward the room, walks the short distance from the map table to the foot of the bed. “Andromache explained everything.”

“Andromache.”

“Yes.” Yusuf leans forward and tests the strength of the bed. The storm in Nicolo’s brain becomes a hurricane. “Though she did not mention how terribly handsome my rescuer would be.”

“Rescuer.”

Yusuf stands fully upright again, and glances over his shoulder to Nicolo. “Are you well, Captain? Your face is turning very red.”

Nicolo feels underwater, like he’s moving and thinking in slow-motion. “This is a pirate ship, your highness.”

Yusuf waves his hand. “Call me Yusuf.” He must not understand the dire nature of his present circumstances, to be so flippant.

“We are pirates,” Nicolo says slowly, so that even if Yusuf struggles with the language - which does not appear to be the case - he will understand. “I am a pirate. And you are being held for ransom.”

“Yes.” Yusuf claps his hands together. “It’s wonderful.” Before Nicolo can even begin to try again, to somehow explain that if Yusuf is not overly careful, he could very well be killed, Yusuf steps away from the bed. “Here I was in a dark hour of need. I pleaded with Andromache for help. She was not terribly eager at first, but when I explained...” He sidesteps the map table, and does not stop walking until he is very near Nicolo.

Nicolo stands still as a statue.

“I know you will not ransom me, Captain. Andromache made that clear.”

“It seems,” Nicolo licks his lips, watching with wonder as Yusuf tracks the movement, “that Andromache has revealed much.”

Yusuf blinks and looks again into Nicolo’s eyes.

“She did not tell you,” Yusuf says. He leans back and Nicolo exhales, unsure if in relief or disappointment.

Nicolo forces out, “No.”

“You are my savior, Captain, from a life of misery.” He steps back, stretches his arms out. “A life I have no desire of returning to.”

“You are a prince,” Nicolo says. Why would Yusuf risk his life to give up such luxury?

“Betrothed,” Yusuf says. He pauses. “To a very beautiful woman.” He drops his arms.

Nicolo still doesn’t understand. Yusuf must see it in his face, because he comes forward again, back into Nicolo’s space, stealing his breath away.

Yusuf says, a whisper, “It is not a woman I want.”

Oh. Oh.

Nicolo’s whole body ignites in fire. He’s suppressed it for so long, resigning himself to the sea and his duty to the crew and the orphanage. He cannot remember the last time he has allowed himself to consider carnal pleasures.

He has never before been so sorely tempted.

“Do you understand now, Captain?” Yusuf’s voice is a sultry promise.

Nicolo’s every nerve itches to reach out, to touch, to – no.

Regardless of intent, Yusuf is his captive. Until Nicolo can free him, he will not –

He won’t –

Yusuf tilts his head slightly, moving a hair closer.

Nicolo jerks backwards, knocking into the closed door.

“Captain?”

“Nicolo. My name is Nicolo.” He’s proud his voice only shakes a little. “You... You must stay here, until I can find some way to help you escape.”

Yusuf, watching him, begins to frown. “Escape?”

“I will find a way,” Nicolo promises and flees.

*

“We must make port,” Nicolo tells the crew. He lies, “So that we can send word of our ransom.”

He gives them the heading to a pirate-friendly port town where he knows Andromache will be.

She pulled him into this mess. She can help him out of it.

*

At dinnertime, Nicolo takes a full portion to the door of the Captain’s quarters. With his crew watching, he shouldn’t knock, though he desperately wants to. Instead, he fumbles with the door handle, giving Yusuf inside fair warning of his entering.

Yusuf does not get the warning.

He is asleep on the bed, but it is not restful. He thrashes out against the blankets, whimpering.

Nicolo drops the plate on the table and hurries toward his side. He catches a sleepy punch thrown his way, and eases Yusuf’s arm back to the bedding. Yusuf leans into him, curling toward where he’s placed his knees on the bed.

Not knowing what to do but wishing to comfort him, Nicolo reaches a hand and places his palm to Yusuf’s cheek.

Yusuf’s whimpers ease into softer hums. A moment’s calm, and then Yusuf’s eyes flutter open.

“Nicolo.”

Nicolo has not heard his name aloud since the last time he sat with Andromache in a run-down tavern, when she told him of a ship carrying gold that carried Yusuf instead. He has not heard his name aloud, like this, spoken with reverence, in as long a time as he can recall.

“You were having a nightmare,” Nicolo says.

“It was, yes,” Yusuf whispers. “But then you arrived.” He smiles and puts the sun to shame. “I dreamed you.” His blinks are slow. His eyelids heavy. Nicolo keeps his hand to his face and watches as sleep again pulls him under.

Nicolo stays, longer than he needs to, longer than he should, touching Yusuf’s cheek, then his shoulder, then his hand, guarding him from nightmares, both waking and asleep.

When he falls asleep himself, it is on the floor, his hand on the edge of the bed waiting, in case he is needed once more.

*

Though Nicolo had demanded that Yusuf stay in the Captain’s quarters for his own safety, he is not surprised to find him escaped and out among the crew. What does surprise him is both how the crew indulges him – although that smile of his is disarming – and the way he is dressed.

Gone are the silk robes. In their place, Yusuf has stolen a pair of Nicolo’s breeches and one of his loose linen shirts.

Nicolo’s mouth goes dry. When had he picked those out? Had he gone through all of Nicolo’s clothing until he found what he liked? How had he decided?

And what kind of prince had any right to muscles like those, now clearly defined beneath the near-transparent linen?

Nicolo thought all royalty pretty and useless, locked behind their walls, their cares tended to by others.

The crewman shows Yusuf how to tie a sailor’s knot, and Yusuf easily replicates it. He is a fast learner, and eager. So unlike Nicolo’s idea of a royal.

“We’ll be at port in two days’ time,” Keane says from the helm.

Nicolo, realizing he has been staring at Yusuf, looks towards his first mate instead. “Yes.” He hasn’t been listening, really.

Keane seems to notice, because he repeats, “Port. Two days.”

“Right.” Nicolo dares another glance at Yusuf, and finds him staring back.

When their eyes catch, Yusuf waves.

Nicolo only just stops himself from waving back.

He hopes Keane didn’t notice, though with Keane’s hawk eyes, he worries.

 The worries come to a head the next night, while Nicolo is standing on the deck, peering up at the stars from near the railing, when he suddenly, inexplicably, finds himself being shoved over it.

He reaches out and grabs the banister at the last moment, but his feet are dangling. The banister’s wet. It’s too dark to find him if he topples over.

Bathed in moonlight, Keane is there. He does not reach out a hand to help. Instead, he pulls out a knife.

“Why don’t you call for help, Captain?” Keane says. “Let the crew see the coward you are.” He crouches, bringing his face closer to Nicolo, though on the safe side of the railing. “I have watched you these years. You are weak.”

“If this is a mutiny,” Nicolo says through gritted teeth. His hands are slipping. He holds on with his fingernails. “Where are the rest of the crew? Why are you alone?”

Keane’s face twists with anger.

Pride swells in Nicolo, for his loyal crew. “They would not join you. They would not even listen to you. They believe as I do, that you are coward.”

Keane brings his knife closer. It flashes dangerously in the moonlight. “Big words from a man about to die.”

Nicolo thinks that he has always known it would eventually come to this. He knew Keane doubted not just his leadership but all that he stood for. Yet even knowing it, he has kept Keane on.

A pirate lived and died by the sea. And maybe, Nicolo has been too willing to test it.

Keane lifts up the knife, readying an attack.

A figure knocks into the side of him. Keane falls. The knife flies, skittering across the wooden planks of the deck. The figure, Nicolo’s savior, rights himself, and it’s Yusuf.

“Nicolo!”

Yusuf hurries to the railing, reaches over it. He begins to lift Nicolo, enough that he can get a better grip on the banister, but then Keane is there, yanking him back.

Yusuf twists in Keane’s hold and punches him. Keane stumbles back, but not for long, not long enough for Yusuf to do anything other than prepare for the next attack.

They grapple, equally matched.

With his new hold, Nicolo has leverage he didn’t before. He exerts all his strength and swings up his legs, finding footing on the edge of the deck. With it, he easily pulls himself up the banister to the top of the railing and over it to safety.

He steadies himself. His arms ache and his fingers burn, but he will help Yusuf no matter – oh.

Yusuf, Nicolo’s protector, his savior, and his captive, does not need help.

Keane is dead at his feet, neck broken.

And Yusuf stares down at the body in pity. “He was your first mate.” He’s out of breath, chest heaving. Nicolo moves to his side, as close as he can without touching.

“Yes.”

“He tried to kill you.”

“Yes.”

Yusuf leans into Nicolo, brushing their shoulders together. “When I came looking for you, and I saw...” He breathes deeply. “I feared the worst.”

“It’s not yet my time,” Nicolo says quietly. He thinks on Yusuf’s words. “You came looking for me?”

Yusuf is slow to answer. “I cannot sleep without you.”

Nicolo frowns. “I sleep on the floor.”

“Your presence is soothing.” Yusuf runs a hand down his face. He stares down at the body. “Should we leave it for the others to find? Some kind of warning?”

“No. This was a mutiny of one. I’d rather send him to the sea and be done with it.”

Together they lift the body and cast it over the side. A moment, then a splash, and Keane is forever gone.

Yusuf and Nicolo stand at the railing. Though Nicolo could stay longer, Yusuf tugs on the back of his coat.

“I would like to see you away from the ledge for the rest of the night, if you don’t mind.”

Nicolo obliges him.

*

Later, in the captain’s quarters, Yusuf washes the blood from Nicolo’s hands and tends them.

“I haven’t thanked you yet,” Nicolo says. “I owe you my life.”

Yusuf waves the words away like he saves lives every day. Perhaps he does.

“You can sleep in the bed tonight,” Yusuf says instead, when he’s finished wrapping Nicolo’s raw hands.

“The floor is comfortable enough.”

“I will convince you.”

“Not in this,” Nicolo says, a whisper. “Not tonight.”

“Not tonight?” Yusuf watches him, a spark in his eye. “Does that imply perhaps a someday?”

Nicolo gives him a small smile, but that is all he can give for now. “Ask me again when I have helped you escape.”

Confusion spreads over Yusuf’s face. “Nicolo, I do not think you understand that –”

“Yusuf, I am tired.” Too tired to argue. Too tired to think of reasons he shouldn’t lie with this man. Too tired to voice them.

Yusuf’s face holds no smile now, all dire lines and darkness. “You are trembling.”

“I am so tired.”

“Lie down,” Yusuf says. “Let me hold you. Nothing untoward, I swear to you.”

Nicolo is a miserable wretch. “You will not hate me?”

Yusuf cups Nicolo’s face with both hands. He leans forward and places a soft kiss to each of Nicolo’s eyelids. “I could never, my heart.”

Nicolo lies down on the bed, as does Yusuf behind him. Yusuf wraps him in his arms, swallows him in warmth. In comfort.

Nicolo has belonged nowhere for so long. Now he feels as if he has returned to a home he didn’t know he had.

He closes his eyes, and sleep finds him easier than it ever has before.

In the dark, as the sea rocks them like babies in a cradle, Yusuf whispers into the back of Nicolo’s neck, “Andromache told me of a lonely man, heart as big as an ocean, who stole from kings to give to children.” He presses his smile to Nicolo’s skin. “I loved you before I met you. And meeting you, I love you more.”

Nicolo hears the words, but believes them to be a dream.

*

The morning comes too quickly, and the day brings them to port.

No one mentions Keane. His duties are quietly filled by others. Only one crewman is brave enough, and mutters, “Good riddance,” to the empty bunk.

 As the crew disembarks at the port, Nicolo lingers, watching. Yusuf stands at his side. He’s still wearing Nicolo’s clothes, even though Nicolo had set out his silk robes earlier across the back of a chair.

The day grows long. Most of the crew has left. Nicolo and Yusuf linger.

Nicolo doesn’t want to say goodbye.

For Yusuf, though, he must.

“Andromache is here,” Nicolo says. “We will go to her, and... I’m certain she will find you safe passage wherever you wish to go.”

Yusuf laughs.

Nicolo, startled, looks to him.

His smile is the north star. “I think you purposefully misunderstand.”

Nicolo straightens. “What do you mean?”

“Nicolo.” Yusuf turns to him. He takes one of Nicolo’s hands in both of his. “Do you truly not know?”

Maybe he does. Or at least, suspects. But. But. “You cannot want this life, Yusuf.”

“I wanted freedom,” Yusuf says, “And I found it in your eyes.”

Those pretty words muddy Nicolo’s thoughts, and he has to think clearly. He removes his hand from Yusuf’s and backs away. “You have been on the ship a handful of days. That is not enough time to know if it suits you.”

“I came here wanting this, Nicolo. The freedom of the sea and the wind at my back.” Yusuf, following Nicolo, steps forward. “I asked Andromache to help me become a pirate. She brought me you.” Another step, closer still – dangerously close. “I thank you for trying to protect me, but I do not need protecting. Not from this ship. Not from this life. And not from you.”

“Yusuf.”

“I am more pirate than I ever was prince.” Yusuf places both hands on Nicolo’s chest. Nicolo’s heart thunders beneath them. “And if you will have me, I would also be yours.”

Nicolo swallows. “This is a terrible idea.” He’s not pulling away. Not anymore. Instead, he leans forward, brushing noses with Yusuf.

“All of the best ideas are, my heart,” Yusuf says and kisses him.

*

Nicolo sits at a table across from Andromache. Not far off, at the bar, Yusuf laughs with Quynh and Lykon, who apparently he’s met once before and already befriended. Nicolo isn’t the least surprised. He knows now, to expect the unexpected with Yusuf.

“I see you found your prize,” Andromache says, grinning into her mug.

“You said, and I’m quoting, ‘A treasure worthy of a king.’” Nicolo tries to sound accusatory but he cannot keep the smile from curling his lips. It’s so easy to smile, when he can hear Yusuf laughing. When Nicolo glances over and finds him watching.

“Was I lying?” Andromache asks.

And Nicolo knows, “He’s more.”

[heliads]

Switching Sides

Y/N L/N is a Phoenix, a supernatural who can conjure up fire. When she first meets up with Theo Raeken, he teaches her to use her powers as long as she goes along with his plan to take down the McCall pack. Will she be able to go through with it, especially after experiencing the kindness of Beacon Hills?

masterlist

There’s a pounding in your skull, growing louder and louder with every second that passes. You’ve had pain like this before, pain that’s been especially brutal in the last couple of weeks, but never as bad as this. There have been other things, too, flickers of yellow and red appearing out of the corners of your eyes that almost look like flames. They disappear whenever you look too hard, though, and some part of you thinks you might almost be hallucinating.

Today, though, you have no time to worry about that. You’re in class, and supposed to be concentrating on a calculus lesson, but you feel like your skull is about to crack in two, the pressure building until it feels like you’re on the bottom of the ocean. You weakly raise a hand, asking if you can use the bathroom, and once the teacher reluctantly nods you duck out of the class, moving as fast as you can in your deteriorating state.

You barely make it out of the room and close the door behind you before the pain reaches a new height of agony and you collapse against a wall, breathing in and out shallowly. Even that faintest of motions sends you off again, and you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. Luckily, the hallway is empty, but you still clap a hand over your mouth just in case.

The pressure behind your eyes is growing, growing, and then it suddenly releases all at once. The yellow and red lights are all around you again, dancing in a haze in front of you. As you stand up, though, you realize there’s no way you’re just seeing this in a fever dream caused by the pain. Your arms, your hands, every inch of you- it’s all coated in flame. Tongues of it dance to the ceiling, but yet you don’t feel hurt. The fire is all around you, but it doesn’t burn you. Not for a second.

You stare at it, openmouthed, then do your best to calm down and try to reel in the fire. Slowly, painfully slowly, it begins to shrink, fires dying away into mere sparks. You sigh in relief as the last of it goes away, but then your eyes fly up and meet a pair of shocked brown ones across the hall. It’s an English teacher, an old man just crossing in front of the hall.

Your head snaps up, and you turn to him, pleading. “Don’t say anything-not a word- please! It won’t happen again. Please don’t say anything.” The man stares for a moment longer, then nods slowly and walks away as quickly as he can. You sink back against the tile of the hall, which is now hot to the touch. Your head falls into your hands. What just happened to you? And what is going to become of you?

Surprisingly, nothing happens for another few days. You almost believe that you’re going to get away with whatever just happened until the school day ends and you find a group of strange men standing outside your car. The men are dressed in dark clothing, and you can see weapons strapped to their belts and gripped tightly in their hands. You look around for any onlookers to make sure you’re not imagining things, but you’d stayed late after school and the parking lot is empty in the dark night.

They stare at you as you approach, then pull out a man who’s been hiding behind their ranks. “Is that the girl?” The man cowers, then whispers in a hushed voice. “Yes.” You realize with a sickening jolt that the men are speaking to the English teacher, the one from before who’d seen the fire. They release the teacher, who scurries back to the school. You glare at him as he runs past you. “How could you do this! You spineless little-”

One of the men cuts you off with a bitter laugh. “Look, she’s got a temper to match her mistakes. Don’t yell at him, supernatural, he’s a human and therefore far above you.” You turn back to face him, and realize he’s taken a gun out of his belt and is pointing it at you. Your breathing starts to come shallowly, and you realize you’re terrified. “What are you doing? Don’t kill me- I had no idea what was going on!”

The man just shakes his head, laughing. “You don’t get a choice.” His finger tightens on the trigger, and you fling your arms up in front of you. There’s a sudden tightening in your lungs, and then the same thing that had happened earlier happens again- a rushing sound, a pain in your head, and then a wave of flame erupting out of your hands. The men duck for cover, rolling away to escape the fires. The man with the gun isn’t so lucky- he’s coated with burns and lies on the pavement, unconscious from pain.

The other men stare at you, and then raise their weapons. You raise your hands in turn, desperately trying to use your strange abilities again, but nothing happens. Then, there’s a sound from right behind the men. It sounds like the growling of a wild animal. The men turn around, and then a blur of sound and violence hits them. 

When the growling stops, the men are lying on the ground, either dead or knocked unconscious. Your rescuer turns out to be a teenage boy about your age, with dark hair and eyes like the stormy sky. You stare at him, at the claws extended from his fingertips and his eyes, which glow a gold color you’ve never seen before. He looks at you for a second before retracting his claws. “My name is Theo. I’m here to save you from the hunters. I can teach you how to use your powers.”

That was how you met Theo Raeken, how you learned just what supernaturals were, and the beginning of your journey to master your abilities. Theo told you that you were a phoenix, some powerful supernatural being he’d never even heard of before he saw you. As the weeks passed, you learned to control the fire that shot from your hands, the strange gut instincts that told you snatches and glimpses of the future, and how to heal and fight like any other supernatural.

You also learned the truth about Theo Raeken, and his plan to save all of the supernaturals in a small town called Beacon Hills. Theo was a chimera, of course, not a werewolf like so many others. You had met the Dread Doctors, too, although they weren’t as interested in you because you weren’t a chimera that they could experiment on in some way. You were thankful for that- despite Theo’s assurances that they wouldn’t hurt you and were on your side, they still seemed like terrifying forces that would kill you at a moment’s notice and enjoy it, too.

You and Theo crafted a careful plan for your arrivals at Beacon Hills. You would show up first, claiming that you had heard of a true alpha in town and had hoped he could protect you from the hunters. You would reveal your status as a phoenix, but only after he’d accepted you into his ranks. Theo would arrive about a month or so later, and would help save you from some errant chimera who would attack the school. You would use your new friendship with the McCall pack to ensure that the others trusted Theo, and then you two would work to destroy the pack from the inside.

Although the pack would be kind to you, you knew better than to trust them. Theo had told you all about the McCall pack, and how they left a trail of destruction and dead innocents in their wake. Besides, only a few of the pack would be injured after the plan was fully carried out, Theo made that clear to you. Their powers would be taken, Theo would become as strong as a chimera possibly could and then the two of you would leave town to take down hunters with the aid of the Dread Doctors if necessary.

On the day you were set to leave your old hideout behind and begin the drive to Beacon Hills, you found yourself speaking with Theo for the last time until the next stage of the plan. The two of you had driven your car out to a ridge overlooking some great swathe of woods, and you stood right next to him, hearts beating as one. You glanced over your shoulder at the chimera, trying to ingrain this last memory of him into your mind before you had to leave.

You had grown close to Theo since he had saved you from those hunters, and you had spent almost two months with him. He had been there to teach you everything you knew about the supernatural world, and you had made yourself indispensable to the formation of his plan to gain power. You had lived almost your entire life without him, but now you find you don’t even want to leave his side for a month.

Theo notices your gaze and smiles, a light bittersweet tang stopping him from looking fully content. “I’m going to miss you, you know.” He says, reaching out an arm to wrap casually around your waist. You return his smile. “I’ll miss you too. I keep telling myself that it’ll only be a month, but even that seems too long.” Theo considers you for a second, then leans forward and presses a kiss onto your lips. He draws back just an inch, speaking in a whisper. “Wait for me. I’ll come as soon as I can.” “I will. You know I will.” He nods slowly. “Good.” Then he kisses you one last time, one final time before time tears the two of you apart.

The drive over to Beacon Hills takes about two hours. You play the radio in the car on the way over, head nodding absentmindedly when you hear a good song come on. You’re silent almost the entire time, head still spinning thinking about the boy you left behind. This is the plan, you tell yourself, you knew this was coming all along. Yet it still hurts to be apart.

It’s surprisingly easy to convince the McCall pack that you can be trusted. You recite the same excuse you’ve been rehearsing for months about how your family was killed by hunters and you knew a pack with a True Alpha would be able to keep you safe. They practically fall over themselves in a rush to assure you that everything will be fine, that you’re one of them now, and that means they’ll always have your back. It’s almost laughable to see their generosity.

They’re actually pretty good people, you notice, and you’ve only known them for a couple of weeks. It’s strange- they give off this warm atmosphere, like by running with them you’re a part of some supernatural family that always protects each other. You watch as Scott teaches Liam how to be a werewolf, how Stiles makes sure Lydia’s alright after she uses her banshee abilities. Some dark part of you twists inwardly at the realization that you’ll be the one to tear this apart, to take this perfect set of paper dolls and set fire to everything around them. You do your best to push away that rising feeling of guilt. Theo will be here soon, and he will make sure everything will be better.

Tonight is the Senior Scribe, the night you’ve been waiting for the past month. You all show up to the school, sign your names on the shelves of the library, then head out. Scott, Malia, Kira, Lydia, Stiles, and yourself have just arrived at the school, and are walking around the area. Just like clockwork, there’s the chimera attacking the pack, and just as planned, it’s extremely hard to defeat. Scott and Malia are slashing it with their claws, Kira’s got her kitana out, and you’re shooting fire out of your palms.

The chimera lunges at you, and you duck and roll underneath it. It’s about to reach around and hit you again, and then just as it reaches you it whips back around, smarting from an injury dealt by some unknown rescuer. You smile to yourself. Even without seeing his face, you know who’s just arrived. Man, you’ve missed him so much.

Sure enough, when the defeated chimera eventually runs away to face the wrath of the Dread Doctors, the pack turns to face Theo, who’s standing a few feet away with a smirk. His eyes shift to you for just the briefest of seconds, and you feel your heart race at the warmth in his gaze. Then, Scott asks him who he is and what he’s doing in Beacon Hills, and Theo’s focus snaps back to the pack.

Theo is eventually able to speak in his defense, and although Stiles seems to have some strange suspicion about the chimera, you’re able to convince him and the rest of the pack that Theo’s alright. After Senior Scribe, you head in your car and drive home, only to find a figure waiting for you when you walk in and lock your door behind you.

You beam at him as he walks over to you. Theo kisses you, then draws back to look at you. “I missed you so much, you know that?” You laugh quietly. “Trust me, I missed you even more. I can’t wait until this is all over and we can just be ourselves again.” Theo nods, agreeing, and leans forward to kiss you again.

You’re running with Mason towards the library. Something’s wrong- something is very, very wrong. When you burst through the doors, you freeze in your tracks. Melissa McCall is kneeling over her son. Scott is lying on the ground, chest covered in blood. Your hand flies to your mouth. “He’s dead. Oh my God, Scott is dead.” Melissa shakes her head fervently. “He’s not dead. Not yet. He can’t be dead, he can’t be.” 

You and Mason watch as she performs CPR, but you can’t focus on anything through the spinning in your head. This was not supposed to happen, Scott was not supposed to be hurt this badly- god, the guy might be dead forever and it’s all your fault. You start to pace back and forth, breathing heavily as the full extent of what you’d just done hits you. There’s a slight gasp behind you, and you whirl around to see Scott sitting up slowly.

You let out a shaky sigh, relieved. “Scott, you’re alright.” Staring at him, at the werewolf who’s barely older than you and yet just died right in front of your eyes, is starting to make you realize something about your involvement in Theo’s plans. You start to walk away from Scott and towards the door. “I think I need to have a conversation with Theo.” You mutter, and Scott weakly holds out an arm to you. “Wait, Y/N!” You turn back to face him, eyes starting to bubble up with tears at the overwhelming guilt of what you’ve caused. “I didn’t know you were going to be hurt. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen. I’m so sorry, Scott.”

Scott nods slowly. “It’s alright. Just promise me you won’t tell Theo that I’m alive. Until we get a better plan, I need him to think I died.” You stare at him for a second longer, then nod as well. “He won’t know a thing.” With that, you drag your eyes away from Scott’s bloodsoaked form, and your feet carry you out of the library and towards your car.

You’re not entirely aware that you’re driving at all, just that you end up striding hurriedly through the tunnels to where Theo was staying. Your guess as to his location is correct, as you throw open a door to reveal the chimera standing in front of the Dread Doctors’ empty operating room. He turns when he sees you, but his smile starts to fall flat when he sees the tears and look of horror on your face.

He walks quickly up to you, starting to wrap his arms around you but you shake them off. “Don’t touch me.” You say, backing away from him. Theo frowns at you. “What’s wrong?” You just give him a bitter glare. “You never told me that Scott would be hurt, that any of this would happen!” You choke back a sob. “Scott is dead, and his blood is on my hands. Why did you lie to me?”

Theo sighs. “I knew if I told you everything you wouldn’t have trusted me. This was the only way. Nothing like that will ever happen again, I promise. The Dread Doctors said that if he died, no one else would have to get hurt.” You just shake your head in disbelief. “And why should I believe a word you say? How do I know you’re not lying again?”

Your words seem to cut Theo like a knife. “This is the only thing we could have done.” His voice drops a little, cracking. “I love you, Y/N. Isn’t that enough?” You just shake your head, feeling more tears bubbling up but you can’t find the strength to wipe them away. “I can’t do this, Theo. They’re good people. I can’t hurt them.” Theo’s eyes widen as he realizes what you’re saying. “Y/N, wait! Don’t go. I love you!” You look at him one last time. “I love you too. More than anything, but this is too much. I’m sorry.” With that, you turn and leave the room, hearing the desperate shouts of the boy you love disappearing behind you with every step.

You confess everything to the McCall pack. You tell them how you first met Theo, about the Dread Doctors, about the plan the two of you had created. You apologize profusely, saying that you would understand if they want you to leave and never want to see you again. It’s the least they could ask for, judging by how much hurt you have caused them. Yet they shake their heads, reaching out their arms and saying that they still want you in town. Your powers as a phoenix could come in handy, and your connection to Theo could be used as a weakness against him.

You’re walking with Mason and Liam in school a few days later, and glance over at the werewolf when you see his gaze shift from distracted to furious. “What’s wrong, Liam?” He just jerks his head in the direction of a pair of people leaning up against the lockers. “Theo. He’s got Hayden following him now.” You follow his gaze to see Theo smirking at Liam, taking pride in the rush of anger caused by the sight of Theo barely inches away from Hayden. The sight hurts you, too, and in a sudden impulse you turn to Liam.

“Two can play at that game, you know.” Liam registers what you’re saying and grins, casually looping his arm around your shoulders. Theo sees this and his gaze flashes with pain for a second before becoming a glare. Liam laughs as the three of you turn down a hallway. “That felt good.” He says, and you force a laugh. Did it, though? Did it not hurt even more to see how quickly Theo moved on from you, or the fact that he still loves you just as much as you love him?

The days come and go, each just as painful as the next. It hurts you to leave Theo, and it feels like your heart’s been cut open and left bleeding on the floor. Even though you know that he lied to you and killed Scott and done any number of horrible things, you find you still love him. You’ll probably always love him.

After the Beast is released and begins to plague the streets of Beacon Hills, you can tell Scott and the McCall pack are desperate for something, anything, to do to save those they care about. When Liam pulls you aside after class one day, you’re not surprised to hear that he and Scott have found a possible plan to save the town.

“There’s only one problem, though.” He tells you as the two of you head down the halls. You look at him quizzically. “What is it? Too dangerous?” Liam winces. “No- we realized we needed more people on our side and so we formed a temporary alliance with Theo.” You stop in your tracks. “What? Theo?” Liam nods. “Is that alright with you?” You look at him, then back down the halls. “I don’t know. I just wish I knew what to do when I see him again.”

When you finally arrive at your house at the end of the day, your head is still spinning. Theo, working by your side again? You have been purposefully avoiding him this whole time, as every glance across a crowded room feels like a thousand daggers thrown into your heart. It hurts to see him, to know that you left him and can’t ever return to his side, no matter how much you miss him. The lock clicks behind you, but you frown slightly. There’s something wrong here, some scent that you haven’t caught in a long time-

The light flicks on in the room, revealing an all too familiar figure. Your breath catches slightly in your throat. “Theo.” “Y/N.” He looks just like that silhouette in your memory, the same dark hair slightly tousled from where he raked his hands through it in frustration, same gray eyes that draw you in until you feel like drowning, same light smile that makes you want to run to him. But you remember yourself, and force your feet to stay right where they are.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice breaks the stillness, and you’re slightly surprised to hear it. Theo sighs. “I know you heard about my alliance with Scott. I just wanted to see if- if you still hated me. I don’t hate you, you know. Never could. I just needed to see if I had a chance with you anymore, or if I should just try to forget you, even if I know it’ll never work.”

You feel a bitter laugh spilling out of you. “Theo, I could never move on from you if I tried. Don’t you know that? I’ve tried to forget you a hundred times every day, and it never works. I can’t stop loving you.” Theo looks up at that, a quiet smile crossing his lips. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just a second chance.” He starts to walk towards you again, slowly at first, and keeps moving until he’s only a few inches away from you when he realizes you’re not going to stop him.

You tilt your head up to face him, breath starting to come unevenly when you notice how close you are to him. The light warmth from his breath makes your head rush. “I think that could work.” You manage, and he looks at you, that same full gaze that you’ve missed for a very long time. “I’d like nothing more.” He leans in and kisses you, and you feel more complete than you have since you first walked away. You don’t have to leave now. Even if things aren’t perfect, even if the path you walk is jagged and broken, at least you’ll be able to bear it with him at your side.

[taeyohonic]

Just a Taste – Chapter Four

Summary: Being asked to take a blood test just to work at a merchandise booth should have been the first read flag for you. But you just gave them a sample of your blood in exchange for a very much needed paycheck and a summer job during BTS’ world tour. After the youngest member of the popular kpop band finds himself in a difficult situation, you come to realize that this wasn’t the last time you shed blood for your idols. or: You becomes the new donor for seven bloodthirsty idols, who seem to be way too interested in their new food source.

Pairing: OT7xfem!Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Smut, (Fluff)

Warnings: nothing

Words: 2.1 k

Chapters: Prologue, Chap. I, Chap. II, Chap. III, Chap. IV, Chap. V, Chap. VI, Chap. VII

There is not enough air in your lungs. You know this. But every breath you take seems to disappear before it reaches your chest. It feels like you’re suffocating. Hoseok’s eyes widen even more as he looks at your heaving breasts.

“Girl”, he tries to get your attention – tries to meet your eyes, but they water too much and can’t focus on the vampire in front of you.

Their movements were too fast, your brain couldn’t keep up with Bangtan talking… no fighting… around you while every fiber of your being was locked into place. Hell, you couldn’t even feel your heartbeat. And then everything came rushing back. Your muscles released form an invisible vice. But it happened too blunt, your mind couldn’t handle the sudden energy around you.

And now you are close to fainting. You are sure of it.

“We don’t want you to faint, girl”, the dancer whispers helplessly. You can hear Yoongi mutter a “speak for yourself”, but before your mind can even process his insult, your eyes fixate on Hoseok’s smile.

It stretches his thin lips, showing off a white row of teeth. His dimples frame the curved mouth and the smile seems to shine like a bright orb. It really looks… heavenly. You can feel the warmth on your own face. Then there is air in your lungs and you can feel your body slump against a strong chest. The sunshine in your heart is making you feel giddy and you can’t keep a little giggle from escaping your throat.

The eldest look at you with reserved endearment, while the younger vampires are fixated on their leader. This is the first time in two decades Namjoon fucked up. And now he isn’t even masking his feelings in front of a human? Admittedly, she is a drugged and drunk human – but a human nevertheless. What is going on with him?

“You are so… so warm”, you slur against Hoseok’s neck. Your nose is buried against his silent pulse point and you breathe in his musky scent with ease.

“Could… somebody get her some water?”, the young rapper asks, while escaping your intoxicated advances. He positions you back against your chair and slowly increases the distance between you and him. You feel the warmth leave you and your mouth turns into a frown.

Hoseok’s question seems to cut through the tension in the room and Jungkook moves faster than light to the bottled water on the table, opens it and tries to bring it close to your lips. But you don’t respond – already out cold.

“Yoongi-hyung?”, the maknae asks with agony in his voice. The cold-hearted rapper hisses at the youngest. Why can’t he say no to this sorry excuse of a vampire? Jungkook looks pathetic kneeling at your feet, submissively holding the untouched water.

But Yoongi relents, his eyes closing on instinct. “What should I tell her?”, he asks, turning to his leader blindly.

“As much as she has to know without giving her any leverage”, Namjoon answers and looks at you with interest. You are turning out to be quite a challenge. Now he regrets having hindered Jungkook from killing you yesterday. There is a headache coming and he hates that painkillers don’t work on the undead.

“Way to be specific”, Jimin mutters as Taehyung massages his neck to lessen the tension in his muscles.

***

“What the hell, Yoongi?”, you tell at the rapper before you, standing in your old room; the childish pink of the walls are making you weirdly emotional as you step closer to him. “What happened?”, you ask and try to clear your head. You remember Hoseok’s warm smile and then feeling... pure bliss. Until you discover Yoongi in your dream. “There was... a lapse of judgement on Namjoon’s side. I... apologize.”

You can formerly feel how uncomfortable these words make him. But you don’t find any joy in his discomfort. “Lapse of judgement? I stopped freaking breathing”, you exclaim, pointing at him with an accusing finger.

“Don’t be crass, human. You were well enough to cuddle up to Hoseok-ssi”, Yoongi snickers and your cheeks redden instantly.

“Only because h-e he… did something with th- this weird s-smile of his”, you respond half yelling. But before your embarrassment heightens, you remember the start of this dream conversation. “Wait, stop distracting me. We... we were talking about Namjoon! What did he do to me?” Yoongi looks extremely displeased as he moves to your tiny childhood bed in the corner of the room. With one side glace he sits down on your covers. “You know that he can control the... time”, he starts and sees you nod. “Well, he can also ... selectively freeze the time continuum for... certain humans.” Okay, that kind of made some sense. If anything even requires to make sense anymore. “But it’s always a pain in the ass to only freeze single perspectives. He has to constantly monitor his power with their awareness. Sometimes... he gets careless.”

Yoongi looks at you as if to say: exhibit one, ladies and gentlemen.

“We try not to move too out of place so that when humans join our timeline again they aren’t confused by our positions... Obviously that didn’t work this time”, he explains and picks at the skin on his thumb with high interest, not meeting your inquiring eyes. “I understand”, you say more to yourself than your distracted vampire. “And why did you guys decide to... put me on hold?” There must be something close to gold underneath his nail bites, because Yoongi is still looking at his hands. “We had a disagreement with your... alcohol tolerance”, he starts to explain. “There are a few of us that don’t like the idea of you not being fully... conscious while discussing vampires, donations, life changing and threatening decisions, you know?” Still no eye contact - even with this jab at your unprofessionalism. But you don’t mind, because Yoongi doesn’t notice the gleam in your stare. They don’t know you could hear them discussing… Taehyung’s assault. This evens the playing field … somewhat. So they aren’t truthful to you… shocker. Still, the ARMY in you is slightly disappointed. “Fair”, you say blatantly lying to him. “And what was Hoseok-ssi doing... with his teeth?” Now you can only see the corner of his lips turning up into a smirk.

“Ahh... well... What can I say? He is our sunshine quite literally.” “He... is the sun?”, you ask and feel Yoongi’s disapproval. He did not think you were this dumb. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know how most of our kin despises the sun.” You sit in your beanbag across from the bed and suppress rolling your eyes.

“He just... extracts some of your light and... blinds you with it.” What. The. Hell? “Hoseok is ... a mirror?”, you try to clarify. No sun, only an absorbing reflection... You are just two syllables away from joining the circus. The rapper leans back, resting his head on your bedding. He looks so relaxed in your dream – it’s unnerving.

“Most of our fans seem to... enjoy his brightness”, Yoongi smiles at the memories of previous donors submitting to his brother with giggled consent. Blood does taste better when humans are aroused. You on the other hand are far away from smiling, lost in your thoughts. “How did you guys keep your secrets all these years? It”s been what? Twenty-four hours and I’ve had Jungkook biting me to the brink of bleeding out, having Namjoon mess with my time on two separate occasions, you visiting my dreams, Jimin... shadow-waving at me and Hoseok... drugging me with his smile?! Like... you guys must get a lot of hate from the community”, you muse and bite your tongue to not include Taehyung harming humans by touch alone.

Yoongi – still lying down – snorts audibly. “Let’s say... these have been uhm eventful hours for us as well.” And for the first time you do not hear nearly as much mockery behind his words. He just sounds... tired. You yourself are deep in thoughts, thinking about this whole situation.

“Why... didn't you want me to agree to Namjoon’s offer?”, you ask after a few minutes of silence.

But Yoongi doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even flinch. You slowly get up and move towards the breathing vampire, leaning over his still body. He looks strangely peaceful in your childhood bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and laying across your hand knitted comforter. His hair is a mess, the roots in dire need of a touch up. The features of his face look so angelic, dark eyelashes against soft skin. The vampires intruding your dream... is sleeping. And you can’t even be mad. This is the nicest he has ever been towards you.

So, with a deep sigh, you retreat to your old beanbag, watching over your intruder with heavy eyes... until you yourself join him in a peaceful dreamland. *** “I think she is waking up!”, an excited voice claims – hot breath meeting your cheeks at a fast pace. You don’t really want to open your eyes, but now there are footsteps against marble coming nearer in quick strides. And even though your memory is foggy, you do remember that the restaurant had a soft carpet.

As soon as you open your eyes, you meet Jungkook’s stare. The youngest is way too close to you and you try to move away from him – with no success. The plush bed you’re in stands in stark contrast to the uncomfortable beanbag of your dreams. But wait… a bed? Tired eyes move around the room. This is definitely not the restaurant. No, you are back at their suite. And judging by the soft light peaking through the windows you guess it’s not even the same night. Morning has come… and Seokjin, who leans against the doorframe, his eyes wide awake and resting on your figure.

Before you can even articulate a question, ask where your dream walker is and whether or not Jungkook even left your side during the night, the eldest intervenes:

“I hope you are feeling well rested.” You are not sure about yourself, but Seokjin looks very relaxed in a grey sweater and some dark blue joggers. His hair looks neatly styled, while his face seems to be freshly washed, red rims around his eyes still irritated from the water.

Jungkook on the other hand is only in his boxers and a white shirt – his knees are resting on your bed, the elbows way too close to you. He smells sweet and you can’t help breathing deeply. Why does Bangtan smell this good?

“Of course she is well rested”, Jungkook snorts, “she slept seven hours and forty-six minutes. Her breathing was slow paced and deep – the pulse never elevating out of the norm. She only turned two times. Not a single snore.”

It sounds like he is reporting to his commander at war – not listing your sleep pattern to his bandmate. But you can’t even be that angry. First, you are still in the process of leaving your dream and a sleeping Yoongi behind. Second, the boy in front of you looks so… endearingly caring. Like what he just said isn’t highly problematic and way too creepy. No, Jungkook looks so – so proud of himself. Does he think he was actually helping you by watching over you the whole night?

“Look hyung”, he continues, “There isn’t even any discoloring under her eyes.” And now his long fingers trace under your eyelid. His touch is soft – with a childlike enthusiasm. Again, the vampire catches you off guard and you even flinch. His fingers are so soothing, a fresh coolness awaking your skin.

“Jungkook”, Seokjin warns in a low voice, but without any form of treat in his tone. It seems to be enough to make the youngest move away from you and meeting your perplexed stare with wide eyes.

“So-soorry, _______”, he apologizes and leans back, giving you more space to sit up in the bed.  

“Good morning”, you say, having decided to start the new day with a somewhat friendly tone.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle with happiness at your greeting and he decides to give you more room, stepping away from the bed.

“Breakfast?”, he asks and seems to vibrate while joining Seokjin at the door. They look so handsome next to each other. Alone they are force, together they are danger. Your heart starts beating faster and you can read their faces all too well: While the older vampire just smirks – reading the situation too well – Jungkook scans your body with worry.

“Yoo-u don’t ha-ave… to”, he tries to retract, so sure he made you uncomfortable. Jin on the other hand sends you and Jungkook an amused smile.

“Why don’t we all get ready first, hm?”, he asks.

“What do you mean? I am ready!”, Jungkook shoots back in confusion.

“He means Jungkook get dress and ________ take care of your morning breath”, Jimin shouts from the other room, a teasing edge in his words making you blush.

_____

Thank you so much for reading! I love that some of you like this story! It means a lot to me. I... did put the part about Yoongles lying to her face in there because... of reasons. HOW CAN HE DO THIS?! In two days? Guyssss,,, Again - thank you for reading!

Love, Dana

[cptnbvcks]

Javi being tired and already grumpy early in the morning so you make him coffee and help him with his tie and he already feels better

sunlight

words: 1.5k

summary: while getting ready for the first day back after being promoted, the weight of the job sets in. 

warnings: literally some character-study level angst and a tease of a blowjob, for the sluts. 

a/n: idk where this came from but i hurt my own feelings a lil bit aha

Javier has always been a late riser. 

A product of the job, you suppose. The late nights that keep him at the Embassy, and the later nights that keep him restless when he comes home to you. It’s been worse these days — those endless nights that drag into heavy mornings. 

You do your best, as helpless and meaningless as it feels when you wrap your arms around his back and press your cheek to his bare shoulder and listen to the hard and steady ba-bump, ba-bump of a heart that carries more than he ever dares to admit.  

He softens for you there, but the mornings never come any easier. 

So of course you know that something’s wrong when you wake to find your arm stretched emptily across the right side of Javier’s bed. The sleep disappears from your eyes as you sit up quickly enough that the world tips on its axis and your heart hammers up to your throat while your ears immediately ring with panic — did he come home last night? 

The names and the faces and the scenarios run dizzyingly through your head — Carrillo’s wife, crying into your arms at the funeral that Javi wasn’t at; Connie’s brave face adamantly telling you that Murphy was coming home, the baby crying endlessly on her chest. 

The fear blinds you to the watch that still sits, ticking steadily on his bedside table, or the DEA ID wallet that lays discarded and flopped open with its gold badge catching the morning sun. 

It’s the movement in the open bathroom door that rights the room, that weakens your muscles and lets you breathe again.

Alright, maybe mornings don’t come any easier for you either. A product of his job, you suppose. 

Javier doesn’t hear when you pad across the bedroom floor, his gaze distracted as he draws the length of a patterned tie around the collar of his meticulously ironed shirt. 

You reckon he must not have slept at all because that shirt had been hanging on the closet door with the intent of being ironed while Javier was still resting. You had wanted it to be freshly pressed and starched for the big day today. 

“Need some help?” 

Javier’s head jumps up at the husky sound of your voice, catching your reflection in the mirror as you lean in the open doorway, an easy vision dressed in an old shirt of his. The hard furrow of his brows smooths into something almost boyish and wary but the frustration never leaves his shoulders. He drops his hands from the tie in defeat as you step forward.

“Never thought I’d be a suit kind of guy,” Javier murmurs as he reaches past you to grab the still burning cigarette he had set in the ashtray by the sink, pinching it between his fingers as he speaks around the strain of an inhale, “I feel like a dancing monkey like the rest of those assholes.” 

You smile inwardly at just the sound of his voice, your fingers working the knot of his tie. He speaks softly, every word dragging deep from his chest to his throat and you want him to talk to you forever. It’s a silly request, a menial thing to fixate on, but you know the quiet privilege of being able to hear him talk to you while the world he dwelled in made a fancy habit of creating widows and orphans. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you’ll be the most handsome monkey in the room,” you hum, glancing up at him through your lashes as you flatten his tie down his chest with a light tug. He scoffs softly, gives a shake of his head as he looks back at the mirror, and you can tell he’s not in the mood to uphold any banter. 

Today feels heavy. Heavier than others. 

Javier hides the fact that he can’t find the words to express himself behind the cigarette in his mouth. Words aren’t his strong suit, but you know this is easier when he talks. 

"Murphy called while you were out last night,” you offer quietly, dusting your hands over the front of his shirt before fixing his collar over the tie. You shift around to stand behind him, flattening his shirt and helping neaten the tuck of it where he hadn’t been able to fully reach as you continue, “Wanted to know how you were holding up — congratulate you on the promotion.”

You notice the tension of his shoulders shift beneath the thin material of the shirt, rolling back a little as he tilted his chin to his shoulder in the smallest expression of interest. You smile softy as you fix his pants back into place. 

“I think he’s starting to miss you.” 

Javier lets out a short laugh and you squeeze his shoulders gently. He taps out the ash of his cigarette and this time when he speaks, there’s less humour in his voice.  

“How’s Olivia?”

The question isn’t the one you expect. There’s something that underlies the unassuming question, in the way he says it, and you know if you pull this thread you may find yourself in some yearning part of Javier’s mind that even he is too afraid to acknowledge. 

You slide your hands down his shoulders, along his back and to his waist. When you speak, you find the same lingering tone in your voice as you had found in Javi’s, “Connie’s looking for kindergartens. She’s thinking to start next spring.” 

Javier makes a soft noise but doesn’t say anything else. He looks down at the sink and watches the ash melt grey pools into the water droplets. 

You know the fog that sits on his shoulders grows thicker the deeper this rabbit hole of Colombia goes. You know he’s standing in it alone now, head half under with no signs of the surface any time soon. 

You know he’s afraid of what he’ll be when he does find the sun again, when he’s got ten toes on solid ground and he doesn’t have to look at the rot again. You know he’s afraid that he’ll die in that hole and never see the sky again.

You know he feels it too. It’s why the mornings don’t come easy anymore.

Javier looks down at the feeling of your arms sliding around his waist, palms pressing softly against his tummy in an attempt to not wrinkle his clothes. He looks into the mirror again when you press your forehead to the space between his shoulder blades. 

Slowly, his fingers spread over the back of your palm as he covers your hand with his own. You can’t see his expression, but you feel the muscle of his back shift when he looks over his shoulder.

What can you say? You should say something. Something profound and succinct and so right that makes this whole thing easier. You want to push your comfort through his heart and tell him the sun is coming, and he deserves it — god, he deserves it. You want to buffer him from everything he faces when he walks out that door but all you can do is hold him here, now, and be thankful that you even have that much. 

You close your eyes and push away the idea that you may not have it — him — for always. 

A product of the job, you suppose.

You realize you might have been holding him for a little too long for this to pass as a meaningless hug when he speaks.

“I’m going to be late, baby,” Javier says and the words are gentle when they break whatever quiet reverie you had lost yourself in. 

“Just a little longer,” you breathe out, the words more desperate than you had meant them to sound. Your eyes close as you press your lips to his spine and notice the heady scent of his cologne that lingers in the material of his button down. 

Your fingers inch away from beneath his hand, slowly sliding down until you feel the cold press of his belt. The movement halts when Javier grasps your hand, holding its position there. 

“Baby.” 

The warning of his voice loses its edge when your lips trail lower, gentle and careful not to dampen his clothing. All Javier can feel is the warmth of your exhales and the easy pressure that descends until your knees hit the floor with a soft thud.

Javier only lets your hands go to turn around. 

There you sit, eyes brimming with something that extends beyond lust, beyond the simple desires that men like him take and leave like shots of whiskey on bar tops with the hopes of numbing the world at the end of the night. 

Let me take care of you, your eyes say, in every way I know how.

When you reach for his belt this time, he lets you. 

He watches you, gives you this moment, for just a little longer.

—

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[bonnie-barstow-of-flag]

Killer Knightmares:

@avictimofthejazz an au based off a KR season 2 episode of the same name & knight of the drones vibe.

Dr. Bonnie Barstow is dutifully diligent with all of her work. She obsesses over even the most minuscule and trivial details to achieve perfection. It’s one of the many reasons she’s been added to the staff at the University of San Francisco under the supervision of the reputable David Halston.

___

It’s virtually unfathomable how much damage an ill-programmed microchip the size of a finger-nail could inflict. A twisted sense of insatiable fascination clutches a bewitching grasp over her complete attention. The tiny chip captured under the view of the highly advanced microscope was an absolute marvel with it’s bright ridges of gold along with it’s small valleys and backroads paved in a far duller shade of silver. It’s a coded maze that Bonnie can easily interpret. One infinitesimal change to the programming can mean the difference between life and death. Bonnie’s searching, seeking out the one piece of the prototype keeping it from functioning as designed. She could never and would never give the go-ahead on anything that could be considered dangerous. Even more so given the incidents that occurred because of Karr.

“There’s a call for you on line four, Bonnie.” Comes Halston’s abrupt half-careless words. Placing indelicate hands upon the slopes of her shoulders, he continues. “I’m starting to feel like your personal secretary.” It’s a gripe he made in earnest. He’s been, in no uncertain terms, telling her former associates to stop calling for months now. That Bonnie’s happier here without them hounding her. He delighted in being able to get her to refuse their offers to have her return. Of course, David hadn’t bothered to asked permission to make those direct assertions. He just did. Dr. Halson needed her. Even if Bonnie wasn’t fully aware of it, she had become vital to the success of his and Margo’s operations.

He leans over her shoulder to take a non-committal glance at her progress with the microchip. “It’s quite strange really.” He cryptically starts. The rest of the explanation failing to come as an immediate continuance.

Skeptical, Bonnie’s turquoise orbs lift towards her revered mentor while he speaks. Worry warps her usually beautiful countenance as she discovers herself clinging to his every utterance. Every easy breath hinged upon what would come next.

When her attention is fully upon him, he reveals against the shell of her ear all that he’d been biting back. “It’s a hospital near Los Angeles. A nurse Langly from Hoff Medical Center or other. She ‘claims’ it’s urgent.” There’s a deep trench of sarcasm imbued when his lips reach the word “claims”. He is well aware that she has no real family in the city. At least no one she should want to have contact with, given all the bridges he’s helped her burn. The remnants of her family were located in Boston. His eyes befall her with the great expectation that she’d pass it off.

Halston’s blasé indifference to the potentially serious situation doesn’t settle right with her. It lays like a load of swallowed bricks and mortar, in the formation of a thick, impenetrable, unmovable wall might; uncomfortably heavy. “I...” She swallows thickly, “I’d better get that.” The brunette rises from the stool she had been occupying and brushes past him. “It’s probably a crank call.” Arrives her half-hopeful utterance as she moves towards the thick plastic phone.

Sweeping a buoyant wake of chestnut barrel-rolls from her face, she lifts the receiver to her ear. “Dr. Barstow speaking. How can I help you?” She answers. Her lower-lip tucking between her teeth as she actively listens to the other voice. Twirling her fingers around the curly-q chord, she attempts to sort her thoughts. “Wait? What?” Panic bubbles upwards in her tone. Her once lax stance stiffens against the nearest wall. Her grip on the phone tightens to prevent it from slipping from her hand. “Are you sure?” A pause. “Could you repeat that name again?”

Nurse Langly patiently repeats, “Michael Long.” After a few seconds, she adds, “you’re his emergency contact.”

The warmth and color that usually could be found in Bonnie’s features drains as the gravity of the situation is rapidly dawning upon her. This was either a twisted macabre prank or it was a genuine emergency. Hardly anyone outside the Foundation knew that name or the history behind it. To invoke that name was to tug at Bonnie’s heartstrings. She has no other choice but to go investigate. If it was Michael and he was in trouble, she would never be able to forgive herself for ignoring his call.

Was it possible that he still had her number in his wallet? That Michael had never gotten around to changing his ICE list? If he hadn’t- why?

“Keep him there as long as you can.” Bonnie tersely instructs. Her heart skips a series of beats as she continues, “I’m leaving now.” With a glance down at her own delicate wrist watch, she calculates the amount of time it’ll take her to get that location. “I should be there in a few hours.” As she puts down the receiver, Bonnie contemplates ringing Devon and the Foundation. But she doesn’t. Not until she can fully ascertain if this is a joke or not.

Halston snags the frantic brunette’s wrist as she races towards the door. Throatily he demands, “where do you think you’re going? I didn’t give you permission to leave, and I know class hasn’t been dismissed. If you leave in the middle of our project, you’ll be costing the University thousands of dollars. You’re potentially destroying any hopes you had of a scholarship.” His concerns obviously rest with their work.

She wrestles her arm back from her professor’s clutches. Turquoise orbs darken when they lock upon Halston’s. Her expression is obviously deeply wounded and yet, out of respect for her mentor, she delays. “I’m sorry. I have to go...” Her words leave no uncertain airs about them. “I’ll be back when I can.” Bonnie is well aware that her defiance of direct orders could potentially cost her this incredible opportunity. Yet, she does not care! The Foundation has and always would be a primary concern for her. It didn’t matter how much time had elapsed since her employment with them, they were her family.

Bonnie is keenly aware that Halston is beckoning for her, yelling intangible words in her wake. She doesn’t dare turn back now with her feet already set on a steady course.

----

Only one thought prevailed as the brunette lunges past other students and into the parking-lot. Michael Knight could be in real trouble, and he needed her. She can’t fathom any set of circumstances that would require resurrecting a name that should have been buried. In her gut, she knows something is terribly amiss. But what?

Seven hours of the endless highway and traffic sprawled between the former partners. Every minute of that time seemed to conjure up a fresh, new fear as to what the explanation could be. Internally, she had been running herself through an extensive list of people who knew Michael Knight before he was the man she’d grown to love. Stevie was murdered. Tanya walker died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Vernon Gray and the others were in rotting in jail.

With the review of every case, came the discomforting realization that Michael and the Foundation were in the habit of making ruthless adversaries. Some of them were worse than others.

A startling thought does occur to her. Garthe and Elizabeth Knight knew about Wilton’s pet project. He knew that his father rescued Michael Long from that cold Nevada desert. However, Garthe and Goliath had taken a swan dive off a cliff. He couldn’t be pulling a crude trick like this. He had to be dead. Or was he? Worse still, could this be the work of Garthe’s vengeful mother? No. Why would they call her for help and risk the Foundation foiling another one of their wicked plots? They wouldn’t. Not even if they were aiming for the absolute annihilation of Wilton’s every dream.

Could it be the Chameleon? No. The man couldn’t have uncovered Knight’s former life. As far as the skilled impersonator knew, Michael had always existed as Knight. His previous life was a mystery. Or so Bonnie hoped it had remained an unsolvable riddle.

Every trudged up possibility seems to leave Bonnie with more unanswerable questions. She returned, time and time again, to square one. Frustration wells up inside of her veins as the brunette settles on the idea that Knight’s run into deep trouble on an investigation. This had to be a cry for help.

-----

Whilst Bonnie Barstow was not known for speeding, her foot increases the pressure on the gas pedal. The rev of the engine increases. Tires find themselves turning over at a quicker and quicker rate. All four heated rubber tires give a squeal of relief when she finally pulls up in front of the Hoff Medical Center.

With haste, she abandons her car in the parking-lot and races inside. Flagging down the first nurse she can find, she spurts out. “Please, I’m here for Michael Knight.” Entreating eyes catch the vacuous look to the nurses eyes and she repeated her words. “I’m Dr. Barstow. I got a call at the University where I work. I’m here for my - Michael Knight...” Ah, that’s where the issue dwells. She cringes before correcting herself. “Michael Long.”

That name garnered the desired knowledgeable reaction from the nursing staff. “This way.” The blonde nurse instructs taking up the lead through the sanitized hallway, armed with her clipboard.

“Can... can you tell me what happened to Michael?” Bonnie fearfully presses. She swallows down every fear collecting inside of her veins and penting-up in her chest. Having a breath catch in her throat, she manages to choke out. “Is he -- is he alright?” The concern taking up residence in the concentric confines of her eyes is genuine. Lord knows, she wouldn’t be able to cope with losing him.

The nurse keenly eyes her. The sympathy evident upon all of her etched features. “We’re looking at a mild concussion and bruised ribs. He’s lucky that nothing is broken. He must be in really good shape. Built like a tank that fella of yours is.” Any other man would have been in far worse shape.

Bonnie is too taken aback by the diagnosis to correct the woman’s assumption about her and Michael. In fact, she nearly misses the correlation as she is ushered into the room.

“He’s a real charmer. Your Officer Long is.” The nurse adds casting a wink in her direction.

Officer Long? God. It still felt anomalous to hear that in a sentence even with their extensive history together. She knew about his past. She was there the day Wilton brought Michael under his care. Until today, it had been years since that name fell upon Bonnie’s ears. Now, all of the sudden, she couldn’t seem to escape the shadow of the vastly unused moniker.

“Tried to flirt his way out of X-rays and everything.” The nurse actively points out. Her amusement with the fact is fairly obvious.

A perfectly manicured brow raises as Bonnie seats herself beside the man she knows under a very different name. “He really is. Isn’t he?” She fondly agrees. That had always been a part of the problem between them. Hadn’t it? His natural charisma instantly endeared him to almost every woman on the planet. She vividly recollects that he had tactfully employed it on more than one occasion to get what he wanted. He was kind enough to polish his act every time he attempted to use it on her.

Until the moment Bonnie cast her eyes upon Michael, it hadn’t struck her how intensely homesick she’d been for his familiar presence. Her heart gives off a series of palpable pangs against her ribcage as if it was sending Mores Code. Rescue was not bound to happen. No one could heed an unspoken SOSes. Could they? Despite her efforts to reign the unruly muscle in, it kept barreling ahead like an out-of-control freight train down the tracks.

Why was it that only Michael could arouse such chaos inside of her even when she had striven so desperately to move on? She tried to replace him with Dr. Halston and many other guys. Yet, nothing could fill that awful void that Michael left behind.

In that moment, with his large frame half swallowed by the hospital bed, she uncovers a dangerous revelation. She still loved him. As loathe to admit it as she is, those deeply-rooted feelings exist. They dwell in the undismissable realms of shadows where buried emotions and feelings are destined to remain.

Bonnie’s trembling hand gingerly brushes a dark-chestnut curl from the expanse of his warm forehead. The fluffy texture under the worn-pads of her fingers causes a familiar ache to awaken inside of her. “Michael, sweetheart....” She coos the term of endearment with a gentle insistence. She dare not startle him awake after the hell he’s obviously been put through with his injuries.

Her own lips bend into a shaky smile. “I’ve come to take you home.” His home? Her home? The Foundation? It didn’t really matter so long as he was back with people who loved and would protect him. As long as he was safe, Bonnie would never issue a complaint.  

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

Hey you beautiful people! Last chapter of Part I. 

MASTERLIST I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X |XI | XII | XIII

Chapter 14. 1978.

           Darkness was infinite and pain would linger on forever. There was no hope; hope was the biggest illusion human kind had manufactured in order to keep going when there was absolutely no fucking point. A black void was everything that ever was; nothing more that the absolute nothing. She felt weightless, as if the waves of the raging black sea could tear her to pieces, throw her to the rocks. Then, she felt as heavy as the universe – drowning in the mere thought of water. Her body felt tired, her mind was restless; not in a good way. She though that life went on but to her, that was the saddest part of it all.            It could end two ways, both equally tragic. Either she would die amongst the rest or she would live. She didn’t know what worse. Truly, never having the chance to see her family again or staying behind? Her entire body got goosebumps and her hands were trembling. She had tried to drink her problems away, just for a few hours, but it only made her sadder, lonelier.                Until she left. She wasn’t celebrating – she couldn’t celebrate the new year. Each passing second, fate was approaching them, faster than she had ever realized. Usually, it was the past that made people sad; well, she was the exception to that as well. She really wanted to go home, for this to be over, to give up Hogwarts and magic and the people. She just wanted her home back, her life, her choices – the ability to choose.                          She was making a run for it. After half an hour of pretending, she said her goodnight, only to few people – well, to the Potters. She couldn’t deal with questions and avoided them like bullets. Once the doors closed behind her, all the silence of the world crushed upon her; and it was louder than the loudest sound. It was suffocatingly loud. Refusing to go back inside, she climbed to her room, kicking her heels off, before even closing the door. A soft tune was stuck in her mind and the Greek poem that accompanied it – the moonlight sonata.              

Let me come with you.

This house can’t bear me anymore.

I cannot endure to bear it on my back.

You must always be careful, be careful,

to hold up the wall with the large buffet

to hold up the table with the chairs

to hold up the chairs with your hands

to place your shoulder under the hanging beam.

And the piano, like a closed black coffin. You do not dare to open it.

You have to be so careful, so careful, lest they fall, lest you fall. I cannot bear it.

Let me come with you.

This house, despite all its dead, has no intention of dying.

It insists on living with its dead

on living off its dead

on living off of the certainty of its death

and on still keeping house for its dead, the rotting beds and shelves.

Let me come with you.

Oh, are you going? Goodnight. No, I won’t come. Goodnight.

I’ll be going myself in a little. Thank you.

              She softly spoke the words to the still air as she was looking outside of her window, a wave of nostalgia crushing to her like a tsunami. She was deep into her thoughts, into her world of roses, poems, stardust and a serene chaos. She felt at peace in the midst of a hurricane, within dramatic lines, written by poets with elegant noses and strong beliefs. The music kept repeating memories, stirring them up as it went on. She didn’t want a happy ending, she sadly realized; she wanted tragedy, passion and catastrophe; she wanted everything and nothing. She wanted absolution. Just like every heroine in the ancient tragedies; it was in her nature.                      He didn’t dare to speak, to make a sound; he held his breath in fear of waking up from the tender dream he was having; a vision right before his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but he felt pulled towards her as if he had no other place to be; as if he was meant to be in her room. She knew that someone was watching her, and she already guessed who but took her time to face with him, with an all-knowing smile.               He was caught of guard, trying to retain his posture and temper or he would just turn around and run away for good. Feeling rather ashamed that he got caught, not that he was invading her privacy, he looked at the floor, blushing ever so slightly. She really didn’t mind. How could she?                    “Do you like it?” she airily asked him, as she remained by the window. He gulped. He knew she was talking about the poem he heard her recite but he couldn’t shake her image, entering the ballroom. Yes, he loved it.                        “I didn’t know that one” he admitted quite subtly. She wasn’t surprised; it was by a Greek poet and it was an intense portrayal of the subject of loneliness and alienation of the uncommitted individual. The lady in the poem represented that part of the old world, which the poet thought it was condemned to perish with its aristocratic past because of its aversion to adapt and participate in the process of change. She thought that if anyone understood that feeling, was him.              “I know” she melodiously informed him. She was enticing and it was hard for him to stay away. Not that he wanted to, in any case. No, he didn’t know which magical poem had stolen her heart but he did know that she was standing under the moonlight, her essence becoming ethereal. How evident it became? She didn’t believe in happiness and that scared him; he could feel for her but even he believed that there has to be a better way, it has to get better. She seemed to contradict him by simply suggesting that there was no point in … well, anything.              Such a hopeless wanderer’s soul, she had. She was made from a different material, a nihilist and an idealist, a desperate romantic and a catastrophic pragmatist. How wonderfully vague her outlines were. Maybe it was because she was wearing a gold waterfall for a dress, but he knew better – he just couldn’t stop gawking.; to be fair he was an 18-year-old boy.            “Why did you leave so soon?” he asked her without hesitation, as if al the barriers had collapsed under the moonlight. She solely focused on his eyes and he could not avert his gaze.                   “Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques - I believe it is” she quoted Verlaine and that, he did know. Sad beneath fantastic disguises. Why would she ever feel that way? He was only fooling himself. He was lying, pretending not to feel the way he did, pretending that there was nothing between them, pretending he was happy torturing Marlene, pretending everything was fine and the way they were supposed to be.         “Votre âme est un paysage choisi” he quoted back, letting her know that his French was so much better than hers and that he paid attention to the details. He truly did. It was almost inappropriate for her to like him or even to think about how his eyes shined liked spilled mercury under the moonlight. However, the biggest problem was that it was unrequited.                             He took one step towards her direction, fully aware of the fragile moment they shared. She saw the shift in his eyes and her entire mind was screaming to her to shut up. Everyone else was probably celebrating in the midst of an upcoming war but she was fighting another one all on her own. Keeping secrets from the people whom their fates were sealed and she could not do a thing was becoming heavier by the second and that broke her.        

           “What – what is really happening here, love?” he questioned her with a slight anger lingering on in his voice – anger that he didn’t know he was experiencing. She was surprised by the very thought of him being angry. He wasn’t angry at her per se, he was really shaken off about not being in the known, having blanks that he had to fill by himself when it should have been her answers instead of his imagination.              She wanted to tell him everything and then her mind went to the time he spent in prison for no reason at all, and she swallowed hard. How would she ever be able to come clean about that. Remus was a bit easier – yes, he was still very hurt and shocked and everything in the middle but Sirius… it was always different with him. It was always different when it came to him – she was …                  “I want to tell you but it’s too much. Please don’t ask me to be honest with you. Not on that level. Anything else, I will answer. Not that” she finally told him. At least, she was acknowledging all the hypocrisy and all the lying, he thought. He wasn’t looking for that answer though, he wanted the real reason behind her entire existence in his life, and so he closed the gap between them. His tall frame was towering over her, her back was pressed to the wall next to the window and his eyes were piercing her face for clues.                    “No. You don’t get to do that. I have been nothing but honest with you about everything. You don’t get to hide now” he pushed further, making her arch her eyebrow. As he realized that he had overstepped the boundaries, he tried to take a step back but her finger was already poking his chest through his unbuttoned shirt and undone tie.                  “You? Honest? Really? Is that what you tell yourself before you go to sleep? That you are honest with me? Or that you’re honest with yourself? Because neither -                        “Fine, what do you want me to say?” he cut her off, revealing his hot temper with a flush that appeared in his face – something she had never seen before and she had to remind herself that this Sirius was not the one from the books. He wasn’t a character anymore; he was a real person – breathing down on her.                            She closed her eyes, not wanting to create any more tension that what had already been created but he was not having it. He wanted answers, now more than ever, even if he knew that he, himself, had been lying all that time – this was not the same. He was lying about his feelings; she was lying about everything.                        “Who are you? Who could you possibly be to come here through the fucking sky? To come here and turn everything upside down. To make me question things that I thought I had figured out long ago. To make me jealous of my own best friend and to make me want to destroy every sound thing. Who are you?” he bombarded her with accusations that he wanted figured out now. And all it took was one hot second before she screamed the answers back to him, each hitting like a bullet to his heart, each being louder and louder only to finish off with a dead silence.                        “You think you are the one suffering? I have been trapped here for too long, I miss my home, my family, my life. I want out. I am done playing a stupid part in this scenario. I know everything. I know how are you going to end up, when, where, who dies, who lives, who fucking betrays – because I came from the sky. The fucking sky. I don’t know how or even who I am anymore. I thought you were a book character and every single thing was only real in my imagination and the pages of seven books. But no. I fucking live in the damn past – not mine. NO. A past from a different possibility. Twenty years before my birth date. And of course, out of every mistake I could possibly make, every choice gone mad, I had to - ”.

           Usually, there were two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When people were afraid, they tend to pull back from life, when in love, the open up to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement and acceptance. And while fear was easier, almost natural to them, they knew that they had to step outside their comfort zone.                  Not finishing off her sentence, leaving it there hanging in the middle of the thick air between them, was her way of giving him space to decide and her a breather. Her mind was yelling at her to stop and think about all those things that actually mattered but not every act was a result of sensibility. Her accusing finger was still on his chest; as a matter of fact, her entire palm was being pressed against his skin – not his shirt anymore. The information was not new to him; he knew, deep down he did.              Each night before he would fall asleep, he was trying to decode and figure her out, even just a bit. He was repeating the things she had said during the day, realizing just how much of an insight she had and wondering if it was just that or… It started of small, a few words of more than wisdom were spoken, a few things were said that she could not possibly know about… and the ever-present aura of secrecy. Her tattoos were one thing, her words were another. It wasn’t news to him and she noticed that. Her anger calmed down to a side smile.                “But you already knew” she concluded and her touch became gentler against his chest. Gentle as a fire. He looked at her with a desperate look, as if he wanted to do so much, to say so much but couldn’t. Sirius was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a cheater.             Instead of pushing her against the wall and kissing her like he had already pictured in his head about a million times, he stepped back and he sat on the bed, eyes always glued to her.              “I think I did” he agreed, more to his own mind than to her words. She took a deep breath and used the chair in front of the boudoir, to the left of the big window, facing him while at the same time keeping her distance.                          “I still don’t think I can tell you everything, Sirius” she softly apologized but he shook his head.                    “It’s okay. It’s okay if I am the one dying, love, or the one going mad. You will tell when or if you’re ready. I’m sorry for… this” he said, indicating the space between them but she brushed it off. How much longer would she able to keep it hidden from James and Peter, she didn’t know.                  “Sirius… it’s not that simple. I know what I know from the books. So, basically, from I come from, the dimension and the time period, you, the boys, Hogwarts… magic, everything is fiction and contained within seven books that are not even about you. While these books go on, you are older and have gone through a lot. I know that part. I don’t know if it will happen the way it was supposed to, since I am here and I wasn’t supposed to, I think, but I also can’t change much in this plot. Or even if I can, I don’t know if I should. Messing with time and history is not something I am looking forward to do. Although, if I could change some things, I would without blinking” she admitted, staying as close to the truth as she could, without revealing too much. How could she face him and tell him what was about to happen to him in a few years? He wouldn’t even get to turn her age before Azkaban… and that hit her differently.                        “I know that there is something dark in the things you are not saying. And I know that I am neither the one who dies nor the one who lives from the way your eyes never met mine when I said it. Maybe the one who goes crazy but not exactly. That’s okay. It would happen either you were here or not. It’s better that you are. I don’t know if it is for you… I cannot imagine the weight of all those things. I am sorry” he told her sincerely. They shared so many things; intuition, depth, passion. And a five-year gap.            “So you see, celebrating didn’t feel appropriate” she concluded airily. But he looked at her in a perplexed expression.                  “On the contrary. We should. Now more than ever. Because after all, we only have this moment, isn’t that so?” he proposed and she was astonished because he was right. He didn’t want to talk about it more, knowing that something bad happened to all of them, and that she didn’t want to say what. He understood her – it was cruel, such disastrous things being delivered by her. She held answers to questions they hadn’t even thought about yet. He could never blame her for not coming forward. Even though he wanted to be her confidant, the one she would spill her heart out he knew that she wouldn’t. Some things were better left unsaid… but…not forever.                      “You should go back to your friends” she suggested, as she felt worn out, wanting nothing more than to get out of the dress and makeup.                                  “I thought we were friends” he chuckled darkly, earing a fixed glance from her piercing eyes.            “Oh Sirius. You and I…we could never be friends” she admitted and there was not a single shy cell in her body. Her entire mind had shut up and every word coming out of her mouth was a sharp slap across his face, hitting him with the truest statement she could have said. He licked his lips and tamed his tongue not to respond the only way he truly wanted to as he got up and buttoned up again, to rejoin the party.                      “Remus knows?” he asked but it came out as a bold statement. He was jealous he wasn’t the first one to know this, or how her lips felt against his. He shook the image out of his head and focused his eyes one her. She was radiant but she wasn’t fooling anyone – she might have worn a gold dress but she was the moon, dark, secret and almost untouchable. Almost.                    “He does” she confirmed, realizing just how jealous he could get. She didn’t like possessiveness, mainly because she was the one being possessive in her previous relationships, but with Sirius…she could, perhaps, turn a blind eye. He was unexpected in every way, to her. He was biting his lip, deep in thought. It was tragically doomed and yet he found beauty among the disaster. It was fragile and soft, so tender but raw, catastrophe pouring down at everything. It was problematic – making homes out of people. But he had never felt more at home than with people; his best mates, his school, her.  His house never felt like a home and yet he was surrounded by it. And now, a strange feeling washed over his heart. What was he doing, letting her go?                He waned to kiss her, without a warning, with permission, without even deciding to do so but simply because he couldn’t think of anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him and he wanted it back. But there was that small voice, so ever faint, that told him it was not the time nor the place to do so. He had to physically stop from heading towards her rather than the door. And he didn’t know why he stopped.             “Love, I…” he started but she gave him a sharp look.                        “Don’t” she whispered and he left with a heartbreaking look on his delicate features.       

           She found an excuse not to return to the party. She would find an excuse to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, otherwise her entire being would implode and no one would even notice. She would just collapse under the pressure of knowledge and no one would even understand how hard her life had suddenly become. She was the girl who wanted to know everything, who went looking for knowledge every place she visited and she had become the girl who wished she didn’t know the future, who was oblivious and blissful, who stayed silent and didn’t challenge the world.                It was too early. Too late maybe. No one was partying, no one was in the living room, no one was making any sound. She tiptoed around a bit. The fireplace was livid, calming and consuming at the same time as if it was calling to her. Everything will end up in flames. Not ice, but hellfire. It was the saddest thing she could have thought of. Protecting a breakable heart. What if she got the chance to leave?              “Would I?” she whispered to herself. No. And that feeling of knowing that she wouldn’t be able to leave even if she did find a way, that she wouldn’t go back to her own family and her own life, that very feeling made her realize that this was indeed her home, that the people in this reality were her family and that this was her now. And she had to fight for her home and her family. She had to at least try.              “We missed you at the party” a soft voice caught her off guard. She took a deep breath. This was it. This hide and seek had to end. Once she turned around, he saw how serious she was and immediately understood that something was off. His eyes were tired but alert, his whole body language was signaling that he was able to grasp the severity of whatever she had to say to him.                        “There is something I need to tell you but you’ll need to sit down, James”.

__ Taglist: @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @megalificent​ @fific7​ @maraudersangel​ @tb-ctn 

[celestialblvdx]

of diamonds and dry martinis [1]

[harry styles au short story] [part one] [2133 word count]

[slight dirty talk] [read the complete series on my wattpad]

-----

She was lost; stuck as she always was in between reality and a dreamy haze.

Sometimes she thought she was watching herself from above, mostly when she mixed her Xanax with the Grey Goose martinis her husband would order for her wherever they went. Tonight was no different.

The men crowding her in the lobby of the opera house talked business as she stood fiddling with the white gold necklace that clung a notch too tight to her delicate neck. As she came in and out of the conversation around her, she thought of what the night would consist of.

Have a couple more drinks in the lobby, go in, sit and watch the show, get in the SUV, go to an after-party, have more drinks and gossip with the other ladies, go home, get in bed, sleep, wake up, repeat.

She blinked out of her trance when her husband grabbed her hand gently, smiling down at her. He was handsome no doubt, with his salt and pepper hair pushed back and his teeth bright white against the lights in the lobby. His skin was tanned deeply from countless trips to their summer home in Bora Bora, and his eyes crinkled at the sides softly when he smiled.

She met him when she was still working as an escort. He hired her from the agency she worked for, and he knew it was over from the moment he picked her up for a company party. She was one of those girls that wouldn't sleep with the client even if he was willing to pay buckets of cash for it; he loved that about her.

He paid her well every time he hired her. He took her on exclusive vacations to places she didn't even know existed, bought her bags from designers she had never even heard of, and gave her money she couldn't even dream of having. He told her he would take care of her if she resigned from her agency; he wanted her and would do anything to make sure no one else could have her.

After her resignation was in, he proposed. She moved into his multimillion-dollar home in The Hamptons and they had a lavish wedding that included upwards of three hundred guests.

"I have lots of friends," he explained to the wedding planner. "mostly from business, of course, but we can't do any less I'm afraid."

He was happy with her; or at least, happy having her. When he first brought her to the company party, all heads turned to them. She was stunning and held herself well when in the company of millionaires and tech moguls. The best part for him was her age. He was nearing his fiftieth birthday, with his friends and their wives somewhere around or above there.

She had just turned twenty-three, leaving the need for costly plastic surgery and routine dermatologist visits in the dust.

When he proposed to her, she was thrilled. He was nice enough, handsome, and promised to take care of her for the rest of her life. She had never imagined herself getting married and becoming a housewife, but she liked the idea of it. Until she was a year deep; that's when she realized she was living in her own personal hell.

"Another round of drinks, gentlemen?" A waiter asked courteously.

"Yes," one of the friends spoke up. He was much older than her husband, probably somewhere in his seventies. He was a trust fund baby from one of the biggest banks in America. "the same, everyone?"

Everyone agreed and the waiter walked off towards the bar on the side of the room.

"Say," her husband spoke up curiously to the group. "is the youngster coming tonight?"

"He should be," the oldest in the bunch pulled back his coat sleeve to look at his gaudy Rolex.

"Who's this?" She asked as she tucked her arm into her husband's against his chest.

"Some young guy," he said with a shrug. "new money; just moved here from London, I believe?"

"Met him at my tennis club," the oldest said with a smile. "real stand-up guy. He just bought a house in Southampton Village." He glanced over his shoulder when a bright smile lit up his face. "Well speak of the devil!"

That was when she knew it was over. His lean build was perfectly tucked into a tailored suit, made to fit him just right. His dark brunette hair was styled neatly, with signs of his natural curls peaking out around the top. He had a smile that could light up any room he walked into, adorned by a tiny dimple that would appear occasionally on his left cheek.

"Boys, meet Harold," the oldest said proudly as he shook his young friend's hand.

"Please, call me Harry," the handsome stranger said to the group. His voice was pure and utter sex to her ears. His accent was thick and his words lolled a tinge long. When he turned his head to shake hands with one of the friends, she noticed his sharp jawline that made her fingers twitch.

He turned to the couple, and his emerald eyes met hers first.

"Roger Stratton," her husband said as he shook his hand firmly.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said as he looked up at her husband.

"And this is my wife, Merci."

He extended his hand, and she took it in hers. She prayed he couldn't feel her clammy palms as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Pleasure," he purred as her eyes met his once more. Roger said the exact word Harry had hoped not to hear; wife. He'd broken up relationships in the past, but never a marriage. Like everything else in his life, he was always interested in a challenge.

"How's Southampton treating you?" Roger asked as the waiter approached with a tray full of drinks.

"Amazing," Harry said before giving the waiter his drink order. She accepted the martini glass from the waiter before handing her empty one back. "once I'm fully moved in I was planning on throwing a house warming party."

"Sounds wonderful," Roger said before taking a drink from his bourbon. "we live in Southampton as well, just along the coast."

"Wow," Harry nodded. "afraid I couldn't secure a coastline spot, but I bet that's a beautiful sight in the morning."

His eyes darted to Merci before flickering back up to Roger. She knew exactly what he was doing. Working as an escort for so long introduced her to many different types of men. He was the typical new money hotshot; young and dangerously alluring with an ego to kill.

She took a long drink from her martini glass. Nowadays, it took a lot to get her drunk. Since being with her husband, her life only ever consisted of parties fueled by expensive alcohol, days spent on a yacht with champagne, and vacations filled with tequila and screwdrivers.

"Sweetie," she spoke up to Roger. "I'm going to head to the restroom."

"The theatre is about to open," he said, motioning to the gold and maroon double doors ahead of them.

"I'll be back before it starts," she said before leaning up to plant a kiss on his stubbly cheek. "save me a seat."

"Absolutely,"

She maneuvered her way through the crowd of patrons waiting to find their seats, and God how he loved watching her walk. He couldn't help himself as his eyes trailed from her strappy black heels to the slinky gold dress that fell down her body like sexy drapes.

One of the first things he noticed about her was her jewelry. Her necklace was tight to her neck and sparkled bright, along with the massive rock adorning her ring finger. From this alone, he knew Roger had her locked in with money up to her eyes.

Her eyes, he thought.

There was something so oddly distant about the way her eyes had glassed over while her husband spoke. Her voice sounded trained; she knew what to say and how to say it at all times.

Years of being the sugar daddy's baby finally caught up with her, he thought.

She stood at the sink, washing her hands and drying them off before pulling her phone from her Louis Vuitton clutch.

Mom: Hi! Haven't heard from you in a while. We miss you down here! Give me a call sometime; maybe we can plan a little trip together!

She rolled her eyes before tossing her phone back into the clutch, a little more violently than she meant. The thought of her mother made her want to choke. It was a sob story, told through whispers at parties behind her back.

"Poor girl, she never really had a mother."

"Such a blessing that Roger saved such a beautiful girl from such a toxic environment."

"Do you think it messed her up?"

"Absolutely tragic."

Her mother was a junkie turned raging alcoholic. She bounced from boyfriend to boyfriend for all of Merci's life. She would bring random men into the house, then pass out from drinking too much; more often than not, leaving Merci alone with the ravenous wolves she brought home.

She knew she had to get out of Louisiana. After she graduated from high school and turned eighteen, she moved to New York with her cousin. That's when she found the escort agency, and that's where she met Roger, and the rest is history.

Ever since she made it out of the agency and her mother found out about her circumstances, it was as if she suddenly remembered she had a daughter. Merci knew exactly why her mother was contacting her and it made her sick.

She looked in the mirror at herself, dripping in diamonds and lavish fabric. She ran her tongue over her teeth before picking up the martini glass from the counter. She threw it back quickly and gave herself a once-over before leaving the bathroom.

She pushed the door open and nearly slammed it into Harry as he rounded the corner down the hall.

"I'm so sorry," she exasperated as she gripped the door. He let out a small chuckle while clutching his chest.

"All good," he said slowly. "the show's starting."

"Did you come to get me?" She questioned as she stepped out from the bathroom, letting the door close behind her. The boisterous sounds from the lobby had disappeared completely; it was just the two of them, alone in the darkened hall.

"Roger saw an old friend and got caught up," he said, motioning towards the lobby. "he asked me to let you know we were heading in."

She felt her phone vibrate in her clutch, and she clumsily reached down to pop the lock open. That's when it clicked in his mind.

"Are you high?"

"Excuse me?" She griped as her eyes shot back up at him, completely forgetting about the clutch.

"What's he got you on?" He asked as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Oxy? Perc?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking ab-"

"No, not that," he hummed, his eyes lazily studying her. "Xan?"

Her mouth went dry as she huffed angrily.

"What makes you think that?"

"I know a broken woman when I see one," he said, taking a step closer to her as his eyes roamed down her body. "is that a Roger thing or a you thing?"

She studied his expression meticulously as they stood in an unbearable silence for a beat too long. His lips were parted gently as he breathed in her scent, loving every second of the undeniable sexual tension between them.

"You wanna fuck me, don't you?"

He was stunned by her seductive words as her lips rested together, plump and practically begging him to collide into her. He wasn't expecting this to happen so soon, but he was more than fine with it.

"It's not going to happen, hot shot," she purred into his ear, her hot breath on his neck as his eyebrows furrowed. "ever."

She pulled away from him with a smirk as his eyes met hers once again. She stripped him of every ounce of confidence he once held onto so firmly; something she had gotten dangerously good at after her first few clients.

She knew exactly what game he was trying to play with her, dying to use her as a pawn in his ego boosting ways. She had a feeling he had a few notches in his belt of girls he had swept off their feet, only to dispose of them when he got bored.

And she was right.

"Your tailor did a fantastic job with your fitting," she whispered. "I can see every inch of you."

Her eyes slid down to his pants before side stepping away from him to sashay down the hall towards the theatre. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, knowing his eyes would follow her until she was out of view.

He looked down at his pants; he was rock hard and it was showing. He mentally cursed himself before running a hand over his face and through his hair.

She was fun; dangerous, but fun.

She was exactly what he needed at a time like this.

-----

part 2 on my wattpad, but will post here if anyone would like :’)

[geeks-universe]

Bound By Blood: Where Worry Wakes

Future Gabriel x Winchester!Reader

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

A/N: Some answers, but more questions.

Your father was gone. Again.

You felt a little more at peace with it than you had before. The first time you’d left your father behind had been after a fight, one that still hadn’t been fully resolved. You were glad you could say that this wasn’t nearly as drastic, but you still did feel like you needed him there.

You were going through something and you weren’t sure what it was, but you needed somebody. Your father had always been someone who could shelter you from the supernatural, so it only felt right that you take this matter to him. He was far too busy at the moment. You could talk to him about it after you killed the demon.

Until then, you’d just have to deal with the sympathetic smiles Sam kept sending your way and the worried looks Dean kept giving you.

Speak of the devil, you thought bitterly.

Dean kept flicking his eyes in your direction. It was getting pretty late, but the three of you hadn’t turned in for the night quite yet. Sam had already picked out your next case from some website that claimed to know all about the supernatural. You highly doubted it, but you’d take anything that would get your mind off of whatever was happening to you.

“You should get some sleep,” Dean suggested lowly, casting you a long, meaningful look.

You sighed.

“Someone needs to stay up with you,” you argued weakly, your eyelids already far too heavy to offer any real company for Dean.

He rolled his eyes.

“I’m a grown man, I think I can handle it,” he grumbled, adjusting his position in the seat so he would be a little more alert, if only for a few minutes.

“Only if you promise to pull over soon. We’re all exhausted, we could use a real night of sleep.”

He nodded.

“Deal,” he stated, looking back at Sam, who was currently cuddled up along the backseat of the Impala, resting as peacefully as one can whilst on a hunt for a demon and lying on a bench that’s two sizes too small.

“Dean?”

Your voice gave him pause. It was meek, quiet, unlike the sarcastic drawl or bubbly tone he was used to. You sounded vulnerable, and that scared the hell out of him, because out of everyone in this family, he knew without a doubt that you were the strongest emotionally.

“Yeah?”

His mouth was suddenly dry, eyes unable to focus on driving. His finger was nervously tapping against the wheel while he awaited your response. You were struggling to form your words, looking around for something that might remind you of what, exactly, you were trying to say.

“Forget it,” you muttered, not bothering to ask him for advice on what was going on. He wouldn’t know anyways.

Dean was about to argue, about to inquire about what seemed so imperative you ask him just a moment ago. But one look into your eyes deterred him. They were lost, distant, and so very tired. Your knuckles were white from the pressure of pressing them so hard against your palms, droplets of blood seeping from the place your nails met the smooth skin of your hands.

“Like I said,” Dean offered, “Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

The lull into a fitful sleep wasn’t an easy one, especially with Dean keeping such a close eye on you. Eventually, though, your exhaustion trumped the thoughts running rampant in your mind, and you found yourself fading into a golden dreamworld.

You were aware that you were dreaming, but you didn’t fight it. Instead, you allowed the calm land of the world around you to help you relax. 

“(Y/N).”

The voice wasn’t the lyrical tone you expected. It was harsh, a flaming red in a field of gold. 

You reached forward, dragging your fingers along the golden blades of grass, as you tried to ground yourself in the dreamworld.

“You are unexpected.”

It was a man. You could just begin to make out features, the slope of his nose and the purse of his lips. He was staring at you like you were an enigma, one he could manipulate and forge into a warrior for his own cause. 

Unconsciously, you took a step back, trying to put distance between you and him.

“Who are you?” You asked, your words uncharacteristically weak.

Just his presence in the sanctuary your mind had built for you felt wrong. It was tearing at the fabric of your consciousness, unwinding the golden symphony that had been protecting you.

Then, just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

The scene before you shifted, the aureate world shattering into darkness. Your father was there, bleeding, his words venom as he spoke, though you couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. Lightning flashed, pulling your gaze to the dark sky as veins of light crackled across the heavens.

Sam was there now.

His body was in tremors, a force pulling him down and down, further into the dark abyss. Whispers of madness curled around his form, solidifying to blood. Fear gave way to strength, as his eyes darkened to a black, and the Sam you knew was gone, replaced by a demonic beast.

You were rooted to the spot as he advanced on you, far faster than what any human would be able to do. A cold hand shoved you backwards, and you fell.

You struggled to grasp onto something, anything that could stop you. There was nothing. You kept falling, accelerating as the swirling in your stomach became a pit. Air was torn from your lungs as your limbs flailed, your head spinning at the weightlessness suddenly thrust upon you.

Then you landed.

It wasn’t painful, like the fall might suggest, but rather filled with a dread you couldn’t acknowledge.

This time, Dean was there.

His eyes were wide open, mouth twisted in a scream he couldn’t release. Blue tinged at the edges of his fingers, where he reached for you, and you rushed to his side. His heart was still in his chest, his body cold. Tears gathered in your eyes as you realized he was dead.

Your voice was silenced as you tried to cry out, begging yourself to wake up from the nightmare. Reprieve was offered by a hand on your shoulder.

It was filled with a warmth you’d never felt before. Dean gasped, life festering in his eyes as he smiled at you, like he hadn’t been dead just a moment before.

“What-”

“Nightmares,” the owner of the hand on your shoulder provided. “Or the future, I can’t tell anymore.”

You wanted to look at him, to understand who it was, but you couldn’t. Your whole body was frozen, caught in the position of mourning, while you tried desperately to make sense of everything around you.

“Now, I’d really like to know who you are, because you keep interrupting my dreams, sugar.”

A light shake was enough to have you bolting upright, reaching instinctively to your hip, where your gun typically sat. You hadn’t even been able to process the world in front of you, hopping into action before another strange dream left you immobile.

“Woah, hey,” Sam held his hands up in surrender, the bright sun blinding you from behind his tall stature.

You released a breath, dropping your gun to the floor of the Impala, where you’d fallen asleep. It took a few seconds to compose yourself, your eyes slipping shut as a wave of dizziness passed.

“Look, if you’re not okay…”

“I’m fine,” you told him, shrugging off his help as you got to your feet. He still remained close by, vigilant, just in case you were to keel over. “Where are we?”

“Richardson,” he answered, grabbing both his and your bag from the trunk. 

You fought a smile. Whenever Dean was worried about you, everyone in the vicinity knew about it. When Sam was worried though, he kept his actions a little more subtle. He’d take your bag in, or let you have the shower first. While being constantly worried about was a little smothering, you knew it was their way of expressing their love.

“Alright, where to first?”

There wasn’t a lot about the case you really knew, but Sam had done a decent bit of research to at least give you a place to start.

“For you? Here.” His tone brokered no argument, yet you found yourself disputing it anyways.

“You can’t keep me cooped up, you know.” You reminded him, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the Impala. “I’ve been hunting longer than you have.”

“Yes, but he hasn’t been… whatever the hell you’ve been lately.” Dean interjected, walking up to the driver’s side. He nodded his head in the direction of the motel room you would be staying in.

“We don’t really know what we’re walking into,” Sam reasoned, “I could use the extra help on the research front.”

Sam’s voice was much softer than Dean’s. He was trying to get you comfortable with the idea, rather than force it. You still frowned at being benched. Hunting was your escape more often than not, and without it you didn’t really know who you were.

“Just for this case,” you conceded, huffing while you did so.

Sam shot you a smile, but Dean kept a grim expression. You knew the two of you would definitely be clashing in the foreseeable future on whether you were prepared to hunt or not.

The two of them left shortly after without instructing you on anything about the case. Deciding it was better than being deadweight, you began the long and arduous journey of researching a hunting case. You really would’ve preferred being out in the field, but you didn’t have the energy of fighting both brothers right now.

A full day came and went of you doing little outside of research. You’d even called Bobby at one point, not because you needed anything, but because you were dreadfully bored.

You slept as little as possible, hoping to stay away from whatever was plaguing your dreams for the moment. It worked for the most part, but you knew it was only a temporary solution. After this case, you promised yourself you would divert more of your attention into understanding what was happening.

Between the three of you, you had discovered the haunting was little more than a farce- an urban legend turned real because of one pesky symbol and a whole lot of believing. 

“We need your help,” Dean admitted, after having a long discussion with Sam.

You looked up from the book you were reading with interest.

“Nothing dangerous,” he reaffirmed, meeting you with a grimace.

You visibly deflated at his disregard for your capabilities again.

“Their names are Ed and Harry,” Dean continued, blatantly ignoring your annoyance at him, “We just need you to feed them a little story, help us take down the whole thing.”

“And why would they listen to me?” You inquired, raising a brow.

“You’re a girl,” Sam deadpanned from his place in the doorway. “I don’t know about this, maybe-”

“Relax, Samwise,” you waved off his concern, reminding him of the nickname you so lovingly gave him years ago, “Nothing dangerous, like Dean said.”

Your smile was too sweet, and your eyes too filled with mischief, but the brother’s didn’t argue.

This was your opportunity to remind them of how much of an asset you were. You weren’t about to disappoint, but you also weren’t about to miss out on having a little fun, especially at their expense.

[nerdyfangirl67]

Now I Know - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

Pairing: Hotch x reader

Warnings: language, slight angst, fluff, wide range of emotions expressed by reader in the letters

Word count: 2248

A/N: This is a sequel to If You Only Knew, set in the future when Aaron finds the letters the reader wrote. The reader is married to Aaron now. And my requests are always open so feel free to send me some!

Aaron is cleaning out the attic and finds the box of letters the reader wrote for him during a relationship break. He reads them and finds out how the reader truly feels

AARON’S POV

It was one of those days when I didn’t know exactly what to do with myself. I had fixed the squeaky step leading up the front porch, replaced the garage door light, and even cleaned the gutters. And it was only one in the afternoon and I wasn’t sure what else to do for the day. 

On any typical day off, Y/N and I would be spending time doing something with Jack. Today though was different. Y/N was out with Garcia and Prentiss on a much-needed girls’ shopping trip. Jack was over at a friend’s for a playdate and wouldn’t be back until Y/N picked him up on her way home. 

After a quick lunch of a PB&J sandwich with a side of a macaroni salad Y/N had made the other day, I decide to head up to the attic and clean out some of the many boxes that had been pushed aside and forgotten when we had moved into the house.

Pushing open the attic door sends up a dust cloud, causing me to have to wave my arms around like a mad man to clear the entry as I let out a harsh cough. Once the dust clears, I trudge up the rickety stairs, my eyes scanning the room as I reached the top. There were quite a few more boxes than I had anticipated, all strewn haphazardly across the floor. 

Heaving out a sigh, I move forward, examining the boxes and decide to start with those marked miscellaneous.

Two hours and six boxes later and the attic looked no cleaner than it had when I started. I start looking for the next box of seemingly random crap when I come across a small wooden container, resting atop a large cardboard box with Aaron written across it.

Curiosity had me stepping forward to grab the wooden container. Intricate designs were carved into the top of the container and a small gold latch held the lid closed. I trace a gentle hand across the top before carefully opening it. 

I pull out a thick bundle, quickly realizing that it was a stack of letters wrapped in gold and silver tissue paper. I slowly unwrap the paper, careful not to tear it. 

Written in thick, black ink and staring back at me is my name and the address of my old apartment. No name is in the left upper corner, leaving me with a mixed feeling of confusion and curiosity. 

After deliberating for a solid five minutes on whether I should open the letters, as all were addressed to me, none of which had a return address, I decided to go for it.

I grab the top letter of the stack and neatly open it. A glance at the paper tells me that it is from Y/N, dated four years ago.

Aaron,

I don’t have words that will ever truly tell you what I feel.

How could you do this to me? To us? I’ve spent the last year falling a little bit more in love with you every day. And I love Jack as if he was mine. He feels like he is.

But you threw that all away. You told me I deserved something, someONE, better and then walked away with my heart.

You are the sun to my moon. How in the hell am I supposed to be me without the biggest part of me?

I hate what you did. I hate that I can’t make myself go into work because I’m afraid that I might run into you. I fucking work in an entirely different unit, on a completely different floor, and yet, your presence hangs over that building like a shadow.

I hate that I let myself become someone who didn’t know who they were without their partner. I hate that I’m constantly looking at the door, hoping you’ll walk back into my apartment, pull me into one of those bear hugs I love, and tell me it was all a mistake and you’ll never leave again. But the thing that I hate most is that I am still in love with you. That’s what I hate the most.

You ripped my heart out and walked away, leaving me a blubbering mess. 

How could I ever forgive you?

Y/N

The letter leaves me breathless. She never told me how she felt during that almost two-month break. And I can’t believe that I ever let her feel that way. 

It takes me less than a second to rip open the next letter, much more destructively than I had the first.

Aaron,

It hurts so bad. I feel like I’m slowly dying and I can’t bring myself to care. It’s like I was flying and then you brought me crashing to the ground. Hard.

Whenever you speak, I hang on to every word, as if I was drowning and your words could save me. Well, I’d do anything not to have clung so tightly as you ripped my buoy out from under me and let me drown.

That’s what I’m doing, drowning. 

How can I ever live life without you, when I know how good it was with you?

I know it’s all cliches, but that’s how you make me feel. Like a protagonist at the end of a cheesy rom-com, running away with my prince to live happily ever after, except I don’t get my happy ending.

Gosh, it hurts so bad, the pain of losing you. You were my everything and it turns out, I was more of your nothing.

She didn’t sign her name at the bottom of this one. Combining that with the dried, smeared ink on the page and it becomes apparent that she was crying so hard that she couldn’t finish.

A lump settles in my throat, making it hard to breathe as the guilt consumes me. I’m slower this time, as I move to grab another one, afraid of finding out how much I truly hurt her.

Aaron,

I miss you.

And I will always love you.

And if I can’t make you as happy as you make me, then, as much as it will hurt me, I hope you find someone who will.

With love always

Although this one is short, the profoundness of what was written is clear. 

She had been willing to give up if she knew I wasn’t happy with her, no matter how much it hurt her.

I open another, ready to see more of what she wrote in these letters.

Aaron,

The past couple of nights I have been having the same dream.

It starts normally. I’m in the kitchen, making breakfast on what I assume is a Saturday morning. Jack comes barreling into the room, excited to help make pancakes. You come in a short while later, much slower and quieter than the first Hotchner did.

In your arms is our four-month-old son, whom you had grabbed from the nursery on your way downstairs. Jack is rambling about a dream he had as he starts pouring a bag of chocolate chips into the pancake batter. I smile at you, which you return with a silent ‘I love you.’

The scene changes and instead of being in the kitchen with the three of you, I am in my bed, waking up to light shining through the crack between the curtains. I roll to my right to find another person in the bed with me.

At first, I think it’s you, with the dark head of hair peeking out from under the quilt. I move my hand to trail through it, realizing it is not you. At all. 

My hand, which I had quickly removed upon coming to the realization it wasn’t you, causes the person next to me to stir and turn over, revealing someone nondescript, someone who wasn’t you. I scramble out of the bed, finding that this isn’t the home that I had just been in with you and Jack and our new son. 

I scramble towards the door and fly down the hallway, only stopping to open the doors along the way. None of the rooms I open have any evidence of you or Jack existing. There are no pictures, no children’s toys, no red ties casually strewn across the back of the vanity chair, no case files scattered on a bedside table, nothing. 

I soon come to the realization that you don’t exist in this version of my life, which absolutely breaks me. I can’t even imagine a life where I didn’t have you or Jack at least as friends. 

I couldn’t be happy in this version of my life and I know it. That’s what makes this dream a nightmare. The fact that it shows me what my life could very much end up like if I don’t fight for you, or for Jack. 

I don’t want to share my life with anyone but you Aaron. Forget the idea of ‘you deserve someone better’. That doesn’t matter to me because all I want is you. YOU are perfect. YOU make me a better person. YOU make me want to strive for a life full of laughter and love. 

No one but you.

Y/N

This letter truly makes me realize what could have happened had Y/N not come to my door, had she not fought for our relationship, for me. 

I reach for another one, but just as my fingers grasp it, I hear a car pull up in the driveway. A glance out the window tells me it’s Y/N and Jack.

I set down everything that had been in my lap while I was on the floor and hurry down the stairs to the kitchen. I manage to beat you there and I lean back against the kitchen island as I wait.

Jack comes rushing into the room and excitedly starts telling me about his play date. I admit I was only listening half-heartedly as I watch Y/N enter the kitchen. She has several different bags in her hands, yet she doesn’t seem to be struggling.

I listen to Jack for a while longer before I send him to pick up his room. Although Jack’s room wasn’t the neatest, I mostly sent him there to get a moment alone with Y/N, who had just returned from our bedroom after dropping off her shopping bags.

I stand fully and call out softly across the kitchen. “Come here, Y/N.” I open my arms up, inviting her in for a hug.

She doesn’t even question my request. Rather, she sets down the knife she was using to prep for dinner and steps into my embrace.

I pull her as close to me as I can, wrapping one arm around her waist and another up to pull her head into my chest.

I simply hold her, the feelings that came when reading those letters rising and falling within me. I don’t know how to bring up what was in those letters, but I know I have to. Not only because me reading them was a violation of her privacy, but also because what she wrote about in those letters was something I had never known about, something she never talked about with me.

“Y/N,” I murmur as I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes, her Y/E/C that always seemed to pull me in. “I found the letters you wrote and put in the attic.”

As I watch her, I can see the moment she realizes exactly what I am talking about. Her eyes widen and she moves back a step. She opens her mouth to respond, but I place a gentle hand on her face.

“I never realized how I had made you feel. I always thought that I was doing what was best for you. You didn’t deserve a man who works all the time, who can’t leave the job at the office, who brought home the darkness and evil he saw every day. I thought you deserved better than that.” I pause, brushing away the lone tear that was trailing down her face. 

“I realize now though, that despite what my intentions were, I still hurt you. And it kills me that I can’t go back and take that hurt away or keep myself from doing what I did.” I step closer to her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“What I can do is promise you that I will never let you feel that way again. I promise you that I’ll tell you how much I love you and how important you are to me everyday.” I finish my impromptu speech, watching her as she looks at me.

She doesn’t say anything for a while, which honestly scares me. But then she is throwing her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her lips. 

The kiss is hard and short before she puts her head on my chest. “Thank you Aaron. I know what I said in those letters and a lot of it came from deep down in me.” She presses a kiss to my t-shirt covered chest. “And to me, you’re perfect. You always have been and you always will.”

A feeling of contentment and happiness bubbles in my chest. And I know that whatever happens, as long as I have her by my side, I’ll be able to get through it.

[elswordimaginesdrabbles]

Lap of Gold

Liberator x reader

he feels ooc to me in this one

Noah story somewhat spoilers

Noah had quite the exhausting day. He'd listened to Ventus retell the adventures of the El Search Party in Varnimyr; Clamor wouldn't shut up afterwards, teasing the kid because of his childlike curiosity.

There was one thing left to do before retiring to his bed. The highlight of his time in Elrianode which was seeing a certain individual of the Landar camp.

That person happened to be you, brewing a vitality potion in your tent. It wasn't the wisest idea, seeing as you've set fire to it multiple times because of your shenanigans. Fortunately, there were many spares but you got scolded quite a bit.

Noah tried his best to make his presence known, by clearing his throat right outside your little shelter. You were too immersed in pouring tiny droplets of substances upon other tiny droplets of substances to hear anything.

Clamor made his discontent known: 'Kid, that was the most pathetic attempt at catching someone's attention I've ever seen. I've lived thousands.'

The boy got flustered and hushed him. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the tent. Only then did you finally take notice of your visitor.

"Ah, Noah! I'm glad to see you! I'd tell you to come test my newly brewed potion, but I'm not sure of the side effects just yet," you giggled. He smiled softly and sat down next to you.

The faint bags under his eyes bothered you more than a bit.

"Have you been sleeping well lately?"

He shook his head, "I've been having some nightmares. Is it that obvious...?"

"Yes, and I have just the cure for it. A good night's sleep! Or at least a nap. Come put your head in my lap."

"Your, what?" mouth agape, he stared. Clamor was having a chuckle with their interaction and he made sure to let Noah know: 'You might as well confess at this point; the scene is set!' Since he was in front of you, he couldn't scold Clamor. Instead, his cheeks were tinted pink from his words.

"What, you've never laid your head in a lap before?" You seemed to be clueless.

"N-not really... but where did you get this idea?"

"I used to sleep in my sister's lap all the time when I was little. It helped a lot, especially when I was having nightmares," you shrugged. "It might feel a little sudden, but we've been talking for a while. It's fine right?"

He couldn't say no, because he didn't want to in the first place. Noah was a little reluctant to make the first move, but who wouldn't? A subtle encouragement from you was all it took for him to sigh and actually lay on your lap, closing his eyes.

"So I just have to sleep like this?"

"Yep, and don't be afraid. If you're having any bad dreams I'll wake you up, okay?" you let your hand pat his head, the gentle touch making him melt more into your thighs. It sent a shiver down his spine.

He was a little too nervous to fall asleep; he pretended to do so.

"Ah, I can't work on my potion like this... Why didn't I think of that before?" you whispered. To fill your time, you ran your fingers through his soft hair. "Good night, sleep well."

Of course, you didn't stop the touching and because of that his heartbeat was going haywire. Noah gulped, doing his best to keep calm.

You started humming a lullaby and he wanted so badly to doze off. No matter how much he wished it, he just couldn't.

"Hush, hush, go to sleep, little baby~"

"I'm not a little baby."

His curt reply startled you out of your trance.

"Gosh, I thought you were asleep. It's been a while, why aren't you?"

He opened his eyes slightly and looked up, only to realize it was a little embarrassing to face you in that position. He preferred total darkness to it.

"I can't... I don't know."

"Seems this isn't working out very well. I'll lay out a blanket and pillow for you, you can sleep in my tent if you'd like," you prepared to take him off your lap.

"I-I don't really want to get off you either..." he mumbled, pushing your hand away.

"Okaay... What do you want me to do then? Keep singing? Or maybe pat your head more?"

"Whatever you want," he blushed, his ears reddened as well. Clamor went to sleep not too long ago and he was very glad for that. He could have a little peace and quiet with y/n. "Why are you going this far anyway?"

"Because I love you."

He shot up, hitting your chin pretty hard. The two of you moaned in pain, holding your injured spots.

"That's one hell of a hard head you got there... This might leave a bruise, oww."

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me," Noah spoke, rubbing his head. He didn't know whether to ask more about your possible confession or not. The situation had turned a tad bit awkward with seemingly no way out of it.

"You must have been taken by surprise I know," you had your mouth covered, still hurting. "But how could I not love you? It's really easy to."

When you used the same words, he realized there was only one answer he could give: "I feel the same."

"You think it's easy to love yourself?"

"N-no-"

"Awe, I'm just kidding, don't get too flustered on me. I can't handle when you're this cute!" The compliment made his ears go even redder. "This is where I go in for the kiss, right?"

"I think, you're moving a little too fast?!"

To contradict his words, you inched slowly towards him and cupped his cheek with your palm. Staring deep into his eyes, he stared into yours; they appeared to glimmer in the dimly lit tent with certain intentions, or so it seemed to Noah. He didn't hesitate and closed the gap in between, with a light peck at the corner of your lips.

"You're such a tease~" you winked and glanced behind him. A silhouette was standing right outside. Would you let that interrupt the moment?

"Did something happen?" he was a little concerned at your lack of response. He was worried he might have done something to upset you, but quickly he disregarded the thought and kissed you once again, fully. He pulled you closer onto him by the waist; feeling daring, Noah gently ran his fingers across your back, over the fabric of your clothing. Did he want to tickle you? Well, two could play that game.

With your lips still on his, you smiled as your hands found his hips. And on they went! Relentless, you tried to find his weak spot. It didn't last long, since he attempted to push you away in a giggling fit.

"N-no, I'm sensitive-!"

"What are you two doing in there?!"

You and Noah were petrified. His face turned a few shades whiter and you gulped.

"S-sis? Did you need me for something?"

"Yes, but are you doing something inappropriate? Now's really not the time," her stern voice made you sweat.

"Of course not, we were just tickling each other!" right as you said that, Noah's thumb traced across the back of your neck. 'Payback', his innocent smile seemed to tell.

"Yuria is sick, I need some of your most potent potions, and yourself. Right now."

His hand dropped and so did the mood. Noah ran out of air, it felt like he couldn't breathe anymore. 'Not again, not now,' he was so afraid to lose everything he'd gained up until that point. He was so afraid of losing you. The tips of his fingers were numb and he was so very cold inside a supposedly warm tent.

He never wanted to go back to that empty headache, the chilly, lonely temple. Not when he had so much to lose.

A voice echoed in his mind, over and over. His descent into nothingness was interrupted by the feeling of tears on his cheeks and your desperate attempts at wiping them away.

The thoughts wouldn't stop, but by looking at your face he could distract himself just for a little while.

"Please, Noah, what's gotten into you? Are you listening? I'm really worried, you weren't responding," your speech was a little too quick for him to understand, but he had no time to ask.

The boy grasped your palm tightly and looked right at you: "Let's see Yuria," he squeaked out a whisper from his dry throat, coughing afterwards.

"Alright. But I'm having you rest right away."

Hand in hand, you two followed your sister to Yuria's tent. Once you were in the proximity, you heard a hilariously loud 'ACHOO!' coming from inside, followed by a sniffle.

"Okay sis, lay it on me."

"We suspect it's just a cold, but she's been like this for a few days. Symptoms are as such-"

"You know, it might be just a cold. Have you tried any of my weaker warming potions?"

"Not yet," your sister approached you and spoke quietly. "Is Noah alright? He looks like he just came out of his casket."

She was right, more or less. After crying, his eyebags had darkened and he was a lot paler than when he entered your tent.

"Yes, he'll be fine, if you let me do my job."

"No need to get sassy on me, go take care of him already," she shooed you away.

It was too late to do so, since the boy had already gone inside Yuria's tent. He was staring blankly at her sleeping form, not a single sound he made. You almost didn't want to bother him, but he was standing way too close for comfort to Yuria's sleep snot bubble, so you had to drag him away.

"Were you worried about her? As you can see, she's fine. She needs some rest, but more importantly, YOU do. You look even worse than before."

Noah felt your hands on his shoulders; if it weren't for them, he believed he might've dropped to the ground. "...I'm a little tired."

"No wonder. Let's get you to my tent, it's getting late."

He was not as afraid, only anxious. Worried that it might all disappear, like it did before.

Even as he was tucked in by you and scolded by Clamor for leaving him alone, he couldn't shake it off. He didn't want to close his eyes; it was so easy to trick himself into thinking he was back there again if he did.

'Why do you look so grim? What's on your mind?' Clamor's had it with the teasing once he noticed he wasn't getting much of a response. His words were genuine, Noah knew.

"What if it'll happen again?"

'Ah, you mean the loop... There's a high chance it won't happen here, Elrianode is safe. It's beneficial to think of what ifs, yet in this case you are only hurting yourself.'

"Noah, please go to sleep. I'm here."

'What they said!!!'

You sat next to him, hugging your knees to your chest. You observed his exhausted expression intently, staring holes into him hoping he would magically lose consciousness. You knew of no intricate spells of the sort, neither could your potions imitate that effect. You were stumped.

You patted his hair and smiled sadly. His eyes suddenly found yours: "What if you forgot all about me? What then?"

Pondering, you answered with a question:

"What then? What would you like to know specifically? How I would react, how I would feel about you? It's difficult to think about, as there's so much I don't know. If I had met you in different circumstances, I'm sure it wouldn't have gone this path. But honestly, I think I'd fall in love with you again.

I'm just like that," you chuckled. He too smiled, mumbling that he was happy.

It took no genius to realize he fell asleep instantly.