#when he talks about his own death with such impassivity that you can't tell if he's joking or looking forward to it

[pinksilvace]

The dialogue in the most recent chapter (ch13) of At the Dawn of the Light by @lasymit is giving me about 10000 different emotions

[confused-pyramid]

While I breathe, I hope

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Aaron doesn't let people in, but when you burrow your way into his life, he finds that even the worst moments don't hurt as much...

word count: 10.1k (omg)

warnings: SMUT, oral (fem!receiving), p in v, slow burn, age gap, canon!typical violence, mentions of death, drinking, angst, so much yearning, hotch is a dilf

a/n: this covers events from the beginning of season five through the end of season seven, and includes mentions to specific episodes and cases

You can't go inside. The whole team is in Hotch's hospital room, looking at his motionless body, and your feet just won't move.

It would be one thing if he was awake and talking, but the idea of seeing him just lying there, hooked up to countless tubes and a heart monitor, makes you want to throw up.

You weren't the one who went to his empty apartment. You didn't see the bloodstained carpet or the bullet hole in his drywall. If you had, you definitely wouldn't be as outwardly calm as the team thinks you are right now.

When you got the call from Emily that his things were still in his apartment, his car still outside, you thought the worst. You’re ashamed that your mind went there immediately, but it's almost like your brain was trying to prepare you, just in case.

Your back is pressed against the wall next to his room when Derek finally emerges, an impassive expression on his face.

"How is he?" you ask, your voice reverberating around your skull like an echo chamber. "Will he be okay?"

Derek looks at you for a long moment, and you can tell he's profiling you, but you don't have the energy to gripe at him today. "Yeah, he'll be okay. We briefed him on the situation. You should go in. He's awake."

He's awake. That means he's okay.

The rest of the team files out a moment later, and JJ squeezes your arm as you finally take a step into the linoleum room.

He looks better than you would have expected, considering he's been stabbed nine times.

Fuck, was it really that many?

"Hi," you croak, your voice breaking embarrassingly as you flash him a tight smile. "You look terrible."

Hotch lets out a small laugh before wincing slightly. "You wouldn't look any better after being stabbed a dozen times."

"Look who's exaggerating now. I heard it was only nine."

Only nine. You can hardly get the word out.

"You missed Haley and Jack," he says simply, but you can tell what he's really trying to say.

Where were you when I woke up?

You swallow, knowing that the truth might be more than you can bear to disclose...because he's your boss. "I had to wrap up some things with a case."

Hotch nods slowly, but he doesn't press you further. You both know you're lying, but this isn't the time for torrid confessions. His face returns to its resting stoic expression and for a moment, he looks just like he did when you saw him for the first time.

"This lecture was supposed to start 20 minutes ago," you complain, checking your watch again. "You'll forgive me if I find it hard to believe that an agent on the Behavioral Analysis Unit has better things to do than guest lecture at Quantico."

Your friend rolls her eyes before turning to you, an exasperated expression on her face. "I actually heard they're being called onto some pretty big cases these days. Did you hear about that train that got taken hostage last month? That was theirs."

You scoff, already too haughty for your own good. Getting the highest test scores in your class has filled your head with hot air. "I'll believe it when I see it."

When Aaron Hotchner eventually walked up to the podium in front of the large lecture hall, everyone was either on their phone or talking to their peers.

He taps the microphone once and leans forward, his tall stature making him tower over the stand. "Good afternoon."

Whether it was the timbre of his voice or his self-assured nature, you couldn't be sure. But within a few moments, the entire auditorium was silent.

He starts speaking again, and his voice is the only sound filling the room. "Today I'll be discussing some the recent cases my unit has worked on, and how profiling helped us solve all of them..."

Your first thought as he begins his lecture is, 'He's handsome.' The next is a bit more professional: 'I want to have that kind of effect on a room.'

You graduate from the Academy a month later, and within the week, your application to be assigned to the BAU is on his desk.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask, suddenly eager to get out of this sterile, fluorescent-lit room. "Coffee? Jello? Tequila?"

He laughs again, but this time he manages to move less, so as not to shift his bandages. "Just water would be great."

You nod and dip your head down before leaving the room, the tension leaving your shoulders when you walk into the hall.

"He seems good," you tell the team when you find them around the corner by the nurse's station. "Really good."

"Yeah, kid," Rossi smiles, patting your shoulder. "He's a tough one."

You fill a paper cup with water from the fountain and are about to take it back to Hotch, when Emily catches your arm, taking the cup from you.

"I got it," she assures you, before shooting a nearly imperceptible glance at JJ that you wouldn't have noticed before joining the unit.

Rossi, Morgan, and Reid start walking back to the waiting area, and you move to follow them, but JJ catches your arm, holding you back firmly.

She cocks her head to the side, her eyes serious, but not unkind. "Come with me."

"Look," you say as JJ leads you to the opposite side of the waiting room. "I know I'm the youngest, but I really don't need a babysitter."

She shakes her head, motioning for you to sit down next to her. You sigh, sinking down onto the vinyl covered cushion, even though every muscle in your body wants to avoid what is coming.

"We all know you and Hotch are close," she says softly, her tone diplomatic. "We just want you to know that you're not alone, and that we're all here for you."

Close. You're not sure if that’s an overstatement or an understatement. He has definitely opened up to you a lot more since you joined the team, but you don't know if you can classify your relationship as anything more than professional.

A small voice in the back of your mind scoffs. You can't even convince yourself.

***

Aaron can't help but feel slightly disappointed when Emily enters his room with his water, instead of you.

"Surprised to see me?" she asks conspiratorially, and he isn't sure what he's supposed to be hiding.

"No," he frowns, trying in vain to sit up a bit straighter, "I thought- well, never mind now. Thank you for bringing the water."

"We're all really glad you're okay," she tells him, leaving a soft pat on his covers. "We'll find this son of a bitch before he can hurt anyone else."

He appreciates her sentiment, but the fear he feels for Haley and Jack - his family - still burrows deep in his bones.

Emily doesn't stay long, and soon the familiar silence envelopes him once again. Ever since Haley left him, his apartment hasn't felt like home. Not really.

He started staying at work later and later, coming home only to shower and get a few hours of sleep. It certainly wasn't healthy, but after getting stabbed in the place he was supposed to feel the safest, it is all he can do to keep going.

The silences had felt safe at first, but then you started coming over, dropping by randomly when you knew he would be home, and he finally began to understand what being safe was really supposed to feel like.

You are so young, barely 27, but you are one of the best agents he has hired straight from Quantico. When your application arrived on his desk, after a thorough review from Strauss and the director, he had been certain that you wouldn't be a good fit for the BAU. But then he met you.

"You were the top of your class," he observes, his eyes trained on your file that he has laid open on his desk. 

He hasn't looked up since you sat down, but he has clocked everything about you. The way your hair is pulled back from your face, as if to present yourself fully and openly. The firm set of your shoulders as you sit forward in the chair. Even the small, loose thread on your blazer that you must have missed when you were likely inspecting your clothes that morning.

You nod, clearly proud of your academic accomplishments. Aaron is the last person who would fault someone for taking pride in their achievements, but he also can't shake the feeling that you may just be another one of the 'rich girls' he knew in law school. The trust fund kids and Senators' daughters who knew just how smart they were...and knew exactly how to use it to their advantage.

"Your academic record is quite impressive, and you scored well in physical fitness," he continues, quickly realizing that he doesn't exactly have any concrete grounds on which to reject you.

"Thank you," you smile, your hands folded in your lap. "I would love to work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. One of my favorite classes at the Academy was in behavioral science, and I know how important the work you all do here is. I also got a chance to talk to some of the team before this interview, since I got here a bit early..." You let out a small laugh, and he can tell that it's mostly for your benefit, to lighten the tension. "...and everyone seems really nice. Agent Morgan is clearly a natural leader, especially with how he carries himself in front of the team, and Doctor Reid gave me some statistics about the rate of Academy grads who get into various fields across the agency."

You trail off as your rambling winds to a close, and suddenly Aaron isn't sure what to make of you anymore.

"Doctor Reid is a genius," Hotch agrees, before cracking the faintest smile, "but he can take some getting used to."

You shake your head, possibly misinterpreting his comment, but trying to clear the air nonetheless. "Not at all! It was incredible speaking to him. I think I learned more just this morning than I have since I graduated."

A slight flush colors the top of your chest as you gush about your experiences and Aaron finds that your curiosity and keen senses (and warmth) are the exact characteristics that will serve you well here. He is pleased that you got along with the team, and that's when he realizes there is no point in trying to find a reason to reject you.

You're already in.

***

It still hurts when he breathes in too quickly, but after three weeks of recovering in his empty apartment, Aaron is ready to return to work.

You've been keeping him up to date with the cases that the team has been working on, but it's not the same as being in the thick of it. After years of constant motion and always being on his toes, this last month of medical leave has made him feel like he's decomposing.

He only gets up to eat, shower, or, you know, and he misses being around people every day. He misses being around you.

As if his thoughts conjured you into being, a knock sounds at his door, and he gets up with a grunt when he hears your voice announcing your presence.

It takes him ages to get to the door, but once he gets it open, he sees you standing in front of him with a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle in the other. He's surprised to see you, but he's also very very pleased.

"I brought takeout," you smile, your eyes glinting in the dim light of the hallway, "and sparkling cider."

His eyebrows raise at the latter, and you roll your eyes dramatically, following him inside. "Considering all the medications you're probably hopped up on right now, I made the tactical choice not to bring alcohol over here."

He chuckles, watching as you remove containers of steaming Thai food from the bag. "A sound decision."

"How are you feeling?" you ask once you're both settled on the couch, a plate of uneaten noodles resting on your lap. "Do you think you'll be ready to come back soon?"

"It's not up to me," he sighs, his eyes following the movement of your fork across your plate. Why aren't you eating?

"Well, you can tell those doctors at St. Sebastian's that I said you look great."

His heart rate jumps before the meaning of your words sinks in. But the warm shade of mauve that flushes across your chest says otherwise.

"I just mean that you look fine," you correct, clearing your throat. "Healthy."

He nods, not wanting to embarrass you, but a fire courses through his veins as he watches the telltale signs of attraction wash over you. Darkening of the eyes, flushing of the skin, eye contact.

Aaron would be lying if he said that he never noticed the way your eyes lingered on him across the conference room. He had chalked it up to a schoolgirl crush, but could a temporary infatuation really explain the relationship that had developed between the two of you?

You were the first person he looked for when he walked into work in the mornings, the first opinion he sought out when testing a new theory. How much longer could he pretend that what he felt for you was strictly professional?

"How are Haley and Jack doing?" you ask, jerking him from his thoughts.

"About as well as you can imagine," he says sincerely, his expression falling as he thinks about how long it has been since he has seen his son. "It's tough being under constant watch."

Ever since Foyet practically called them out by name, they've been assigned a protection detail and kept away from anything to do with the case...which includes him.

"We'll find him, Aaron," you whisper, your eyes glowing with genuine earnestness. "We have to."

He nods, and only then do you finally take a bite of your food.

"I'm sorry, I just don't like red wine," you laugh, taking a sip from your chilled glass of white. "I'd much rather just have a beer."

Rossi scoffs, his "Kiss the Cook" apron lending him very little authority. "That's because you've never had real, good wine. Your $7 grocery store wines don't count either, kid."

Leaning your forearms on the island counter in the center of Rossi's kitchen, you shoot Hotch a look that says 'help me out here', but he just shakes his head, smiling at you from over the rim of his glass.

"Okay," Emily nods, taking a seat next to you. "I'll bite. Let's see this fancy red wine you've been raving about."

"Not yet," Rossi says, waving his hand at you both as he carefully stirs marinara sauce into his handmade pappardelle. "Red wine cannot be truly enjoyed unless it is taken with authentic Italiano."

It takes everything in you not to snort, but you bite your tongue and take another sip of your white wine.

"I hope you're prepared to finish what you started here," a deep voice rumbles from behind you.

Hotch comes up next to you, his hip resting against the counter as he turns to face you. "David won't give up until he gets you to concede."

"I can handle myself," you smirk, your eyes glinting with amusement. "Besides, when have you ever known me to turn away from a challenge."

He's about to say something witty, but then the edge of your lips curves up and you wink at him, and suddenly every thought he has ever had has mysteriously disappeared.

You can't stop laughing, even though it really isn't that funny. "Kevin asked you for advice on how to ask Penelope out on a date?"

Aaron nods, his lips twitching as he tries not to laugh. "He was very earnest, but I didn't think his prospective relationship with our tech analyst was more pertinent than finding a missing girl."

"He asked you in the middle of a case?!" you squeak, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you shake with laughter.

He lets himself go a bit and a bright grin spreads across his face. Your laugh is like music and he finds that his wounds don't hurt as much anymore.

The drinks don't have any alcohol in them, but he still feels lighter than he has in months, and he feels himself wishing that you could be here with him all the time.

"Yup," he confirms, shaking his head. "Reid was with me as well, and I thought his jaw would fall off with how far open his mouth was."

"Oh my goodness," you gasp, trying to control the giggles bubbling up inside of you. "Speaking of Reid...he really needs a haircut."

This finally breaks him and Hotch lets out a loud hoot of laughter. You almost forget to worry about whether his scar tissue is hurting him, because he looks so happy for the first time in what feels like forever.

Your heart warms in your chest and as you lean back on his new couch, you realize that you would come over to his place with takeout and cider every night until the end of time if it meant he would keep smiling at you like that.

***

Your ears are still ringing even in the eerie silence. Three gunshots and a choked sob and then nothing.

Your SUV feels like it's barely moving, even though the speedometer is hovering around 90, but somehow when you skid to a stop in front of the Hotchner family home, there's only one other SUV parked out front.

You throw yourself out of the car, running as fast as you can into the house, your gun at the ready in front of you. It takes a long time - too long - to make it up the stairs, but the moment you hear the forlorn mix of thuds and sobs, you're running again.

Please let him be okay. Please let them all be okay.

You burst into the room as Hotch pounds into Foyet, his bloody face practically unrecognizable as he gets shredded to a pulp.

"Aaron," you gasp, sinking to your knees and throwing your arms around him from behind. "He's dead. You have to stop."

It takes a few more moments, but eventually his hands stop throwing punches. His knuckles are covered in blood and his hands shake violently as he leans into you, his body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs.

Tears prick your eyes as you hold him tightly, working off the futile hope that if you squeeze hard enough, all of the pain and horror will go away.

Loud footsteps reverberate around the house and you relax when you hear Emily and Derek's voices behind you. They fall silent when they see the two of you, but you're unable to focus on anything other than keeping the man in front of you in one piece for as long as possible.

"Wait," you mutter suddenly, the team's arrival bringing you back to reality. "Jack?"

Aaron's body stiffens against yours and he practically springs off the ground, pushing through all the officers and agents that have entered the house since you arrived. You race after him, following as he runs into his home office and opens a small compartment under his window seat.

When Jack's small face peers back at you, the entire house lets out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, buddy," Aaron whispers, pulling Jack into a lumbering hug.

Jack looks at all of us over his shoulder, his eyes full of a youthful innocence that tugs at your heartstrings. "I worked the case, Dad, just like you said."

"Yes," Hotch nods, the tension in his body slowly seeping away, "you did a great job, buddy."

***

The funeral is somber and beautiful, even before the snow starts falling. JJ and Will nod at you from across the lawn as you make your way along the sidewalk, a few steps behind Derek, Emily, Reid, and Rossi.

You feel a light pat on your hand and you look down to see Jack looking back at you. You press your lips into a thin smile and take his hand, trying to warm up his chilly fingers with your glove.

"Let's find your Aunt Jess," you tell him as you wade between the crowd, all dressed in black.

When Jack is safely tucked under his aunt's arms, you trudge back over to where the team is all standing together. Rossi holds his arm out and you latch onto him with a grateful nod.

"Will this ever end?" you whisper, unable to keep the pain festering inside of you for a moment longer. "The pain can't go on forever, can it?"

He brings his other hand up and lays it on top of yours, holding you to him for a small, comforting moment. 

"It will feel like forever," he sighs, his usually reassuring voice suddenly low and anguished, "but it won't be...and that's the important thing." 

Haley's casket is carried up the snow-blanketed hill and when the proceedings begin, you watch as Aaron clasps his hands together, his head permanently dipped down.

You can feel his sadness from here, and you would give anything to be able to take it away, but this isn't the time. This is the time for remembrance and appreciation of the life Haley lived. The loyal friend, the loving wife, the devoted mother.

Jessica squeezes your hand as she passes by you, and when she makes her way up to the front, Aaron begins his eulogy.

"Haley was my best friend since we were in high school..."

***

Even when it seems like nothing will ever be the same, things eventually manage to return to normal. Jessica has been helping out with Jack when Hotch is at work, but you can see the strain being a single father is putting on him.

When the team is called to a small fishing town in rural Alaska, you can feel the stress emanating off of him from being so far from Jack for so long, but he doesn't let it get in the way of the work. He never does.

"I've got four of the upstairs rooms available," Rhodes, the police chief, explains when you all arrive at the singular lodge in town.

Uh, four?

"Uh, four?" Derek asks, echoing your thoughts.

Rhodes sighs, clearly starting to regret calling us at all. "Your team is double the size of my department."

When we don't say anything, he shakes his head and bids us goodbye. "I'll see you in the morning."

When he leaves, Hotch turns to us. "Looks like we'll have to double up."

"I'm not sleeping with Reid," Derek points, shaking his head.

You stifle a laugh when Garcia immediately latches onto Derek, piping up with a "Dibs!"

By the time night falls, you end up bunking with Garcia, which works just fine for you, except for the fact that you can't sleep.

Penelope has been out like a light since everyone called it a night an hour ago, but you've been staring at the ceiling, unable to catch a wink.

A half hour later, you finally give up, grabbing your files and shutting the door quietly behind you. You tiptoe down the stairs, hoping that the small seating area in the lobby will be empty, but when it comes into view, you spot someone sitting in front of the crackling fireplace.

"I want to dance!" JJ announces, clapping her hands together as she bounces on her toes. "I love this song."

"You go right on ahead, darlin'," Will says, pressing a kiss to her temple.

JJ shoots him a knowing look that feels so familiar it makes your chest hurt. You would give anything to have that sweet domesticity with someone you loved.

"If you won't join me, then my girls will," she fires back, reaching out to grab at your hands.

Emily and Penelope start to shake their heads, but JJ looks so excited that you can't help but mirror her enthusiasm.

"Okay," you nod, taking her hand. "I'm in."

She grins back at you and shoots Will and the guys a proud look, before pulling you into the crowd with her. It's clear that she's had a couple more drinks than she should have, but as long as she's having fun, who were you to stop her?

With the bustling throng of bodies filling the bar, you can hardly believe that Rossi's favorite joint is about to close for good.

The bar is pumping a bright Abba song through the rickety speakers and you sway your hips to the melodic beat as JJ gyrates in front of you. Your eyes fall closed as you lift your hands above your head, trying to find the rhythm over the loud buzz of conversation around you.

Your eyes snap open when JJ squeals again, signaling the arrival of Derek and Penelope to the dance floor, and you grin at them as he holds her hands and twirls her around deftly.

You turn around, scanning the crowd for a familiar face - well, one in particular - when you land on Rossi, who smiles at you. You grin brightly, waving at him, but he heads to the bar to get another drink, shrewdly managing to avoid your call for him to come join you all.

Your line of sight wanders again, this time landing on the person you were looking for. Aaron doesn't smile back immediately, his gaze slightly hazy, but then he lifts his glass in a pseudo-salute, his eyes never leaving yours.

You know this isn't his usual scene, so you don't try to get him to join you on the dance floor, but when he reaches up to unbutton his collar, you feel a breathlessness you haven't experienced since your first kiss.

The rest of the bar fades away and the loud voices around you quiet to a murmur. Hands grab at your shoulders, but your body feels far away as your eyes stay locked on his, diving deeper and deeper, trying to see every inch of him.

You love him, you know you do. You can try to ignore it for as long as you want, but that won't change the truth. 

You're in love with him.

You snap back to reality when Penelope yells your name, and you shake your head, trying to clear the feelings that are rising inside of you.

Your brain feels warm and fuzzy as you return to your friends, and you're not sure if you can blame it on the alcohol anymore.

"Couldn't sleep?" you ask rhetorically as you take a seat on the well worn couch, next to Hotch. He's still in his clothes from earlier, but his sleeves are pushed back and his tie is hanging loosely around his neck.

He looks hauntingly beautiful with the firelight gleaming against his skin. You want to lean in and press your lips against his —

He shakes his head. "You too?"

You don't respond, instead reaching forward to lay your case file on the wooden coffee table.

"There's something off about this place," you eventually say, trying to describe what you've been feeling since you arrived. "I feel like something bad is going to happen."

He nods, setting down the files he was working on. "I think I understand what you mean. The kills have been so horrific, I'm shocked that the town hasn't already imploded just from trying to find the killer on their own."

"That's not- I don't mean..." you struggle to find the right words. "I'm scared for the team. I feel like we're all so strung out that one bad case, one bad outcome, could break us."

You don't know where this is coming from, and you can tell he doesn't know what to make of it either, but you're glad it's out there. Anything is better than the pit you feel in your stomach every time he - any of them - gets too close to a place they can never come back from.

Before he can react, you lean your cheek on his shoulder, a sigh of relief leaving your body as his fire-warmed skin burns into you through the thin fabric of his button-down.

This is the closest he has ever been to you, and the warmth of your smooth skin against his makes his breath catch in his throat.

He whispers your name and it comes out more like a gasp than a warning.

"Please," you breathe, turning your face so that you are looking at the fire. "Please, just...can we just sit here for a moment."

He knows what this will mean for your relationship going forward, knows that nothing can be the same if he lets this continue, but he can't bring himself to move.

The words flash in his mind before he can shut them off, and he closes his eyes, savoring them for as long as he can before reality is sure to set in.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Eventually, the fire will die out and the morning light will filter through the windows, and the world will come rushing back. But for now, it's just you two. So instead of doing what he would've done not six months ago...instead of standing up and telling you to go to bed, he stays still. Instead of stopping this at the root, before it can blossom into something he can't control, he sits there, with you at his side, for more than just a moment.

***

When Aaron pulls you aside in the hospital to explain the plan to fake Emily's death, you can barely breathe.

"You mentioned in your department file that you have contacts in Paris," Hotch is saying as you struggle to quiet the buzzing noise in your skull, "and we need them to help her lay low for a while as we figure out the Ian Doyle situation."

You remember nodding and giving him the information he needs, but everything else that happens that night is a blur. You can't remember who broke the news that Emily was gone, or where you went when you couldn't stand to be in that hospital anymore, or even how you got home.

All you know is that it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to tell the team the truth. Their gaunt faces stare back at you every morning for weeks, and somehow, at the same time, you have all the power in the world to help them, but also none at all.

You swear you can hear the crack of your heart when Spencer comes to your apartment every other night, tears spilling onto his cheeks, and at first, Aaron is the only person you can be yourself around.

But then he leaves too, and that's when the ground truly starts to cave in around you.

***

"Hey," you say softly, pressing the satellite phone to your ear. "How are you?"

Derek had handed you the phone after debriefing Hotch on the Doyle investigation, and now he was downstairs with rest of the team.

"It's getting harder to find leads over here, but we're still working," Aaron tells you, a quiet static coloring his voice. "How are...how is Jack?"

You press your lips together, trying to hold in the anger that has been bubbling up inside of you for months. "He's really good. Jessica is great with him."

Since Aaron left for his assignment in Pakistan, you have been spending more and more time with Jack. He's a sweet kid, and since you can't be there for any of your work family, the absolute least you can do is be there for a boy who doesn't have his mother or his father right now.

"Will you be home soon?" Your voice sounds different to your own ears. Tinny. Distant.

"I don't know," he says truthfully, his voice giving away nothing.

There's a pause on his end of the line and when he starts speaking again, his voice is clearer than before. "I know how hard all of this has been on you...I'm sorry."

Anger flares in your veins and you bite your lip as you hear quiet laughter filter up from the bullpen. "Hard? Yeah, it's been really damn hard to come in to work every day and lie to the people I care about most in this world."

You can hear the slight catch in his breath, but it only spurs you on. "I'm sure it's much easier to hide from the team when you're all the way across the freaking world."

He says your name, his tone not so much warning as it is fervent. Your finger moves to the 'off' button and you don't wait for his response before you mutter a quick "I have to go" and press down.

When you go back to your quiet apartment that night, the solitude feels almost overwhelming. You set your bag on your coffee table and pull your shoes off on the way to the master bathroom, where you strip off your clothes in one go.

Your shower is set so hot that steam fills the bathroom within minutes of you stepping inside. The scalding water burns away the pain and loneliness of the day, and for a few moments, you can just stand there and not think.

When you close your eyes, you can almost imagine that he's still here. That the searing rivulets that glide down your body are his fingers and that the hands that are holding you and comforting you with their warmth aren't just falling water.

It takes you a few minutes to realize that the tracks running down your face aren't coming from the cascade above you. The sobs you've learned to hold in and keep quiet start gurgling in your chest, and before you can tamp them down, they burst out in full force.

Your knees give out and you crumble to the floor of your shower. The salt of your tears mixes with the water around you and for the first time ever, you hate him almost as much as you love him.

***

Everyone looks just as confused as you do when they are called into the office extra early for seemingly no reason. You all meet in the conference room, trying to figure out what kind of case could be so secretive that none of you were briefed, when a figure appears in the doorway.

"Welcome back," Derek mutters from across the room, but you can't take your eyes off of Aaron (and his beard?).

"You're back," you exhale, equal amounts of joy and fury flooding your system.

"Everyone," he nods, motioning to you all, "take a seat."

Everyone sits down obediently, and then he dives into the speech that you have both dreaded and looked forward to for months.

"Seven months ago I made a decision that affected this team."

The lying is finally over.

"As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle."

They look so confused. God, why can't he get to the point.

"But the doctors were able to stabilize her."

There it is. She's okay. Emily is alive, and she's okay.

"Her identity was strictly need-to-know."

They look so betrayed. You've been lying to them for months, of course they feel betrayed.

"She's alive?" Penelope asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer gapes. "...But we buried her."

Aaron closes his eyes for a moment, and you can see the emotions swirling inside of his head. Pain, anger, self-hatred.

"If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me."

"Who else knew?" Derek yells, his eyes brimming with hurt.

Aaron's eyes flash to you for barely a moment, but it's enough. They all turn to you, disbelief coloring their features.

"This whole time?" Reid mutters, his eyes not fully meeting yours. "You knew this whole time?"

You are spared from answering when Emily steps into the doorway, a shawl thrown over her shoulders. You know you don't deserve the reunion as much as they all do, but seeing her is still a shock.

Even though you were privy to the details of her re-assignment, you haven't seen her since that day at the hospital either. Penelope and Spencer rush forward, pulling her into desperate hugs that burn your throat with tears.

Morgan is standing still, his hands motionless on the back of one of the conference room chairs.

"Derek," you plead, trying to catch his eye. "I'm so sorr-"

He doesn't let you finish, his hand coming up in an evasive gesture. "Save it."

A sob catches in your throat and you walk out of the room.

***

Aaron's apartment building looks exactly the same as it did seven months ago, when you came to say goodbye before he left for Pakistan.

You sit in your car for what feels like hours, but when you finally step out onto the street, it's only been ten minutes.

After Hotch broke the news to the team, you went home in a haze, unsure of how you were even able to drive. Hours of sitting by yourself in the dark didn't do anything to change your mental state, and you were already in the car when you realized what was eating at you.

Now you are in front of his door and you can hear his footsteps getting closer and closer. When the door opens, you push past him, swiveling your head as you look around the apartment.

"Is Jack here?" you ask, searching for his telltale head of blonde hair.

Hotch shakes his head, clearly confused. "He's with Jess until tomorrow."

You nod, trying to formulate what you want to say in your head. There are so many words swirling around your brain, but nothing feels just right.

"What's going on?" he asks, taking a step towards you. "Are you doing okay?"

That's what breaks you.

"Am I doing okay?" you cry, your hands coming up to rake your hair back. "Emily's finally back, and I can't even enjoy it, because the whole team hates me."

"I'm sorry," he says, his brow furrowing. He takes another step toward you. "They're going to hate me too, if that makes you feel any better."

You scoff, turning away from him as you pace across his living room. "They'll never hate you as much as they hate me, because you weren't here. You weren't the one lying to their faces everyday for seven months. I was!"

He deflates, and suddenly he looks smaller than you've ever seen him before. "I'm so sorry for putting you in that position. I can't imagine how painful it would have been to lie to the team for so long."

He's saying all the right things and that only makes you angrier.

"You don't get it," you grit out, your fingers pressing into the back of your neck. "They had each other. All those months they were grieving, at least they were together. For a second, I had you, but then you left me and I was all alone."

Your voice breaks on the last word and he reaches forward as you fall into his arms, sobs wracking your body. "I missed you. When you left, I hated you, but I still missed you every day you were gone."

Your face burrows into the crook of his neck as he holds you tightly in his arms, his strong body holding you up as your legs threaten to give out. He smells different, like pepper and smoke, and you resist the urge to breathe him in now that he's finally here.

When you pull back, you stay in the circle of his arms, relishing the way his hands feel resting against your lower back. It's almost comforting to know that your body still reacts to him the same way it did seven months ago.

He's so close to you that you can feel his breath on your nose. If you tilted your head back your lips would brush his, and it takes everything in you not to give in.

But then the familiar warning bells go off in your brain and you take a step back. You aren't completely in the dark. You know that he feels something for you that isn't strictly professional, but you also know that if you lost him the way he lost Haley, you wouldn't be able to handle it. At least not with the grace that he has.

Your expression falls and his eyes fill with pain. "I shouldn't have left. I was wrong. Please forgive me."

"That's the problem," you sigh, resisting the disturbing urge to laugh at how deep inside of you he has burrowed himself. "I forgave you the moment you walked through the door."

***

Emily's return softens the blow of what you and Aaron had done, so by the time Ian Doyle is killed and the case is finished, the whole team is mostly working together cohesively again.

Spencer and Derek didn't speak more than a few words to you for weeks afterward, but when Emily made it clear that it was her life that hung in the balance, they eventually came around.

With the Senate hearings and Congressional oversight starting to take a backseat, the team was finally getting a chance to loosen up, and after investigating a serial killer in Atlanta, you all decided to make a day out of cheering on Aaron at the FBI triathlon.

Jack holds your hand as you lead him through the small crowd that has gathered by the finish line. The rest of the team is already there, leaning against the barricade, and Derek props Jack up on his shoulders when he gets to the front. He waves his big sign in the air and you grin as he cheers loudly, even though nobody has made it to the finish line yet.

"Do you see him, Uncle Dave?" Jack asks as he starts to get bored.

Rossi peers out across the trail. "Yeah, buddy, I think I do!"

You all turn to see Aaron jogging across the grassy expanse, his running form impeccable (of course). Everyone starts cheering and when he sees you all, a smile crosses his face, his eyes glinting with joy and amusement.

"Running should be illegal," you complain as Aaron pads along a few feet ahead of you, his skin barely starting to glisten while yours is covered in sweat. "How far are we now? We've definitely done at least a half-marathon."

He snorts, checking his fitness tracker. "We're halfway through the second mile."

You groan, slowing to a stop and putting your hands on your knees. "I have no idea how I scored so well on my academy physical. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"How old does that make me?" he asks, the corner of his lips quirking up.

You shake your head, lifting up a finger as you ask for another minute. "If we're talking in terms of physical fitness, you may just be younger than me, Hotchner."

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly before patting your back and nodding. "Come on, let's keep going."

You groan again, this time more dramatically, but you start jogging alongside him, making a genuine effort to keep up. "Okay, so you can run. Well, need I remind you that a triathlon has three events...my money's on the swim taking you out."

His eyes twinkle like bright stars and you have to look away, pretending that the sun's in your eyes. "I think I can handle myself. Besides, I have a much better chance of completing the swim than the bike ride at this point."

"Well," you grin, speeding up a bit to run a few steps ahead, "you know what they say about riding a bicycle!"

"Thank you guys for coming," he says sincerely after hanging his medal around Jack's neck.

"Oh, we wouldn't miss it," Derek grins, smacking him on the back playfully. 

"How do you feel?" Rossi asks.

Aaron sighs, a small grin appearing on his face. "I'll survive."

Jack patters around the group and reaches forward to grab your hand again, and you don't miss the look in Aaron's eyes when you take it. 

The sweet domesticity you wanted. This is it.

Your chest burns with tears and you clear your throat, squeezing Jack's hand and helping him roll up his poster.

"Okay, drinks tonight," Rossi announces suddenly, clapping his hands together. "On me!"

That gives you all another reason to cheer, and you lead Jack to Hotch's car as JJ loops her arm through yours.

Penelope and Derek walk a few paces behind you, arms linked, and Emily, David, and Spencer are deep in conversation about something you probably wouldn't understand.

The team feels like a family again.

Happy tears sting your eyes and you blink them away, hoping no one noticed. But when you look up to find Aaron's car, he's already watching you, and you could have sworn his eyes were glinting too.

***

The whole team is crowded around one booth in the back of the fancy bar that Rossi selected for tonight's celebration. You are squished between Aaron and Penelope, and the conversation has gone from the average running speed of adult males (Reid's idea) to how many shots would you need before you'd be willing to go and dance in front of the whole team (Emily's). 

Your empty vodka tonic is sitting on the table in front of you, condensation dripping onto the dark wood as the ice melts.

"I'm going to get another drink," you announce, before pushing past Hotch and Rossi and slinking up to the bar.

"Can I get a cosmopolitan?" you ask the bartender, who nods at you before turning around to make your drink. 

You drum your fingers against the counter as you wait, but it doesn't take long before a tall, blonde man who looks to be about your age sidles up next to you.

"What are you having?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in a way that you're sure he thinks is seductive.

"I'm already set," you tell him, turning your body away slightly, "but thanks."

"I saw you with your group earlier," he continues as you flash your eyes at the bartender in a signal you hope conveys that you need him to hurry up. "Unless you're with the nerdy one, I'm not sure what the problem is."

"The problem," you explain, your jaw clenching as your drink finally lands on the counter, "is that I'm not interested."

You grab your drink and immediately turn around, but thankfully Emily and JJ have come up to order new drinks too. Clearly outnumbered, the man shakes his head and leaves you alone.

Aaron hasn't taken his eyes off you since you got up from the booth. When a man approached you at the bar, he felt the first inkling of jealousy scrape through his bones, but your body language quickly made it clear that you weren't interested, and that you could handle yourself.

He probably should be a bit more careful with how much he watches you, especially when surrounded by a band of profilers, but sometimes, when the day comes to a close, and he's had a drink or two, his shields fall down and he allows himself a moment to just...pretend.

Pretend that what you feel for each other is something he can act on. Pretend that you are someone he can look for in a bar. Someone he can call his.  

He's lost in his thoughts when David mutters something from next to him.

"What was that?" he asks, turning his head to hear him better.

Dave repeats himself. "It's okay, you know."

Aaron frowns. "What are you talking about."

"What you feel for her...it's okay."

His brow furrows and a pained look crosses his face. They were bound to notice eventually, and he would have had to tell them at some point. If not now, when? "It doesn't feel okay all the time."

Dave sighs, his fingers running over the side of his whiskey glass. "When you're with her...does it make everything else hurt less?"

Aaron shoots him a look that's a mix between confusion and exasperation, but when he thinks about the question, all he can hear in his head is yes, yes, a resounding yes.

Dave must see it on his face, because he smiles and shrugs. "Then how can it be wrong?"

He turns to look at you again, but this time the lights in the bar feel brighter than before. The music sounds clearer and the smile on your face sets his whole chest ablaze.

When you return to the table, you finish your drink, but you don't go back for another. You've noticed Aaron looking at you here and there throughout the night, but you're not sure if it's just your imagination or if you're tipsier than you thought.

The team is laughing around you, and Aaron's thigh feels warm pressed against yours. You haven't been this happy in ages. 

***

After what has easily been the most taxing case of your life, the weekend comes to a close with an evening you have all been waiting for almost as long as JJ and Will have.

"You clean up well," you joke as Aaron walks into Rossi's backyard, where the rest of you are scattered around, talking to the wedding guests.

He's wearing a clean, black tux that fits him perfectly. 

"You think so?" he asks, the ghost of a smirk in his eyes. "You look beautiful."

You smile in response, letting him lead you to the back of the patio, where rows of folding chairs have been set up. He looks better, lighter, than you've seen him in a while. It suits him.

JJ and Will get married in an elegant ceremony that leaves no more than a few dry eyes in the audience, and when they take to the floor for their first dance, you sip your champagne from a table off to the side.

Aaron is watching Spencer do magic tricks in front of the children, and he's wearing one of his secret, dazzling smiles that he only brings out when he thinks no one is watching.

"This seat taken?"

You turn to see Emily's hand on the chair next to you, and you shake your head, smiling as she takes a seat.

"You look wonderful," you tell her, patting her hand on the table. "I'm so glad you're here. You were amazing this weekend. This wedding wouldn't be happening without you."

She laughs, taking a sip of champagne. "I'll be sure to tell Will you said that."

You chuckle, settling into a comfortable silence that is only really possible with people you know as well as you know this team. 

Emily adjusts her dress and you think she's going to get up and re-join the group, but then she takes you completely by surprise. "You should go for it."

You look at her, confused. "Huh?" 

Deep down, you know what she's referring to, but if you can play dumb for a few more moments, you won't miss out on the opportunity.

"You and Hotch. You should go for it."

You open your mouth to respond, but she gets up and leaves you to mull over her words.

When Rossi asks everyone to join the newly married couple on the dance floor, you assume that you'll just hang off to the side with Reid, but then you get your second surprise of the night.

"Care to dance?" 

Aaron holds his hand out, only mostly certain that you will accept. When you take his hand, he's as much relieved as he is pleased, and he leads you out into the center of the clearing.

Your hand finds his shoulder as his slips onto your waist, and you fall into an easy rhythm as you look up at him, a smile on your face. You look radiant under the twinkling fairy lights, and he has to tear his eyes away from you when you lean in closer to rest your chin on his shoulder.

His arms envelope you as your chests press together, your breaths going in and out in unison.

You peer over his shoulder, watching as Derek and Penelope laugh in the corner, and Emily tries to teach Spencer how not to step on her feet. 

"Jack looks happy," you whisper as your eyes land on the children playing off to the side. 

"He is," Aaron agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. After a pause, his head dips down and his cheek presses against your temple. "We are."

***

When the night comes to a close, you are looking for Emily, since she drove you to Rossi's house, but a pat on your shoulder stops you in your tracks.

"I can take you home," Aaron says, his eyes filled with an earnest look that has you nodding before you can even process the offer.

The car ride is nearly silent during the short trip back to your apartment, but when he pulls up in front of your building, you can't bring yourself to open the door.

You can feel a tension in the air, the same one that has been building for years, and for some reason, tonight, you're not scared of it anymore.

"Aaron..." you whisper, turning to look at him, but he cuts you off.

"I love you."

Your breath leaves your lungs and you open your mouth to say it back, but he keeps going.

"I'm not some young player anymore," he says, a breathy chuckle leaving his mouth as he speaks. "I think you know what I feel for you. I think you've known for some time."

You've forgotten how to speak. "I didn't know for sure."

"I know why you never brought it up," he whispers, his voice tight with emotion, "but even though she's gone, I know she wouldn't have wanted me to be alone forever."

None of the words floating around your brain seem good enough, and you can't think, so you just lean forward and kiss him.

His lips are softer than you imagined, and after a moment of indecision, he reaches up and threads his fingers through your hair, holding you against him. The kiss is sweet and it feels like the perfect start to something new and fresh, but then his tongue slips along the seam of your lips, and you gasp, heat shooting down to your core.

"Aaron," you gasp against his mouth, your hands gliding up his chest and over his shoulders. "Let's go inside."

He pulls back momentarily, and there's a small smudge on his lips from your lip gloss.

You throw open the car door and practically speed-walk to the elevators as he follows closely behind you. It takes years to get up to your apartment, but when you finally get the door open, you're on him again, your lips pressing against his and your hands tangled in his thick hair.

A groan rumbles in his throat when you tug slightly, and he grips your waist, moving you back and lifting you onto the couch. 

"You'll tell me if it's too much," he says frantically, his voice low and strained. "If you want me to stop and take it slower, you just have to say it."

You shake your head, pulling him down on top of you. "I've waited for this for years. I'm not going anywhere."

He smiles against your skin, peppering slow kisses down your jaw as your eyes fall closed and pleasure melts down your spine. His hands are firm on your waist, holding you tightly as though he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

Aaron's ministrations are slow and careful, and you quickly become impatient, your body squirming as you implicitly beg for more. You're practically vibrating under him when he lifts his knee and presses into you, his lips moving in unison with his body as he applies a glorious pressure that has you gasping into his mouth.

Where did he learn to do that?

Heat swells in your abdomen and you pull back, your eyes wild and your chest heaving.

"What is it?" he asks, his forehead furrowing. "Are you okay?" 

"I need more," you exhale, reaching down to grab at the hem of his shirt.

You yank open the buttons and slip it over his shoulders, reveling at how beautiful he looks on top of you. When his mouth returns to your chest, you keen against him, your legs pressing together as you try to ward off the pleasure rising inside of you.

Aaron reaches down and tugs the bottom of your dress up, yanking upward until it's over your head. Your hair cascades down, splayed out around your face like a halo, and he can't imagine that any angel would look prettier than you do right now.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts and along your stomach.

The sensation is not enough, but the sheer anticipation of where he's heading has your whole body tingling. 

He takes his time, kissing the soft skin of your inner thighs and working his up around your core until he finally dives in. His hands takes your calves and lift them onto his shoulders as he licks a thick stripe up the center of your cunt.

You writhe against the smooth couch, your hands grabbing onto his hair for some semblance of support as he thrusts his tongue inside of you, his nose bumping against your clit with an infuriating rhythm. 

Aaron moves his tongue with the movements of your body as he painstakingly avoids the one place you are begging for him to go. Your hand tightens in his hair and he groans, creating satisfying vibrations that make you shudder.

Just when it seems like it may never be enough, he laves over you, sucking at your clit with a lewd, wet sound that makes you moan so loudly, you shock even yourself.

He hums with pride and your hips fly off the couch, trying to get closer and closer as you near the precipice of all the pleasure that's been building up. He sucks you into his mouth one more time and you fall over the edge with a strangled cry.

His hands press into your abdomen, trying to keep you still so that he can keep working at you, but pleasure rolls over you as your body spasms below him. You lift your head slightly as you come down from the high, and you see him pushing himself into the couch, his eyebrows pinched in a strained expression.

When the shudders finally abate, Aaron crawls back up your body, a big grin eating at his face. He plants another kiss on your mouth and the taste of yourself on his tongue makes you whimper.

"I want to feel you," you gasp between clashes of teeth, "inside me."

He freezes and you're afraid you may have gone too far, but then he's tugging off his pants and you can't help the small smirk that flashes across your face.

When he's fully bare, your mind goes blank and you move to reach down and take him in your hand, but he just shakes his head, pushing your shoulder back gently to lay you down again. 

The apartment is silent except for low grunts and harsh breathing as Aaron enters you slowly, pushing forward until he is seated fully inside of you. His size is impressive and it takes a few moments for the initial sting to dissolve into white, hot pleasure.

He takes his time to let you get adjusted, but when you grit out a "please, move" he doesn't wait another second. His thrusts start slow, because he wants to work you up until you're writhing beneath him, but when he peers down at you, his breath leaves his body.

You are everything he imagined, and he can feel you everywhere, from the flush of his cheeks to the tingling of his toes. You look like a dream below him, one he never wants to wake up from.

Aaron pushes into you, harder this time, and a barely constrained bliss fills your eyes, a cocktail of desire and hunger mixing to create the greatest possible pleasure he can imagine.

You squeeze around him like a vice grip, and a deep, low sound rumbles in his chest, stuttering his movements.

Your legs shake as he runs his hand up your thigh, before lifting it up and around his waist. The new angle hits a deeper spot inside of you and you let out a moan so beautiful that he can't resist dipping down to press his lips to yours. 

You tighten around him once more and he can tell how close you are, so he speeds up his thrusts, creating a rhythm that has you shuddering against him. You reach your climax a moment later and with you falling apart below him, he thinks that he finally understands what it means to have everything you could ever want.

After a few more thrusts, he spills into you, his arms the only thing holding his body up as all energy flows out of him. He rests his forehead against yours and his breath stutters as he falls onto the couch beside you.

You may be completely spent, but you're not ready to be away from him yet, so you tuck yourself into his arms, practically on top of him as he wraps himself around you.

"I love you too," you whisper, ghosting your lips over his pulse.

Aaron sighs out a breath of contentment and he pulls you closer to him, unable to let go just yet. Emotions that he finally understands rise up inside his body and for the first time in a long time, he lets them wash over him.

This is it. This is what home feels like.

[life-is-more-than-just-a-game]

♠️ How aib males comfort you having your period. ♠️

A/N: So, I got something in my mind because it's literally my time to shine ... maybe this makes me feel a little better. 🫠

Summary: You're fighting for life and death, nobody understands why the streets are empty or how you got to the Borderland in the first place, and as if all that wasn't stressful enough, you also get your period. It feels like anything is possible here, but your body is definitely no exception. On an evening when everyone at the beach is trying to have a good time, you prefer to stay in your room and snuggle up in your bed while you pout to yourself and don't feel like doing anything.

Characters: Aguni, Arisu, Chishiya, Karube & Niragi.

POV: fem!reader

Warnings: Not given.

A g u n i

Not gonna lie, I guess Aguni would be the man a woman would need the most in that time of the moth. I see him as someone who wouldn't be too intrusive but also doesn't make you feel like he doesn't care about you. He knows you well enough to know that chasing you out of bed or out of your room is pointless. As number one, he has to hold the position at the Beach, but that doesn't stop him from at least checking up on you.

And when he finds you in the room, as expected, he prefers to just stand at the door and look at you from there, asking something like:

"Do you need something?" "Are you in a lot of pain?" "Can I do something for you?" "Wanna be alone?"

Aguni is a man. He isn't just a boy anymore who would play down your suffering - your pain - or exaggerate it. Want him to leave? He will. Want him to join you for a moment? He will. Want some cookies or some other snacks and candies? He will bringt them to you.

It's that easy for him, there is nothing to discuss about.

A r i s u

Different from Aguni, Arisu would be the one who is the less experienced in that kind of topic. I can imagine he wouldn't even understand whats going on. So he asks you lots of questions, when he realizes you aren't with your and his own friends but instead lay in bed, impassive.

"Y/N, is something wrong?" "Did something happen?" "Has someone important-?" "I don't understand why you are in such a bad mood. Please, tell me, I can't help when I don't know what's wrong with you."

Let's be honest: yes, in the first place some of us girls and young women would feel a little annoyed by all his questions, but it's not his intention to! So, we shouldn't be such bitches and tell him at least the truth:

"I got my period today and ... yeah, that's it."

He may not have much experience with it, but we all know he's not stupid.

"Well ... I saw a plate of chocolate chip cookies in the lobby earlier. Shall I steal them and bring them up to you?"

Yes, king, please, steal the cookies ... ! 🫶🏻✨

C h i s h i y a

Definitely the most annoying and strenuous of all. Sorry, you know I love you, but you just know too much!

"From a medical point of view, physical activity relieves the pain of cramps." "Carbonated drinks should be avoided. The same goes for drinks with caffeine. This only exacerbates the pain." "Heat can help. And I'm not talking about the warmth provided by your comforter, but by hot water bottles or warm teas, for example - while we're on the subject of drinks."

Good tips, but nothing you want to hear in moments like these. No, really, we won't, darlin'.

"Don't you have anything better to do right now than bother me with your factual knowledge, Chishiya?"

He and Niragi would be the two most likely to awaken the monster in you.

"There are enough days left on my visa." "Means there is enough time to bother you with my factual knowledge."

... At least he takes his time for you and spends his day with you in bed, you can't deny you enjoy this a lot, honey. Neither can I ...

K a r u b e

A mixture of Aguni and Arisu, I think. I don't think he would be that calm like Aguni is and I don't think he would be as lost as Arisu is in that kind of topic. Karube knows that we normally get our period again every month, the only question is how long you've been a couple.

You have to get to know behaviors. Aguni is a man with a little more life experience than most. For him, all kinds of behavioral changes in women are not without reason and are often obvious- but for Karube? Hard to say, but as loyal and optimistic as he is, I think you will have good cards with him at your side.

At least he can see that you're not doing well. The reason doesn't matter at this point, only the fact counts for him and he automatically makes it his goal to see you laughing again, or at least smiling. So, Karube would stay with you in bed, no matter what. Except his visa says he will die tonight, then sorry, we have to let him go for a game ...

Time in bed includes much of cuddles, less talking but much little kisses all over your face, especially when it comes to your forehead and your cheeks. And when you look up to him, he will take the chance putting you a small kiss on the tip of your nose, finally making you giggle a little.

He loves hearing your laugh- most when he is the reason for it.

N i r a g i

I don't know why, but I just can't hate him, help.

The past often plays a major role in how a person develops over the course of their life. Niragi didn't have it easy back then and you are aware of that. But that's also why you're aware that he's not the best person to talk to in cases like this.

You can try to deal with it on your own, but that won't do you any good. And you can't hide anything from him either, which is why he will come up with the idea of visiting you in your room all by himself at some point. When he finds you, he just looks at you in irritation and says things that aren't bad, but in view of your situation … well, let's just say he is not that good with words and he can be happy that you know it.

"Laying in bed all day?" "What's that pout on your face, has someone upset you?" "Come on, let's get moving, the fun is just beginning."

And when you tell him, you are in a bad mood and he should just leave you alone, he is saying something he'll maye regret in just a few seconds ... or minutes ... or never.

"Why are you kicking me out now, are you on your period or-"

Believe me, Niragi IS regreting what he was saying. From that moment on, where you just sat up, gripping one of the pillows next to you, only to immediately throw it at him. Thanks to his reflexes, he is able to catch it- now he is just speechless, staring at you with his mouth, formed as an "o".

"I- ... Gotta get you some snacks."

"You better do, Suguru."

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 23: Presumed dead

CW: Injury, apparent main character death

AO3

---

"You've got no right to talk to Sky that way."

Legend looked up at Twilight's accusing words and scowled at him. "What are you, his mom? If he's got something to say to me, he can say it himself."

"He's not going to because he's too nice, and I get why he doesn't want to fight back, but I'm still telling you you can't talk to him that way." Twilight meant it; he remembered how Midna had been at first and how that prickly exterior had hidden a genuinely good person, but that had been different. Her barbs had been aimed at him. Sky was too easy to bully and Legend's behavior was a thorn in a group that was still finding a way to work together and Twilight didn't know how anyone else tolerated it.

Legend rose slowly to his feet. He was a lot shorter than Twilight, but still stood as tall as he could to try to get nose-to-nose with him. "I'll talk to anyone I want however I want, Rancher. I'm not one of the snot-nosed kids from your backwater village who think you're hot stuff because you're the only person in town who can use a sword properly."

Twilight bared his teeth. "And don't talk about my home or my family that way either!"

"Hey!" Warriors' voice pierced Twilight's awareness and the captain thrust an arm between them. "Break it up, you two."

"Stay out of this, pretty boy," said Legend. "I can fight my own battles. Let's see if the rancher can."

"Legend -" Warriors' voice held a warning note, but Twilight talked over him.

"I can fight my own battles," he snapped. "And I can fight for people other than myself too: something you apparently don't have much experience with!"

"Twilight, that is out of line!" shouted Warriors, now turning to him.

"You don't know anything about my battles," snarled Legend.

"I'm fine not knowing what it's like to attack people who won't hit you back!"

Warriors caught Legend even as he lunged forward with a raised fist. Twilight was grabbed under the arms and dragged back against an armored chest.

"Walk away," snapped Time in his ear, shoving him towards the other side of the camp. He looked downright disgusted and at that look Twilight felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him. He'd just wanted to tell Legend to lay off Sky a bit. He hadn't meant for it to escalate. What had he been supposed to do, just take it when Legend talked about Ordon and its people the way he had?

But there was no use getting back into it now and just looking at Legend - now on the far side of the camp with his back to everyone - made his blood boil. He walked away.

***

Twilight and Legend didn't speak to each other for the rest of the day or the next morning, despite the efforts of other members of the Chain. Legend made no attempt to approach Twilight and Twilight didn't want to be the first to break the impasse either. He wanted an apology. He wasn't the one who had started throwing insults.

Now he bitterly regretted that decision.

As he sat a little way outside camp, staring out at the surface of a small lake, he didn't notice the black monster blood stiffening the fur of his pelt into spikes. He didn't notice the jarred ache in his right arm and shoulder from catching a moblin's club on his shield. All he could focus on was the images flashing behind his eyes.

Sky falling with an arrow buried deep in his thigh.

The moblin raising a claymore over him.

Legend throwing himself in the huge blade's path.

Legend lying pinned to the ground, the claymore through his stomach.

Sky's screamed denials of what was happening. Time's grim expression. Wind crying. Blood on Warriors' and Four's hands as they eased the claymore free. Hyrule's thousand-yard stare as he laid his hands on his best friend's body.

Twilight had gone to patrol and make sure there were no more monsters lying in wait. He couldn't face this. Couldn't face the fact that Legend was… Legend had…

Even the thought couldn't quite form in his mind as he stared out at the rippling moonlight.

They'd made camp. He'd kept patrolling. Talking to nobody, ignoring their stares.

He'd been wrong. And he'd never be able to say so.

"Twilight."

The sound of his nickname startled him so much he almost sprang up, but he managed to restrain himself to just looking round as Time came to sit next to him.

"I've been looking for you for a while," he said softly.

Twilight locked his eyes on the water, unwilling to see the disappointment and anger he knew would be there on the old man's face.

"I can't…" he started. "I just…" The words caught in his throat. "I should have… I should have said I was sorry." The catch turned into a sob and he rubbed his eyes. "He's… he's dead and… the last thing I ever said to him… was that he doesn't know about fighting for other people and he only attacks those who won't hit him back."

Time didn't reply.

Twilight kept talking, bleeding words into the silence as surely as the tears dripped down his cheeks. "He sacrificed himself for Sky and… the last thing I said to him was that he… And now I'll never be able to tell him I'm sorry. That I didn't mean it, I just… I was angry and I lashed out and… and then I waited for him to apologize first and he started it but that doesn't matter, I'm supposed to be the adult and now the last thing I said to him…" Unable to bear it any more, he buried his face in his hands.

After a moment, Time laid a hand shockingly gently on his shoulder. "Twilight," he said softly, "I'm glad you realize this now and I hope it lasts past hearing what I came to tell you."

Twilight looked up, confused.

Time didn't look angry; he smiled a little and continued, "Legend's alive. You didn't stay after the battle long enough to see Hyrule heal him. I came looking for you because he wants to talk to you."

Twilight stared at him for a moment, the world seeming to slow just as it had in those horrible moments as the moblin cut Legend down. "He's… he's alive?" he asked.

Time nodded. "Yes, he's alive."

Then Twilight was on his feet, sprinting back to camp. He barrelled past the others, over to where Hyrule sat by Legend. By Legend, he realized, not his body, caring for a wounded man rather than keeping vigil by a corpse.

"Le-Legend…" he gasped, dropping to his knees and grabbing the smaller hylian's hand. "I'm sorry, I should never have said those things."

Legend snorted. "Damn right. But I was asking for it. I'm sorry too."

Twilight sighed in relief, pressing Legend's hand to his forehead, and smiled as Legend wriggled it free, grumbling under his breath. It showed he was alive. It showed things were back to normal.

[eagna-eilis]

The metaphysical mechanics of Anakin's Force Ghost are the single biggest mystery of the period between RotJ and TFA to me.

If he can Force Ghost, or at least sometimes, then what governs what he can and cannot do, and who he can or cannot speak with?

If he can appear to others the way Obi Wan, Qui Gon, Yoda, and eventually Luke can, it makes very little emotional sense unless something is blocking him.

I like to think that Anakin, in death, had enough respect for Leia not to appear to her. His actions killed her real mam and dad, the people who raised her into a kind, strong person with integrity in every step. He tortured her, he destroyed her homeworld and her culture. He wouldn't be so stupid as to think that a nice father-daughter chat would solve everything.

I like to think that he loves her from an observational distance, and brims with pride at every step she takes for the galaxy that he injured gravely and so nearly destroyed. So like Padmé, her justice-seeking Naberrie qualities nurtured like rare orchids by Bail and Breha, who were themselves so principled and just. Anakin might also see the ways in which she is not like any of the senators or royalty who made her who she is. He might want to take credit for the parts of her that are so brave, so impassioned, so willing to challenge any authority she sees as unworthy or unjust. Obi-Wan told her, when she was very young, that this was her inheritance from Anakin. But Leia doesn't want anything from him, and he understands. So he spends time watching, in grieving pride, at what his daughter became in spite of him.

I also like to think that at a certain point he would have to try, if he could, to intervene in what was being done to her family. In my heart there is no version of a redeemed afterlife Anakin who does not try to save another Skywalker child from what he went through.

He would have tried to materialise, blue-aura-lit and kind eyed, into the living room of a Chandrilla apartment, to try to soothe the terror and discomfort of a tiny child levitating cambiblocks and breaking glass in distress. He has far more experience with child murder than child rearing, but by the Force he'd damn well TRY.

It probably wouldn't work, and I think some of us fans (esp those who love the sequels or those who are more interested in the Skywalkers than the Disaster Lineage as a family) deserve to know why.

Why, in my headcannons, does Anakin spend years trying to send thoughts of 'no kiddo that isn't me, I'm me, your grandpa, and I can tell you that your mom and dad love you so much and that those other voices are full of bantha-poodoo, please trust me, please believe me, please hear me' out through the Force, only for them to never find their way to their intended recipient?

Why can he not appear to Leia and say, 'I know you don't want to talk to me and I don't want you to have to endure the distress of talking to me but it's about your kid. I can't make the past alright, but let me please give you the information you need to stop the cycle repeating'.

Why can't he warn Luke? 'There's a storm coming and the lightning is not natural. You have seen that lightning before, standing right by my side, and it comes from the same source. Our nephew dreams things that are not his own. Consider striking him and you will doom the world, but also our family. Don't let the Darkness guide you, its only goal is to make more Darkness.'

There are several potential answers, of course.

The first is that Anakin can get through but nobody listens. It's a steady stream of 'stay away from my child, stay away from my academy, don't corrupt our future with the evil of the past'. This option reflects negatively on Luke and Leia, but it also feels true to traumatised families. I'm a firm believer in the fact that Luke, Leia, and Han as having unwittingly done poorly by the next generation of their kin does not 'ruin' their characters, it makes them more sympathetic and human, and so it doesn't upset me if this is the option. It's bad parenting and good storytelling.

The most obvious answer is of course, Palpatine. He can block Anakin's access to the likes of Luke, Leia, and Ben. This means that a dead Palpatine is still torturing a dead Anakin. Excuse me while I cry for a thousand years. Now either this means that Palpatine thinks Ahsoka is small potatoes and it doesn't matter if Anakin can see her in the WBW, or that Anakin could only communicate with Ahsoka BECAUSE she could enter the WBW. So, considering that the Ahsoka show takes place after 'Last Shot', it still makes no sense that Anakin doesn't go 'please see what's going on with Leia's kid, I'm worried about her and about her lil guy.'

The third option is the one that I find genuinely upsetting. Not in-world upsetting, but what-are-they-doing-with-our-story upsetting. It's also the one I find the most likely:

DLF in general and Favroni in particular are pushing Disaster Lineage out in front, and trying to sublimate the Skywalkers. I see Ahsoka as Anakin's sister, and I don't think it is inappropriate for him to love her the same way he loves his children, his grandchild, or his brother Obi-Wan. It makes emotional sense for him to reach out to her, and love is not a finite resource.

But a set of wider storytelling choices is highlighting that the most important inheritance of the story is Yoda to Dooku to Qui Gon to Obi Wan to Anakin to Ahsoka to maybe Sabine, or Jacen Syndulla. I feel in some ways that shifting Anakin's attention, or the context in which we encounter him, may give the audience a sense of the greater legitimacy of the Disaster Lineage to the long term future of the galaxy.

I have ZERO problem with this being the thread by which Force training is maintained in the GFFA through the sequels and into the post-sequel era. I prefer it to watching my beloved Rey of Jakku doing it all alone.

I have a HUGE problem with the idea that we may never get more Skywalkers in context with one another. And more importantly, the idea that we really shouldn't care about what happened to them after Return of the Jedi. That the sequels don't matter.

Anakin is the greatest silence in the sequels. I suspect that they didn't get Hayden back because they were still nervous of prequel hate (sweet summer children that they were, not knowing that the penis-brains were gunning for them, too). Many of us hoped that the New Republic Era TV series would inflect upon the ST the way that Clone Wars inflected upon the PT.

So far it really hasn't.

[joylinda-hawks]

I started losing my mind. WOH, episode 9. ZZS and WKX rented rooms at the inn under the Happy Star. ZZS walks around the room and wonders why Tian Chuang is involved in the Glazed Armor case, does Prince Jin want to get it? He wonders why GC hid ZCL. His thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door, ZZS walks to the door and opens it. He discovers that WKX is there and goes inside, followed by waiters carrying the meal. WKX tells ZZS he ordered some great dishes. Looking at the table on which the waiters spread the dishes, the meal looks inviting. WKX enjoys the smell and says the inn's chef is a pretty good cook. ZZS stares impassively at the table, lost in his own thoughts. He realizes he's losing his mind when he can't smell the food, so WKX asks him what he's looking at, adding that the saying goes that whoever has wine should drink it for life. He explains that life is not just three meals and a sleep, and if you can drink wine with someone you like, everything else can wait. ZZS, knowing his physical condition, only smiles sadly. And after a long silence, ZZS adds that WKX finally said something sensible. WKX invites ZZS to sit down and eat while it's hot. WKX eats his meal and drinks wine with relish, ZZS just stares at the glass of wine. WKX says the wine is good and, seeing ZZS lost in thought, asks what he's thinking about. ZZS is silent, WKX insists and asks what ZZS cannot tell him, whether ZZS is worried about ZCL. ZZS replies that he wonders if bringing ZCL into the Five Lakes Alliance was a mistake and drinks wine. WKX accuses him that ZZS is terrible, he has such a handsome face, a good and innocent heart that all girls in the world will go crazy about ZZS. WKX says this with a smile on his face and adds that if he stays in ZZS, no girl will pay attention to him. Finally, WKX asks if ZZS wants to save ZCL and accept him as a student and be responsible for him throughout his life. WKX also asks ZZS, if anything in this world lasts that long? ZZS hears this speech and drinks another glass. This is a fragment of one quite important scene. WKX doesn't realize that the man he cares about is dying. He only had two years left to live. WKX would never guess that someone willingly sentenced themselves to death. Therefore, when talking about women who will be crazy about ZZS or that ZCL can become a disciple of ZZS for life, he does not know that ZZS hurts a lot, it makes him realize that he will not live long. Perhaps that is why ZZS is reluctant to accept ZCL as a student, or perhaps it does not want to accept him to avoid further mistakes. That's why ZZS is silent, firstly because he wonders if Prince Jin wants Glazed Armor and why, and secondly because WKX's words touched him deeply. ZZS doesn't want to tell WKX the truth, so he only talks about ZCL, which he is very worried about. ZZH and GJ have great scenes together, their conversations, gestures and body movements introduce us to the atmosphere of the scenes in which they appear. It would be difficult to imagine other people in these roles.

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐀𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

❏ the state of having mixed feelings or contradictory ideas about something or someone.

❏ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bonten!mikey x fem!reader

❏ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, smut

❏ 𝐰𝐜: 4.2k

❏ 𝐚/𝐧: y'all I'm so fucking proud of this so please lemme know what y'all think🥺

❏ ⚠️: knife kink (actually it’s a sword but u get it), p in v sex, master kink, praise kink, dom!mikey, sub!reader, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy), dirty talk, use of 'bunny', oral sex (fem receiving), light dumbification, rough sex, mating press, cuming inside.

“Please! Just give me more time,” the man pleads, suit wet and disheveled, down on his knees and breathing heavily from the fear of imminent death. By your hand, or rather,  your sword.

You grip the hilt of your Katana calmly, watching as the man continues to beg for his life, offering up exorbitant amounts of money he can't possibly have, otherwise you wouldn't  have been called.

In one movement you cut off what could have been even more groveling, by cutting through his throat impassively with no hesitation.

Blood sprays onto your boots and drips down your blade, as the man falls to the wet ground while clutching his torn throat.

With a flick of your wrist, you shake the blood off the blade before sheathing it.

Should have said all that to Mikey when you had the time. As if Mikey would’ve given him the time of day.

You look up for a moment, waiting for the adrenaline from a fresh kill to dissipate and feeling the rain on your face, washing the blood from your skin. “Miss?” your driver calls out to you, making you finally turn around and walk to your car.

You barely notice your clothing sticking to your skin with how lost you are in your own thoughts.

Thoughts of Mikey.

He met you at your lowest and still took you in. You fell in love with those endless obsidian pools at that first moment and it didn't take long for you to decide that you'd die for them, just to have them gaze down at you, no matter the emotion behind them.

You found yourself lost. In the middle of a vicious power struggle and seemingly useless to every party involved, but still being too much of a nuisance to be left alone.

But he saw your potential and once he set his sights on you, you were already his even before you met him.

It was raining heavily, just like today, the sky so dark you could barely tell it was daytime. A group of boys surrounded you, two of the original six already down for the count as you stood panting and bruised, nose bleeding and hands shaking. But you stared your opponents down as fiercely as you could with a twitching eye from the right hook you took earlier. 

You expected them to laugh at your pathetic state, or make some snarky remark about how it was way too easy to take you down, already celebrating their victory and providing you with an opening in the process.

But it seemed that mindless punks are not quite so mindless anymore, as one kicked the back of your knee, sending you down to the ground on all fours.

Given how talkative they'd been until then, you imagined that this is it—you're about to get beaten to a pulp.

Suddenly, the rain stopped.

Rushed footsteps interrupted your bleak train of thought, making you look up from the wet ground to see a head of blond hair. Your faceless savior kicked the back of a boy’s head, taking him down in one hit, eyes rolled back and motionless on the ground in a second.

You couldn't help but gape, sitting back on your shins, mesmerized by his graceful movements. Maybe that was the concussion talking.

But the moment he stops moving, turning towards you, not even slightly fazed by all the fighting he just did, you catch a glimpse of his face and your heart stops.

Those eyes. So dark and nonchalant but so deep and powerful that a shiver crawls down your spine even though they are not fully focused on you, instead inspecting the men fallen around you.

His cherubic features bring you both envy and wonder, fascinated at how a man could look so beautiful.

You realized his identity upon analyzing his hair, blond and unruly like a lion's mane. And so hard to miss that you immediately know his name from it alone.

Sano ‘Mikey’ Manjiro.

Alone. Without even his loyal mad dog by his side, which seemed nearly as odd as the fact that he just protected you.

You come back to reality when you realize how close he suddenly is, breath fanning over your lips as he inspects your bruises, smiling when the haze falls away from your hues.

 And fuck, if you wouldn't do anything for that smile and those heart-meltingly gentle eyes.

You can confidently say you've been in love since that moment, standing beside him as his sort-of number three still to this day. But Mikey's always been a hard man to read.

You clearly mean a lot to him, he's told you as much before. But never in a million years would that seemingly innocent four-letter word leave his mouth seriously, especially not in your direction.

You'd hazard a guess that it's because he believes that everything he loves dies, but that might just be you fooling yourself.

Even still, he treats you like an equal, the same as every other Bonten executive. 

Everywhere but one place.

The heavy door shuts loudly behind you, echoing through the large, opulent penthouse. Mikey's house.

Though you spend so much time here, it might as well be yours too.

You take off your soiled shoes, putting them away to be dealt with later, then doing the same with your coat.

Walking towards the bedroom with your sword in hand, you're reminded of the near suffocating silence of the residence when lacking the presence of the other boisterous and colorful Bonten executives.

If you weren't so used to Mikey's quietness, you would've thought the place to be empty.

As you reach the bedroom, all you hear is the harsh rain against the windows while gazing at the back of Mikey's head, dark tattoo standing out against his pale skin and even paler hair.

He doesn't say a word to you, but you don't take it to heart, not with how things have been going lately. So you set your weapon aside against the wall to clean later and move to the bathroom to wash off.

As the pitter-patter of the shower water replaces the rain, you once again let your mind wander to the reason why you're seemingly walking on eggshells around your adored boss.

You don't know exactly what it is, which makes you almost terrified, considering Mikey is so used to confiding in you about anything and everything.

He trusts Sanzu with his life, he's never met someone so blindly loyal, but the man is emotionally stunted, to say the least.

So late at night when his thoughts plague him and threaten to drag him down into that deep, inescapable darkness, Mikey turns to you—his adoring confidant.

It started with just your body, after one too many comments and assumptions by Ran about how he's so sure that you're not quite as dominant in the bedroom as you are out on the field, you were ready to prove him wrong and show the self-absorbed pretty boy what a woman could really do. Until Mikey stopped you. He quietly and gently calmed you down and turned you away from falling right into Ran's trap.

Instead he led you away to talk, just like usual. Normally you talked about his trauma, the people he's lost, the stress of being head of Bonten. But that day, he told you about his personal relationships, how he never confided in anyone as much as you and the last thing he wanted was for Haitani Ran of all people to take you away.

"Do you believe what he said?" You turn towards Mikey sharply, encouraged by the long silence, the alcohol, and all the yearning piled on after all these years.

"I don't care what he said. Why?" he responds honestly, if not bluntly, just like usual. Mikey is not one to hold back his opinions, not from you.

"Do you think about me like that?" Your words are nearly carried away by the wind passing through the balcony with how quiet you speak them, suddenly meek after all that fire.

Mikey smirks, turning towards you. "Do you want me to?"

Your wide, hopeful eyes turn to his piercing dark blues. You couldn't care at that moment how vulnerable you were being. Not when the man you've been so desperately longing for for so long, is finally giving you an opening. 

"Yes."

And just like that, you found yourself by Mikey's side in a whole different way.

He never tried to fool you with pretty words or unnecessary soft caresses. Mikey is a hard man to love, and to bed.

But luckily, you're both very good at ignoring your blatantly obvious feelings in fear of tearing apart the balance carefully crafted over the years of essentially acting like stress balls to each other.

You throw on what must be one of Mikey's shirts and walk back into the bedroom, to find the man himself eyeing you attentively.

You have no reason for it, but you feel like prey. Like an animal corner by a vicious predator. And all because of those eyes, they're intensity and the aura he exudes mostly because of them, as he covers half his face with his arm which rests on his propped knee.

You stand in front of him, silent as you wait for him to speak, "You're late. Why's that?"

You blink, "I must've lost track of the time," you admit.

Suddenly, a cold hand brushes against your cheek, urging you closer and onto your knees in front of his chair to make the movement easier.

He traces lines over your features, light and mindless in direction, "I was almost worried."

You blink up at him, giving a close-lipped smile, "You know there's no need for that." as you lean further into his touch like a cat with its master.

"Nevertheless, I'm glad to finally have my pet by my side again." He purrs, running his delicate fingers through your hair. "I missed you."

Before you can say it back, his lips are on yours, plump but dry and torn from him biting them when not munching on Dorayaki.

Your eyes fall closed easily, reveling in this rare act of affection, kissing him back feverishly.

Mikey parts from your lips slowly, smiling softly at the way you chase after him. "You wanna be good for me?"

You nod, body relaxing at his soft, entrancing tone. His finger then runs over your bottom lip, "You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?" he asks quietly as if he's talking to himself.

"Sit on the bed." You move to do as he orders softly, sitting on the edge of the bed as you watch for what he does next. Mikey gets up from his chair leisurely, looking around the room for a moment.

He does this often during your nightly activities, teasing you by moving slower despite the fact that you know he could knock out a man twice his size in a second.

His piercing eyes settle on your sword, lips twitching into a smirk before moving towards it.

Your heart stutters as he picks it up carefully, drumming his fingers along the sheath while he moves towards you. "You want to prove it?"

Eyes drifting between the deadly weapon and his roguish grin, you think it over. This situation is not new, not completely, but it is a recent development and it still makes your heart speed up in part fear, part adrenaline.

Finally, you respond, "Yes." Mikey gives you a look that spells a warning, "Master." you add. He lets out a pleased hum.

He slowly unsheathes the Katana, carefully as if caressing your body. Which considering how dear to your heart that sword is to you, he might as well be. The weapon gave you strength to stand tall above the rest, just like Mikey.

He twirls it around in his hand for a moment, adjusting his grip as he's not used to this sort of weapon, preferring the reliable strength of his kicks or the pinpoint accuracy of a gun.

He's far enough away that you can't touch him, but the quickening rise and fall of his chest tells you everything. The adrenaline just from anticipation alone is getting to him as much as it's getting to you, and he hasn't even turned the blade in your direction.

The sharp tip comes to rest beneath your chin, you can't reach for him to ground yourself, so all you can do is take it, just like always.

"Do you trust me?" He asks, hand stock-still until you answer, "Yes," breathlessly.

The gentle fondness in his eyes fades for a moment, replaced with something cold and menacing, before he begins sliding the blade down in-between your breasts, cutting open your dress shirt in the process.

His accuracy is near perfect considering he's not very used to using a bladed weapon.

Mikey smiles upon seeing your bra, black and lacy, his favorite. He then slides the Katana back up your torso, watching closely as goosebumps appear on your skin at the feeling, much like a sharp fingernail.

"Are you afraid of me?" He whispers, continuing to absentmindedly move the cool blade over your exposed skin. "No."

He stops moving suddenly, keeping the iron pressed to your skin, before crouching in front of you, "Then what do you feel for me?"

Your eyes widen in panic, you can't possibly answer that honestly, even if there is a sword to your heart right now.

Mikey's aura alone sends a shiver right down your spine no matter what, aiding in creating his larger than life persona, but his energy is so dark and heavy that you're not sure he's joking with how intensely he's staring you down.

"Kidding." He says with a smile, giggling softly at your momentary trepidation, but without all the joy from when he was younger.

He places the sword away from himself on the ground as you let out a relieved sigh.

"I was just testing you, I would never make you admit something like that to me. I just wanted to see if you would." He tells you, dead serious, as he holds your chin softly in his fingers.

He can't help but admire your cute expression for a moment: big, adoring eyes looking up at him as if he's hung the stars in the sky himself and an adorable pout on your lips. He kisses it softly, licking across your bottom lip before pecking it and pulling away.

Gathering all the courage possible, you grasp his loose shirt tightly, delighting in his adorably shocked expression, before pulling him back against your lips harshly. As they lock once more, Mikey's movements become more aggressive, fueled by unparalleled lust as he takes command of the kiss.

Suddenly, he's all over you, his nearly suffocating aura surrounding you as he places a knee between your against your rapidly heating center through your pants, while his hands bury in your hair and grope your chest through your bra.

You're left whimpering, fists clenched in his shirt as you attempt to not get swept away by the wave of quickly mounting pleasure.

When Mikey pulls away, your lips are left swollen and spit-slick from the sloppy kiss, some of your own saliva dripping down your chin, which he wipes away with a smile.

"Look at you. So messy already. Just how I like you." He places a sweet kiss on your cheek while pushing his knee harder against your pussy. You bite your lip, resisting the urge to grind against it.

Discarding your ruined shirt and taking off your bra, Mikey shoves you back against the mattress. His nimble fingers undo the button on your pants before pulling them down.

"Matching. Just for me? Did I miss a special occasion?" He asks, tracing his finger over the edge of your dark panties and down the damp spot in the middle.

He clearly isn't waiting for an answer as he presses his thumb right on top of your puffy, attention hungry, clit which makes you inhale sharply.

"How about I make you even messier."

He starts licking your pussy through your panties, quickly making the fabric stick to your lower lips. "Please, master. I need you." You sigh, hips grinding up against his mouth.

Before you can even process the words that just came out of your mouth, let alone realize you're not meant to speak them, Mikey's pale hand squishes both your cheeks, making your lips pucker as he gazes down at you mercilessly.

"You trying to tell me what to do?" His tone is cold and dangerously low, it along with his harsh grip brings tears to your eyes and a whimper from your throat. "N-No, master."

He grips your face even harder, urging your lips farther apart, leaning over you, gathering saliva in his mouth before opening it and letting it drip down to yours. “Swallow.”

You do as he orders after he releases your cheeks, smoothing your messy hair appreciatively, “My messy bunny.”

The nickname gives you a clue on his mood—he only uses it when he’s feeling particularly soft, probably why his punishment happens to be so mild today.

Pleased with the ditsy haze over your eyes, Mikey kisses down your body, pausing to lick and suck on your nipples. His plump lips wrap around one bud while pinching the other rather roughly with cold fingers, making you arch your back at the mix of pleasure and pain, hot and cold.

A high-pitched moan is pulled from within you along with a deep sigh, which makes Mikey’s deep, black eyes turn to you, doubling his efforts in appreciation. Your nails dig into his lean arms through his thin grey shirt as he does, “Master.” being choked out along with it.

“Let me hear you, bunny. I bet Sanzu or Kokonoi are still in the building, I want you to be so loud that they can hear you.” He pulls your panties down as he speaks lowly, “So loud they know how cute you sound for me. How easily you let yourself go to please your master.”

Your lids flutter as a string of slick sticks to your panties as he pulls them away. “So dirty.” He chides playfully with a smirk, tossing the soaked piece of fabric away.

He grips your thighs apart as far as possible, eyeing your pussy like he’s starving and you’re his next meal, even licking his lips before softly pecking your clit, being rewarded with your cute little gasp.

He dives in and instantly your mind goes blank from it all. The overwhelming warmth of his mouth over the entirety of your cunt as he makes out with it, fast and sloppy while his nose nudges your clit. His spit covers all of you, mixing with your slick and sliding down to your ass.

And his sounds, pornographic to say the least—the lewd slurping, the sharp gasps for air as he does himself in your cunt, the shameless groans he releases from your taste alone.

"Taste so good, bunny." He sighs eagerly, barely giving himself more than a second to breathe before he's lapping up all of your sweet nectar while his nose stimulates your clit.

You're losing it above him, feet curling with the urge to close your legs, back arching as the pleasure continues to grow stronger, hands twitching at your sides, wanting so bad to bury them in his hair instead of gripping the sheets but not having permission to do so.

Upon seeing your hand movements out of the corner of his eyes, Mikey grabs hold of your hands and does what you'd been so expectant for, buries them in his short, platinum hair and lets out another, deeper groan when you tighten your grip.

He finally inserts two fingers in, all at once, making you gasp for air while pushing his mouth deeper against your now throbbing clit. He scissors his fingers, spreading you for his cock as you moan and whimper.

His lips wrap around your clit, sucking it harshly while your legs shake, keening loudly, feeling your high getting closer, "Master, please don't stop! I'm so close."

His onyx hues turn to yours, watching you closely as your brows furrow, lips parted around endless, stuttering moans, hips undulating against his lips, before your back tenses up as you trap his between your thighs.

His fingers keep nudging against that spot even after you cum, dragging your orgasm out to the point where you're shaking in overstimulation, but unable to do anything about it as you know that you're just meant to take it like a good bunny.

Pleased with the stuttering, shaking, drooling mess he's reduced you to, Mikey pulls away, kissing you gently while brushing your hair back, "My perfect bunny."

His words are nothing new, but the spark in his eye seems somehow different than usual, in a way you can't begin to understand in your already fucked out state.

He finally pulls his shirt off over his head to show his pale skin, corded with lean muscle which you run your fingers over breathlessly.

After discarding every piece of clothing, he settles on his knees between your legs, pumping his cock a few times with the hand covered in your slick. "I need you to do something for me, OK?"

You nod, nails scratching his scalp and smiling when he happily leans into your touch. He grasps your legs by the back of your knees, pushing them against your chest, "I need you to hold them here for me, alright?"

You do as he asks, fingers digging into your own flesh as he lines himself up with your entrance. Your body tenses up as he begins sliding the tip in, hard to take even after all this time and prep, so he stops for a moment when feeling your walls tighten around his cock, "Fuck, you're always so tight, bunny. Like you were made for me and only me. I'm the only one that can make you feel this good, don't you forget that."

You nod repeatedly, surprised when he suddenly thrusts forward the moment your walls relax around him, nearly bottoming out in one go. He lowers his head against your chest, wrapping his lips around your nipple, massaging it with his tongue.

He finally rests his hips flush against yours, curved cock hitting right against that delicious spot and grinding, making your eyes roll back as your jaw drops at the simultaneous friction on both your clit from his pelvis and your sweet spot from his tip.

“M-Master!” You mewl, pouting up at him with tears in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, “What a pretty bunny, already cock dumb, huh? You look so much better drooling for my cock.”

His thrusts are relentless, slamming against your cervix every few times as you push your legs farther back against your chest. Your chest bounces from his thrusts under his body, which squishes the flesh against your thighs.

With your legs over his shoulders, Mikey leans forward to kiss your lips slowly, not at all matching his animalistic pace, panting into your open mouth that can't seem to close around an endless string of moaning and mewling, "Manjiro."

"W-What?" The fact that you're currently getting fucked dumb and Mikey doesn't stop to speak makes it difficult to process what he just said.

"Call me Manjiro. Let everyone know who's fucking you stupid." That's certainly new, but the deep groan of his words makes you want to obey him no matter what he asks of you.

The unspoken dynamic of your relationship usually leans on the fact that no one knows just how submissive you are for Mikey and how fond he is of you. He's always been a possessive man, but a silent one, never leaving hickeys where they'll be seen, barely doing it at all sometimes, not spending time with you outside of work besides your sexual encounters and so on. So the sudden possessive and personal nature of his demand greatly surprises you.

Without you noticing, two of his slender slide down until they meet your clit, rubbing it in tight circles, "M-Manjiro!"

The last of your orgasms is the most powerful of all, eyes rolling back, tongue lolling out of your mouth as he thrusts three more times before reaching his own end, filling you up to the brim with a long, deep moan.

Breathing heavily, the both of you take a moment to gather yourselves, putting your legs down on the mattress while Mikey keeps his head down, still buried inside you.

"I haven't let anyone call me that in years." He admits, head still down, after his breathing evens out. Your brows furrow, “Then, why...?”

“I want you to be the only one."

[babylooneytoonz]

Defender - Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: The first time Geralt sees you, you are defending someone else's honor. He likes it secretly but doesn't say anything. The second time he sees you, you are defending his honor, and he can't help but finally decide to talk to you.

Warnings: Just some fluff I wanted to try my hand at, and a lot of language warnings [Explicit language]

[ My Masterlist ]

It wasn't unusual at this point of the hour for the pitchers of ale to keep overflowing as villagers prefered more ale than bread— your own bread lay untouched on the table in front of you, but the pitcher of ale was empty, not a drop of ale left for you to swallow.

"More ale?" The bard joked, as he sat down in front of you, teasing you with his own pitcher of ale that was brimming full. You took a glance at it, licking your lips in excitement, before you ghosted a look at him and squinted your eyes, glancing at him.

"I prefer getting my own, bard." You gave him a smile, far from tight-lipped, but distant enough for him to understand that you were not looking for something more than friendship. He smiled, batting his lashes as he eyed you through his blue eyes and moved to the other end of the tavern where his white haired friend who didn't like being addressed as his friend sat, and he was immediately greeted by his trademark grunt.

"I saw it, Jaskier." Jaskier couldn't believe his eyes, the Witcher was indeed smirking at him, without even trying to mask it with a veil of impassivity.

"Saw what?" Jaskier asked, now curious, as he leaned forward, letting his elbow rest against the table and brought the pitcher up to his lips.

"The great bard gets rejected." Geralt said in a low voice, his words ending with an amused scoff from his end and Jaskier opened his mouth, his jaw almost dropping.

"That wasn't— that wasn't rejection. I didn't even attempt anything with her yet." The bard protested, and Geralt nodded, amused as he brought up his drink to his lips and downed the contents of it in one go.

"Right, Jaskier. Shall we move on?" Geralt didn't even try to hide the amusement that he was feeling, feeling even more amused at the way the bard was handling the rejection, or whatever it was. But the fun was over for the night, and the two had to make a move as they had to get to the next city by before dawn.

The two of them tumbled out of the tavern, more like the bard did, swaying to his right and left as he sang a song that was now beginning to bring Geralt back into the sour mood he always was in, but he chose not to comment on it. This was more so because his eyes were fixed on a timid boy, not more than fifteen perhaps, as a man thrice his age stood towering over him, writhing in rage as he screamed at him, chastising him.

"Is that the kind of hay you decide to feed my steed? I paid you a satchel full of coin for this? Give it back, I say." Geralt was sure that the man was drunk, and this was one of the things he absolutely detested amongst the humans, the things they did under the spell of their drunkenness.

"But, this — this is the best hay we've got. What more can I possibly —" The boy tried to rationalize with him but Geralt could see it that the man was far from understanding. He thought of intervening, but then, he didn't want to start another fight. And then, there was the fact that they had to be in the next village by dawn or else someone else will put their hands on his bounty.

"You think you are going to get away with this, lad? I'm going to make sure you get thrown out. You don't deserve a single shilling—"

Geralt's eyes shone with a sudden anger, his nose twitching as he took a step towards the man the minute he grabbed the boy from his collar and yanked him away. However, before he could teach him a lesson, someone else had beat him to it.

"What do you think you are doing?" You stepped in at the exact same time, grabbing the man's beefy paw that held on to the scared boy's collar, your nails digging into his flesh that forced him to draw his palm away.

"This is none of your business, whore. Why don't you go back in and look for men who are actually interested in you?"

The look that you gave him was like death, your eyes narrowed dangerously as you began literally barking out at him.

"If you really cared about that steed, you would have stayed to ensure what he was being fed, but why would you? You were more interested in fillin' up that humongous belly with more ale. Trust me, that tunic looks like it won't be able to contain that belly much longer."

Geralt couldn't help but give you a side smirk as he moved on to pull Roach out of the stables, his back now turned towards the conversation that was playing out behind him. The boy had managed to escape and he rushed towards Geralt to assist him with bringing the mare out but Geralt stopped him, handing him another ten coins from his pouch.

"It's okay, boy. Go on home and have a nice supper tonight. You've earned it." The boy smiled wide, quickly pocketing the extra ten that he had earned, his excitement evident from the flicker in his eyes. He was about to run off when Geralt grabbed his arm lightly that forced him to turn back and look up at the white haired man. "Who's that, boy?" He asked, pointing towards you.

"That's [Y/N], the blacksmith's daughter. Her father's one of the best around here in Temeria."

"Hm," He watched as the boy scampered off, and he began walking away towards where Jaskier was already waiting for him, by the road, holding Roach's reins in his hands, when your voice reached his ears again, forcing his attention towards it.

"There you go. That's what you paid the poor boy, didn't you? Five coins? There's six in there. I added one extra. Now fuck off, and don't show your face around here, or the next time, I'm going to ask father to have your head with the next sword he makes."

Geralt turned around, watching as the grumbling man left, but you kept standing your ground, watching him until he was out of sight. You turned slightly, and your eyes met the Witcher's, as he was walking away, before you walked off again, paying no heed to him whatsoever.

"What took you so long?" Jaskier chirped, his lute held protectively at his chest like a cradled baby.

"Roach got a little too comfortable." Geralt replied, stroking the mare's side as the two started walking down the road that led to the outskirts of the village and Roach whinnied in protest, bumping her head against Geralt's side as if in her own language trying to tell Jaskier how blatantly the Witcher had lied and put the blame on her— a poor animal that couldn't speak.

"Are we going through Temeria again?" Jaskier asked as the two of them entered the familiar city of Brugge again, just after a span of ten days. Both the men were covered in gore, but Geralt didn't seem to care. And Jaskier, he was too enraptured in watching the Witcher strike the Harpy right through her heart to even protest.

"Yes, Jaskier. I would really like a bath, I don't know about you." Geralt grumbled, in his low, brooding voice and the bard chuckled.

"What are you insinuating? You could have just asked if you wanted me to rub soap on your lovely bottom."

"Jaskier—" Geralt's dry warning was enough for the bard to shut up, only for a few seconds before he started blabbering on another topic instead. But lucky for Geralt, he had learnt by now the art of tuning out the bard when he really didn't want a headache.

The two of them entered the tavern, but Geralt frowned when they were not greeted by the ignorance that they had been greeted with here the last time he had stepped into this city. He frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he began to walk up to the owner of the tavern when three villagers stumbled towards him, blocking his way.

"What the fuck is your kind doing here again, eh? And fuck, you smell like shit."

The men sized up to the Witcher, glaring him in the eye. Maybe they were the dumbest people you had ever seen, from the corner where where you were sitting at, watching the scene unfurl, or maybe they were just too drunk to realise that the Witcher could snap their heads like a twig of a branch. And no one would even shed a tear for them. And rather, would be celebrating at the riddance the Witcher would have given them.

"Oh we don't mean any harm, we are just looking for rooms." Jaskier had only begin speaking, when one of the men cut him off.

"Brugge has no rooms to offer this mutant son of a bitch."

Geralt growled, his eyes sparkling underneath the lighting of the tavern, and eyed the other villagers looking at them, waiting for the Butcher of Blaviken to strike.

"Let's go Jaskier."

"But Ger—"

"I said let's go." The Witcher turned around, leaving behind him a patch of Harpy blood where he just stood seconds back, but someone grabbed his wrist.

"Jaskier, can you—"

Geralt snapped, ready to jerk his arm away and he angrily turned towards the bard only to realize that he was too far from him to have held his hand. His eyes fell to his wrist, noting the feminine hand that held him, fearlessly. He looked up to realize that it was you, [Y/N], the big mouthed, yet intriguing Ironsmith's daughter.

"Who decides that? The two of you? When you can't even see that you've so clearly pissed your pants?" Your bold words caused a sudden ripple of laughter to emerge through the crowd and the spectators who were just sitting a few minutes back watching the drama unfurl. This was the ficklemindedness of the human race, and wherever Geralt went, this ficklemindedness followed him. It was when a chuckle erupted from beside him from Jaskier that he realized that he had zoned out. The two men in their drunken state had indeed pissed their pants when they had been speaking to Geralt. Their faces turned a bright crimson, partly with rage, and partly with embarassment as they darted out of the tavern.

You let go off Geralt's wrist, slowly turning to him with a faint smile playing against your lips and nodded before you turned towards the owner, "Two rooms, Thiagu, on me. Can you get someone to draw their baths?"

"You don't have to be everyone's savior." Geralt finally spoke, breaking the silence between the two. You lowered your head, just to regard him better before your lips contorted into a jolly smile and you shook your head, "So you've heard about my tales. You can ask your friend to write a song on me." The two of you gave the bard a look who was already being escorted by the owener towards one of the rooms, as Geralt grunted.

"Your blood must be thicker than the rest, men seem to piss in their pants at the sight of you." He commented, and you couldn't help but snort this time.

"Nah, Witcher, that must be you. The saviour of the human race, the slayer of monsters and the man that makes another man piss their pants."

Before Geralt could come up with a reply, the owner of the tavern called out, informing the two that the room was ready and a bath for Geralt had been drawn.

"Well, Witcher. That's your cue. And mine as well. I've got to resume my nightly watch, you never know who might need me to save their honor."

You smiled, noticing how Geralt's eyes flew from your eyes to your lips, just for a split second before they fixed on your orbs once again. The Witcher smiled, and he swore to the Gods, if Jaskier had been around, he would have written a song on it, how a woman was able to make the brooding Witcher smile.

"If you need a new sword, or a new dagger, you know where to find the blacksmith, that's where you will find me." You smiled, unbeknownst to you that Geralt already knew who you were.

He was going to get a new dagger maybe, not because he needed one, but because Jaskier could use one, and then there was the fact that he was already looking forward to seeing you again.

"I'll take your leave now, Geralt. You really do need that bath." You winked, bowing in a dramatic way as you began taking slow backward strides towards the exit of the tavern and he kept looking at you, his mouth curved into a side smirk.

Before the next second, you were out of sight, and Geralt walked up the flight of stairs, following the owner of the tavern, and all he thought of was that he needed to convince Jaskier on how he needed to keep a dagger on him, for safety and protection.

A/N - Ugh, well. I was gone for a while, but I thought I would write something and it's been ages. This is my first Geralt of Rivia work, and I would really love some feedback so I can aim to write more for this fandom in the future. 💗

[rikumorimachisgirl]

Title: Eyes on you

Pairing: Shaw x You

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2,901

A/N: You (Y/N) are not the MC in MLQC. This is a plunny that's been bugging me for quite a while, I had to write it. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own MLQC or its characters, but I do own the concept of this fic.

There were a few mysteries in this world that the esteemed Archeology Graduate Professors at Loveland University can't explain - for instance, the formation of the Stonehenge, the exact location of the lost city of Atlantis, the origin of the Nazca lines… and your presence at the Metro Art Gala dressed to the nines, positively gleaming as you strode arm in arm with your classmate and Thesis partner Shaw, who seemed like the perfect gentleman that evening. Thanks to your work at the Loveland Museum, you scored two invites to the gala featuring the recently discovered works of a well-known artist - an event any Archeology fanatic wouldn't let pass. The two of you walked along with LFG's Exhibition Hall, pausing occasionally to admire one of the recently discovered sculptures by the Renaissance artist D'Romani. As you both looked at the intricacies of the artwork in front of you, your charming companion would lean in slightly and whisper something in your ear, causing you to roll your eyes or stifle a giggle. 

To the guests in the prestigious gala, the two of you looked like two young people at the cusp of falling in love, but the members of the Faculty of the Graduate School of Archeology saw it differently - this was a real-life mystery if they'd seen one. 

As your eyes swiftly swept through the entire room, you could see that your professors only had one question in mind - how'd this happen? How did two people as different as day and night, who argued with each other throughout Graduate studies, end up amiably enjoying each other's company tonight? 

You drew a sharp breath and sighed. The answer was simple: Your Thesis defense was right around the corner. You needed him to cooperate, you were willing to go to great lengths to make it happen. And your Thesis partner (unfortunately) was ready to take full advantage of the situation. 

***

"Tell me why we're doing this again, " you said through the door that separated you and your date, as you were putting on the dress you bought (or invested on, as he casually stated) for tonight's gala, which he insisted on attending with you. It was six in the evening on a Friday, and you had just arrived home after cramming your workload at the Loveland Museum and foregoing your meal breaks just so you could leave work at exactly five-thirty. 

"I already told you a couple of times - you want me to cooperate with you so you can pass our Thesis, and I need a reason to be around her," the purple-haired man waiting at the other side of your bedroom door called out nonchalantly. "You can drop your fantasy about me asking you out because I'm attracted to you."

You hissed silently at his snarky remark and counted to ten. You haven't even left your apartment yet you already wanted this night to be over. "How do you even know she's gonna be there?"

She - the Miracle Finder Producer, the object of your Thesis Partner's fantasies, and as fate would have it, his brother's girlfriend. 

"They're doing a show featuring our Thesis adviser. Didn't he tell us about it during our last consultation?" He asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I wasn't listening," you shot back, as you took off your ponytail and started styling your hair with your curling iron. You chose a one-shoulder fitted black dress that stops right above your knees, so you thought of wearing your hair down for a change. 

"Ah, yes. You were too busy looking at your notes, trying to prove me wrong as always."

You closed your eyes, as you continued to make big beach waves and prayed to the gods you wouldn't commit murder tonight. 

"How much longer are you gonna take?"

"Excited much?" You asked, smirking while you now removed your glasses and put on your contacts. "You sound like a teenager excited to see his crush in a school fair!"

"Don't compare me to you!" 

"I don't have designs on anyone in the party," you called back. "Unless your brother's attending the event, that is. From what you've been telling me, he seems like a great guy."

Silence. You arched an eyebrow as you strained your ear to listen for any sign of life outside your bedroom door. What must your grunge-rock skater boy-turned-date-for-the-evening be thinking? 

"Do you want to pass our Thesis or not?"

You struck a victory pose at his remark. Finally, one point - you, Shaw - about twenty. 

"Are you done yet? This suit is really uncomfortable. Damn, why do people even wear these?"

"Because they're decent?" You shot back. "You know, you can always go home if you're not comfortable in your attire because when we get there, you need to act decent, too. Can't have your usual swagger in a formal affair."

"Just hurry it up already!"

You rolled your eyes as you applied your nude-colored lipstick to finish off your look before putting on your black stilettos, and stuffing your phone, wallet, and your makeup in your purse. 

"All done," you replied, as you finally emerged from your room. 

***

A part of you wished that the dynamics between you and Shaw were different. While he was a pain in the neck, and too carefree for his own good, you also thought he made for a good intellectual sparring partner, quite attractive, and it was hard to deny that he's got your heart beating double-time whenever he got too close for comfort like he was at that very moment. 

"My, you two kids seem to be having fun tonight."

You gasped, at the sound of the voice behind you, and you felt your date nudge you ever-so-subtly while straightening.

"Hey, Professor Adler," he said in his usual unruffled tone, his lips stretched into a smirk as he held his hand out to your Anthropology professor and Thesis adviser, who watched you both amusedly. His gesture made your eyes shot wide open, you thought they'd fall right off. Shaw shaking someone's hand? That's one for the books. 

"Shaw. Fancy seeing you here," the stout middle-aged man greeted while shaking your date's hand. "This isn't your usual scene though."

"Yeah, I know, but I can't exactly turn a pretty lady down, can I?" 

"I can see that," your professor said as he looked at you appraisingly. "Well, well, you clean up well, Miss (y/n)."

You fought the urge to squirm at the older man's words when you heard your date cluck his cheeks with his tongue and suddenly felt his arm around your shoulders, pressing you protectively close to his side. 

***

"All done!" You happily announced as you stepped into the living room of your small apartment where your date was impatiently waiting for you. 

You could've sworn he was stunned for a second or two before he shook his head and tried to regain his usual impassive expression. Finally, he stood and walked closer to assess you better. 

"You're not wearing your glasses. I thought you said you're practically blind without them?" 

You cocked your head to one side. Out of all the things he could've complimented or called out, that's the first thing he noticed? 

"Wouldn't it look awkward if I wore glasses to a formal event?"

"Your hair is all curly," he continued as if you didn't say anything. "And your shoes are so tall, won't you trip? Also, surely you have a jacket to go with that dress, right?" 

You stared at him in disbelief. Why did this carefree, bass-playing skater boy turn into your dad all of a sudden? 

"Uh…"

"Well, at least you're not wearing red lipstick. You don't have to try too hard to look sexy. Geez! I've got plans of my own this evening, so don't expect me to be your bodyguard," he continued to mumble as he circled around you. Before long, you felt something warm and heavy on your shoulder. His coat?

"It's just until we get to the venue," he shrugged as he led you to the car he borrowed for tonight. "I don't want people seeing you freeze to death."

You sighed, your shoulders slumped as you followed your date to the car. You already expected he wouldn't throw you a compliment for looking like a proper human tonight, and you cursed yourself for feeling gutted over it anyway. 

 ***

"So, which one of these sculptures did you like best, Professor?" You sighed in relief as Shaw changed the subject, his arm still wrapped around you, making you blush furiously. 

"Oh, I have to say I liked Eros and Psyche best. In case you haven't seen it yet, it's located a little further down the hall near the bar area," the older man was starting to explain when someone tapped his shoulder from behind. 

"Excuse me, Professor Adler," a gentle voice called out, making both the professor and Shaw jump. From behind the old man, a pretty petite with brown hair and big brown eyes, and the biggest smile on her face stepped up. "My name is MC from Miracle Finder."

Almost immediately, Shaw withdrew his arm around you, almost causing you to stagger backward. He straightened up and feigned disinterest. 

"Hey. It's a little rude how you stepped in while I was talking to the Professor," he said, his tone teasing. 

"Oh, I didn't notice you here. Do you mind if I talk to your Professor? We've invited him for an interview about the exhibit," the girl said sweetly. 

Based on how unconsciously coy she acted around Shaw, and the way he kept egging her, there was no doubt that this was the girl he was crushing on. You felt like the odd person out all of a sudden and needed to step away. 

You backed away slowly, careful not to rouse their attention because it would probably suck if you knew how Shaw would introduce you to his little crush. As soon as you were in a safe distance, you turned and walked aimlessly down the hall, pausing briefly at paintings or sculptures that caught your fancy, looking at its intricacies as you did so earlier. But somehow, it wasn't as fun as it was before, so you moved on quickly, to give way to the other guests who also wanted to view the artwork.

Finally, you came upon the bar and decided to rest your tired feet at the far corner, hidden from the rest of the world. Sighing, you slipped your feet off your stilettos and quietly watched as the guests around you - mostly couples - happily chatting away as they enjoyed the beauty of the art around them and the wonderful music that filled the air. You knew somewhere in the crowd, your date was fawning over his lady love, probably getting in the way of her filming your professor. 

Tch. 

You knew he liked her - he always told you he did. And why wouldn't he? MC was pretty, seemingly sweet, and dainty - the kind of girl any guy would like to protect. And you. You were the opposite. You lived for your work, were 'one of the boys', and didn't need anyone to protect you - that's just how you were - and now you started to realize that maybe guys don't exactly like that. At least not Shaw. 

Wait, what were you thinking? You scolded yourself as you shook your head. Why were you even thinking of what he liked when you don't even like him to start with. Or did you? 

"Ugh. What the hell is wrong with me?" You groaned when a cold bottle of beer and a frozen glass was placed in front of you. 

"I was gonna ask you that myself." 

You straightened up in your seat and shot a look at the guy seated beside you. Dressed in a nice grey suit, he smiled as he raised his beer bottle in front of you. 

"You look like you needed a drink. I hope the beer is okay. They don't have fruit beer or soda," he said calmly, his amber-colored eyes never leaving yours. 

"Y-yeah. Beer is perfect," you replied while pouring the amber liquid into the glass. "Thanks," you muttered before raising the glass to your lips to gulp down some liquid courage. 

"I saw you with Shaw earlier -"

The name on his lips drove you to a coughing fit, as you choked on your drink. "Sorry, " you mumbled in between coughs. 

"No, I'm sorry," the brown-haired guy said, as he cautiously and politely patted your back. "I didn't mean to bring that up. I was just curious."

"It's fine," you replied when you finally regained your composure. "Yes, we're just classmates in Grad school who decided to check this exhibit out for the heck of it."

"Classmates, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what we are," you said, taking a sip off your glass. "Grad school classmates."

"Are you telling me or telling yourself?"

You looked up and saw him smiling. There was something about Dreamy McHandsome who was seated beside you that felt so familiar yet different at the same time, but you couldn't point a finger at what it was exactly. 

"We're classmates, and we're working on our thesis together. But we're not friends - far from it even. We hate each other's guts."

"Can't blame you for doing so," he shrugged as he drank his beer. 

"Yeah. He dragged me here so he can get with someone he's been crushing on for so long," you rambled on, frowning. 

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"The Miracle Finder Producer. You know, the pretty girl in a blue top and white skirt. He's been going on and on about her for weeks…"

"You mean my girlfriend?" 

His girlfriend. You choked on your drink once again. "Y-y-your girlfriend? You mean to say…" You gasped. Has the beer made you stupid? You've barely drunk half of it, you thought as you fought to regain your dignity. This was Shaw's brother you were talking to - and boy, we're they blessed with good genes…

… And the same social awkwardness, you noticed, judging by how he kept his hand at your back, but not exactly touching it, as if trying to assess if he had to pat you or not. 

When you finally calmed down, he cleared his throat and gave you a small smile. "Don't worry. She talks to me about their conversations. I know what that guy is playing at, and I most definitely know he's not after my girl," he said, his voice broke no room for doubt. "My name is Gavin..."

"Yeah, I know…"

"You - what?"

"Oh," you said, tapping on your glass nervously. "Shaw kinda mentioned it in passing before."

"I see."

"So, what were you saying earlier about Shaw?"

"Oh. From what my girlfriend tells me, he's got his sights set on…"

"Ahem," you heard someone say loud enough for you and Gavin to turn your heads around. And there, standing behind you, was an angry-looking Shaw. You sat up, your gaze shifting between the two brothers as the air started to thicken with tension. "I talk to someone for a minute and the next thing I knew, my date walks out on me and right into the one person I'd hate for her to meet."

"Well, if you were just honest with her as with a lot of other things in your life, maybe she wouldn't have left your side earlier," Gavin retorted flippantly. "Is she finally done with filming?"

Shaw simply grunted in reply as he watched his older brother finish his bottle of beer and stand. "Well, Miss, there's a lot I've heard about you. Seems somebody couldn't stop talking about you, but I'll leave it at that." 

With a wink and a mischievous smile upon his face, the brown-haired guy sauntered off to look for his better half, as you and Shaw watched in awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat and glanced at you. "Hey."

"Hey," you replied, shakily. 

"So, about what that jerk said -"

"Yes?" You asked, feeling your heart hammer against your chest by the second.

"Whatever he said is not true," he said dismissively, as he took his coat off and draped it over your shoulders. "I told you before, I don't find you the least bit attractive."

You felt tears starting to sting your eyes, as he continued with his harsh commentary. "You're tough, highly opinionated, and you always want to come out on top. I don't find those attractive at all," he said. "I prefer a damsel in distress. I want someone clingy… someone, needy."

"I know that -"

"Oh do you?" He teased, his amber eyes twinkling. "You seem to know a lot about me."

"We've been working together for months now," you said. "Of course, I'd know more about you."

"I see," he said, as he took a step closer to you and touched your cheek, rubbing the stray tear that had managed to slip down the side of your face. "So, you must know I'm also a good liar. After all, I've kept all these feelings to myself for quite some time."

He snickered when he saw your frown deepen and he bent down just as he had done so earlier, to whisper. "I made you think I liked someone else when in fact," his low voice made you shiver. "I've always eyes for you."

The End.

[allegra-writes]

The real Self-Insert💚

A.K.A HAPPY BIRTHDAY DANA

This is just a little cracky something for my adored @chaoticpete for her birthday. I LOVE YOU FOREVER MY STUNNING CHAOS TWIN💖

If it weren't for the fact that they saw with their own eyes the exact moment the golden sparkly portal opened up above their heads, Dana's unusually fast reflexes the only thing saving Allie from a certain death (or at leat a very painful concussion), as a very big, very much corporeal Loki fell through it, they wouldn't have believed it.

Like, Marvel Loki. Tom Hiddleston-looking Loki, six-foot-two tall Loki, all leather and metal full asgardian armor on, cracking the pavement under him as he hit the ground.

As it was, they still had trouble believing it, looking up to where the portal had disappeared -again, before their very eyes to the unresponsive. Man? Comic character? Being? God? Laying on the floor.

"Allie, do you see him too?"

"..."

"Allie, tell me I'm not imagining this" Dana reached blindly for Allie's hand beside her, eyes never leaving Loki's figure, unblinking. Finally, she felt her friend's grip on her wrist. They both deemed it close enough to a hand hold.

"It's real"

She was kind of expecting that answer but somehow it didn't make it any easier to process.

It didn't really help that Loki still wasn't moving.

"Is he... Is he dead?"

"I don't know"

"... Poke him"

"What??"

"Poke him with a stick"

"Dude I'm not GOING TO POKE THE GOD OF MISCHIEF WITH A STICK-" Their increasingly louder chatter was interrupted by a gasp as Loki's eyes sudenly opened.

"Allie"

"I know"

"ALLIE HE LOOKED INTO ME"

"I SAW"

"Would the two of you SHUT UP?" There was a second, terrorized gasp, as the asgardian finally arose, dusting his clothes, clearly exasperated, "Even your whispers are loud! can't believe it! First the stupid green monster thats not so stupid anymore, then that would be sorcerer with his portals and now this! This is the most infuriating. exhausting, worst day EVER!"

Dana and Allie exchanged a look and a slight nod before Dana reached into her backpack, producing a magenta and blue can.

"Would you like some Rockstar?"

Loki did a double take,

"Some what?"

"It's an energy drink"

"It's the energy drink-"

"Three hundred milligrams of pure caffeine"

"And sugar, don't forget the sugar

"Yes, the sugar is very important"

"Basically the midgardian version of asgardian mead, only the other way around"

"Yeah, instead of making you drunk it makes you hyper allert"

"And energized"

Loki spent the whole explanation looking from one to the other, there was something eery in the way they talked, and moved, expanding on the other's explanation in complete synchrony. It wasn't unheard of among mortals, he knew. But it usually was limited to twins and these girls couldn't look more different

Except for the fact they were both tiny. And strangely endearing. He had never been one to be swayed by midgardian beauty, but he had to admit there was something charming in their sparkly eyes and impish little faces.

"So you say this... Drink of yours, it can help me recover?" He inquired cautiously. The two girls nodded eagerly, still offering the can to him. He took it, sniffed it, shrugged to himself, and took a sip.

It was foul. Overly sweet and fragant, reminding him of the medicine the healers used to give him back home at the palace, when he was an infant.

But for some reason he could not stop drinking it. He didn't, in fact, downing the whole thing in one go.

"This is... Strangely invigorating" He concluded, handing the empty can back to the impressed girls still gawking at him. And then doing something that sent their jaws to the floor, "Thank you, you are both very kind and agreeable... For a couple of mortals, of course"

The two girls beamed at him, and he couldnt help but smile a little in return. He didn't miss the way their heartbeats lost their rythm, only to return faster and louder than ever at his smile. He smirked to himself, yeah, he still had it.

"Well, I should be off then-" He tried turning around to open a portal of his own but was immediately stopped by twin over-excited voices speaking over each other.

"Wait! Can I get a selfie?"

"Wait! Can I get a knife??"

"Dude!"

He didn't know which request surprised him and pleased him the most.

Well, that's a lie, he knew exactly which one it was. Yes, he had a big ego, so what?

"Why, yes, of course" He grinned, obviously flattered. Having seen his brother do it plenty of times, he leaned down a little, as the girls placed themselves on either side of him, cellphones up high to be able to fit all three of them into frame. He felt them jump a little as he placed his arms around both their waists, smiling even wider. Once that was done he snapped his fingers, a blue portal appearing behind him, showing the face of an impassive Natasha and a confused Thor, as Loki bent down, delicately taking the girls hands into his huge ones, kissing their knuckles in turns.

"I bid you farewell, my fair ladies. You have been most helpful and pleasant. I will not forget your kindness..."

The girls giggled, flushed and giddy as the portal closed behind the god of mischief, and he disappeared once again, the crack in the pavement and the tingle on their hands the only testament of his presence there.

"Oh my god. Did that-... Thay actually happened, right?"

"I have no idea, but if we are hallucinating, I promise I will never, ever, complain about our last braincell again"

"Same... To bad we didn't get knives tho"

"Dee!"

"What? You so wanted his dagger too, don't try to lie to me"

Allie snorted,

"Dude, do you have to make it sound so dirty?... You're not wrong tho"

"You know I have to. And I know I'm not"

"Dee..."

"Yeah?"

"We met Loki"

"I know! I mean I still can't believe it tho. Did we? I mean we did, right? We have a selfie to prove it..." There was a beat before Dana started complaining about Allie's backpack, "What do you even carry im here? I swear this thing gets heavier by the minute"

She took it off and peered into it.

"ALLIE COME HERE YOU ARE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS"

The end.

@chaoticpete Baby D, my gorgeous, crazy, tallented, amazing, showstoppin soul sister, words cannot express how much I love ypu and how much your friendship means to me. I made you cry this morning but I hope this can make you laugh💖 You make my days brighter, twin from another mother. I love you, so so much. Hope you like this💖💖

[fiercyy]

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi, Team 7 - Relationship, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Tsunade (Naruto), Orochimaru (Naruto) Additional Tags: AU, Post-Chuunin Exams, post chuunin exams attack, Minor Character Death, Trauma, Team 7 Family bonding, Genin Era, Everybody moves in with Sasuke, he's got room, semi-au, Plot Twists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Roommates, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto) Feels, BAMF Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), Team as Family, Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of Post-Chuunin Exam AU Summary:

Sakura always wished she could relate to her teammates better. She wishes she could take it back.

In which Sasuke acquires some unwanted roommates and a team becomes a family.

.

.

"You skipped training," Kakashi's one visible eye is narrowed in a foreboding expression. His large body takes up the whole doorframe when he holds himself up at full height.

Sasuke turns back to his book, earmarked not him but by Sakura, who the book belongs to. It's a historical account of the longest battle of the First Ninja War. For something so violent, it's extremely boring. "What's the point?" He asks petulantly.

"What's the point in training?" Kakashi asks incredulously. Surely Sakura's win hadn't hit him that hard.

"What's the point in the training we're doing? I'm not getting any stronger!"

"I'm teaching you restraint," begins the lecture he's heard what feels like a hundred times, "The Chidori is powerful and dangerous. You could hurt someone without meaning to."

Sasuke scoffs, "Sakura can beat me. I don't need restraint. In a fight, I'm trying to hurt someone."

"If your ego is so fragile then you're not ready for the responsibility of power."

"I am!" he argues. "But if power is such a burden then why can Sakura and Naruto keep getting stronger and now me?"

"They don't want power for power's sake!"

"Neither do I, I want power so I can use it."

Kakashi's eyes narrow, "I'm your mentor, not theirs. If you want my techniques you'll do things my way."

"Then I don't need you!" And desperate to escape the conversation, he jumps out the window.

"If you had control you wouldn't have hurt Sakura!" Kakashi shouts after him.

"I don't care!" he screams back. But that's a lie.

.

.

Sakura, for her part, has never been so thrilled to lose a fight. It doesn't feel egotistical to think that she basically won. She's just a softy who couldn't let him fall. It's a good thing, isn't it? That her instinct was to protect her teammate. (Even if, had he been thinking properly, he could have grabbed onto the wall with chakra.) That was what Kakashi was always ragging on her about, no? Not putting her team first?

She managed to surprise Sasuke and get the upper hand. She never thought she could do that. Never would have thought to… before.

Thinking about her parents brings her down. She can't do it often, it hurts too much. Since her heart to heart with Kakashi, she's being trying to focus on what she does have, not what she lost.

Her life has been in a quagmire since the attack, but at least she isn't alone. For that reason, she pities Sasuke. They both lost so much but afterward he had nobody. And she had so much. She's learning to be grateful for that, honest she is. She just gets so mad sometimes.

It's like when she was little. She was an angry kid. Her parents worked with her and taught her all the calming techniques; breaking deepy, counting, shoving it all into a box… The box worked best. All her longterm furies shut up where no one could see them. She let the bullies hit her as hard as they wanted. She wouldn't strike out. They could tease her all they liked, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

She can't hold in that inner Sakura anymore. She won't be contained. Instead she's trying to come to terms with it all; work through it as best she can. It's freeing, to be a being who can feel anger again. The fight now, is to not allow it to consume her.

.

.

"Hey," Naruto starts, only for Sasuke to stalk right past him and slam the door to their room. He glances at the clock on the VCR. It's 11:00. The lock clicks. Shit. He's terrible at picking locks. "Aw man, what am I gonna do now?"

Sakura—who sits on the opposite side of the table, books open and post-its at the ready—is unsympathetic. "Sleep on the couch."

.

.

Alone in his room, the nightmares plague him worse than before. The prophecy of being swallowed by the earth came true. He finds new things to fear.

Sasuke wakes in the middle of the night.

The voices no longer reside in sleep. Orochimaru's whispers reverberate all around him; promises of power, of bargains. How will you kill your brother if you keep you as you are? He asks with condescension.

Sasuke shakes his head and for now, the pressure in his skull is dislodged. He rises and leaves the bedroom for the living room.

The apartment is dark. There is just enough moonlight to see by. He treads softly into the living room and stares at Naruto's slack body, thrown over the couch and covered in the red wool blanket. It's large enough that all three of them fit under it but in the heat of sleep he's kicked it off his feet. His soft snores, so familiar, settle Sasuke.

He didn't want Naruto to hear his nightmares. They've woken him before, but he never seems to grasp what the nightmares are about. He knew he'd be talking in his sleep tonight. It's always worse when he goes to bed angry. Orochimaru is preying on those feelings, he won't be taken in.

Except he's told no one. They might see it as a sign of weakness, or Kakashi might try and reseal him. What power reserves would be taken from him then? The temptation of more than a taste of what the curse can give him… He's stagnating here, while others flourish. He needs to be stronger. Now. And Orochimaru wants to give him strength. It's that simple.

He'll kill him before fulfilling his end of the bargain.

That thought, formulating a plan, is what makes it too real.

.

.

Sasuke's birthday is last in the calendar year and on the first morning of his 13th year, he wakes up to yelling and the sweet smells of an unhealthy breakfast.

"I made you an omelette actually," Sakura assures, plating her pancakes. It's dry and over seasoned, but he eats every bite slathered in ketchup. There's candles in it and they make him blow them out.

The day is spent in his favourite manner: outside, training. They read together in peace in the grass, for a while after that. (Sasuke and Sakura read. Naruto doodles crude caricatures in the margins of a magazine.) They go to lunch, then the baths. They henge into adult versions of themselves, laughing all the while at their absurd visions of the future. They use the illusions to sneak into a bar that's hosting a pub quiz. A jolly civilian in his 20s hosts. Naruto's only correct contribution is a question about the minutiae of the Teenage Mutant Firefighting Turtles lore.

They win second prize—a pitcher of beer. Their weak, 13-year-old tolerance ensures than they're unable to hold their henges for long after that. Once one breaks, the others do too and laughing all the while, they're kicked out of the bar.

"Technically this is your fault for giving it to us!" Sakura argues, "We didn't order any drinks!" The bouncer is unamused.

They stumble home, leaning on each other.

And when Sasuke stares at the spinning ceiling that night, he doesn't think of his childhood, his anger or the future. For the first time, he relives the same day he'll relive for years-the best birthday he ever had.

.

.

"Teach me how to unlock the Magekyou Sharingan," Sasuke demands. He doesn't know what he's asking.

Kakashi tries to tell himself this, but when he reaches inside himself, looking for compassion, he finds only rage. "No."

"It's my clan's legacy, the next logical step. I need it if I ever hope to-!"

"If you're very lucky you will never have the Magekyou," Kakashi warns, "The cost is too great."

"I'll pay it!"

"If you do," he replies, enunciating carefully, "I will strike you down myself."

.

.

They ambush him in the evening on his way home from another seemingly useless session with Kakashi. The Sound Four and all of their formidable strength and second-hand arguments (such as they are) meant to persuade him to defect on his own. Or to take him by force.

His curse seal burns, curling across his body.

The time has come to remember his purpose.

.

.

Sasuke strains against his restraints, spitting and snarling at his teacher. Kakashi's impassive eyes rove around, but his fingers are tight on the wire. The bark itches and the blood trickles down his arm where the wire has cut him.

"What's this all about?!" He demands.

"Sorry, but I knew you wouldn't want to sit still for another lecture." The second today. "Let it go, forget about revenge. Trust me, following the path of revenge never ends well. You'll only tear yourself apart. Even if you succeed, what will you have then? Nothing. Emptiness."

"Shut up!" Sasuke's blood boils, "What makes you think you know anything about it? You have no idea! Maybe if I were to kill the most important people in your life, anyone who's ever meant anything then you'd understand," he threatens cruelly, uselessly.

"Interesting theory, but everyone I've ever loved is already dead," he says it so calmly. Sasuke never knew that about him. "Besides you. And Naruto and Sakura."

Sasuke's sharp intake of breath is the only indication that his words have any effect.

"You and I are lucky. We've found new people to love, who love us."

The boy looks so small, his head drops so Kakashi can't see his face anymore. He loosens the restraints.

"That's all I wanted to say. You'll do what you want."

.

.

In the room he shares with his teammate, only feet away from his bed, Sasuke packs a bag in the dark. There's a photograph on the desk that he considers taking with him, but that wouldn't be wise. He lays it face down and leaves the room.

He hesitates at the front door and doubles back.

He doesn't know which cousin Sakura's bedroom belonged to. He never visited them before the Massacre. It's one of the reasons he feels safe here, it's untouched by death. They died at the compound with everybody else.

He opens her door a crack. The hinges are well oiled so they don't creak.

Asleep in bed, Sakura's back is to him, arm tucked under her chin and hair falling over her shoulders. He watches her for longer than he should, heart hammering in his chest. He's really going to do this.

He stays until he can't stand it anymore, it's too much.

Outside, the village is quiet. The streetlamps haven't been fixed in many neighborhoods, so he passes through the light and darkness with equal swiftness. His unhurried gait stops at the gates. They loom in front of him, a portal into his future.

"SASUKE!" Sakura shouts, breaking the stillness of the night.

He turns and can't hide his surprise at seeing her. He's a fool. He must have woken her with his goodbye. "What are you doing here?"

"This is the only way out of the village," she evades.

"Go home Sakura."

Before I say things we'll both regret.

"No," her voice breaks. She darts in front of him to block his path. "Why? I thought I understood you but I don't. I just don't. How can you throw everything away?"

"You could never understand me," he replies coldly. "I'm throwing away everything that doesn't matter. Anything that doesn't help me accomplish my goals."

"I know in the beginning you couldn't stand me. You probably hated me. But I thought-" here Sakura hesitates and the tears drip from her chin. "I thought that things were different now. You told me once that I have no idea what it means to be alone, well now I do. I do and I wish I didn't. It's horrible. But it's a little less horrible with you." She chokes on a sob and slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle it.

"You're just as annoying now as you were then." He steps up to her, so they're standing close. "Move," he commands.

"No."

"Move or I'll move you."

Her stance widens but her knees quake. "Try it then."

"Don't you understand that I'll kill you if I have to?" Move!

She laughs, so sad, "For the sake of your revenge."

"I'm travelling a path that you can't follow," in telling her so, he hopes to be kind.

Sasuke pushes past her. Like a willow branch, she moves aside then springs back to watch him walk away. All the fight has gone out of her. "You don't have to be alone. You don't think we would help you?" She cries, "Naruto and I would do anything for you. Why won't you let us?!"

"I don't need you!" He roars. "We aren't the same."

"I love you, don't you understand? Please don't walk away!"

With his back to her, neither can see the effect their words are having on the other, but they can hope. They can imagine.

"Stay," she whispers brokenly. "Or take me with you."

He turns. "Where I'm going, I have no use for you. Forget you ever knew me."

"No. You know that I can't," she says with force. He advances and her speech quickens. "If you move I'll scream, I swear I will, I-" In a flash, he's behind her. A sharp pain in her neck. Darkness descends.

Whispered words. Thank you.

.

.

.

.

12 hours earlier…

Though some ninjas choose to work under the cover of night, many realize that it's far easier to work in plain sight, in the day, hidden by the crowd. Sasuke has only been to Kakashi's apartment once before, but he remembers the way. It's not so odd that a student would visit his master in the day time.

He knocks and Kakashi's surprised to find him at the door.

"Can I come in?" He trusts that his sensei's home is secure.

"Sure, Sasuke," Kakashi replies in his usual breezy tone. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to get me a covert meeting with the Hokage."

In under an hour they're in her office. Shizune, their only witness. Tsunade surveys the boy over her steeples fingers. "What can I do for you, Uchiha?"

"I need you to assign me an S-rank mission, to infiltrate Sound." Kakashi's eye cuts to him, "As a double agent."

[daisylincs]

Ok sorry if you get multiple of the same ask just ignore the copies Anyway can you do a staticquake 53, 58, 62

53 = Mutual Pining, 58 = Accidental Eavesdropping and 62 = Love Confessor (Character A confessing their love for Character B to Character C). 

Hey thanks, anon! Now, for some reason, my brain at midnight decided it would be a really good idea to combine this prompt with, of all things, a Circus AU. I cannot for the life of me explain why I thought this, except maybe that I was scrolling through the prompt list and realised that I've never actually seen a Circus AU before. (If you've ever seen one, please send it to me!! I'd love to give it a read.) 

Anyway, however it happened, here's the bullet-point fic for you! I hope you like it 😁🎪

Shield Circus is known far and wide for its incredible acts, and for how its performers have formed their own tight-knit little family. From the ringmaster, Coulson, who's basically a dad to them all, to the fearless trapeze queen May and her protégés Daisy and Elena, to Fitz and Jemma with their ever-hilarious mad science show, everyone has a place where they fit in, and everyone knows, trusts and likes everyone. 

Naturally, there's a lot of teasing around, too - with a group as close as that, what else can you expect, really? 

And since Fitzsimmons have finally gotten their act together (ha, ha) the group's collective shipping interest has moved on to Daisy. 

Specifically, Daisy and Lincoln, who everybody can see like each other - except, obviously, Daisy and Lincoln. 

Lincoln's role in the circus is a musician, and while he's still a part of the Shield family, he's not as super-close as all the performers are. Him and Daisy are friends, sure, but they're not that close, and he's sure his massive crush is unrequited. 

After all, why would someone like her, who can literally fly through the air, fall in love with him, whose only sort-of skill is playing the circus theme?

 He's made it a habit to sit and watch her train with May and Elena in the evenings - she's absolutely radiant in the air, flushed and happy with success, and always laughing and delighted with herself when she comes down to the ground again. 

Oh, he's so far gone. 

"You two drive me up the wall," Hunter, the lion-tamer, informs Lincoln as he's setting up his act. (Lincoln doesn't think Hunter can really talk, since he literally describes his job with the lions as "they can't do anything worse to me than my hellbeast wife." But he doesn't say that - Hunter and Bobbi are in one of their on phases.) 

Instead he just grumbles, "yeah, whatever, man," as he trails the trapeze artists out of the ring so he can hopefully catch Daisy for a chat before dinner. 

He's hanging around outside the changing room - not creepily, thank you very much, he and Daisy actually have a standing arrangement to meet up after she's done with training to laugh together about the day's nonsense - when he hears May's voice. 

He's a little surprised, because May usually changes very quickly so she can go over the plans for the next show with Coulson before dinner. 

And he knows he shouldn't, but if his time with Shield has taught him anything, it's that privacy is a rather vague construct around here. Eavesdropping is a thing in the circus, especially if it can get you good bribing material. 

Nobody's ever got any good bribing material on May, so can you even blame him for listening in? 

What he hears, though, is decidedly not that. 

"... sure he doesn't feel the same way?" May is asking. 

It's Daisy who replies. "I don't know! He's never shown anything that couldn't just be interpreted as just, you know, being a good friend."

 May makes a kind of unconvinced "hmm" noise. 

"Oh, don't give me that," Daisy says, exasperated. "Fitz and Jemma used to meet up after training all the time - hell, they even slept in each other's trailers." 

"And Fitz and Jemma are now dating," May says drily. 

Lincoln can just see the scowl on Daisy's face. "Okay, fine, maybe not my best example. But -" her voice catches slightly "- I don't want to go into this unless I'm absolutely sure he feels the same way. I can't… the pain of thinking someone really cares about me, then having my heart torn out when I find out the truth - I can't go through that again." 

He has never heard her sound so vulnerable, and it makes his heart clench. He knows exactly who did this to her, and if Ward ever shows his face here again, Lincoln will punch him straight into the next county. (He suspects he'll have to stand in line, though.) 

There's a kind of soft rustle in the room, and he thinks it might mean May has pulled Daisy into a hug. His heart clenches again, for entirely different reasons this time - May might seem unapproachable and impassive, but God, she cares so much. 

"Daisy," May says softly, and Lincoln almost gasps at how gentle her voice is. "I know you've been hurt, but if my life has taught me one thing, it's that we're not meant to spend our lives alone. Love is something we should all have, and I know better than anyone how hard it can be to open your heart to it, because the first step is trust."

"Trust, Daisy," she continues. "I know how hard it is, but you have to trust that Lincoln is nothing like Ward. You have to trust that he's a good guy, and that he'd never hurt you that way." 

Lincoln almost misses the rest of her sentence, because his brain has frozen at the mention of his name. Wait, wait, wait. They were talking about him?

What???

Surely this doesn't mean… if she said she's not sure he feels the same way… if May is talking about love… 

His brain blanks out completely for a few seconds as it hits him that Daisy might actually return his feelings. 

Somewhat poetically, it's Daisy's voice that brings him back to reality. "He's a really, really good friend," she says, and her voice is so warm. "You really think he feels the same way?" 

Lincoln can practically hear May rolling her eyes. "Of course he does," she says. "Daisy, that boy is gaga for you." 

Daisy laughs softly, incredulously, as though she's only just letting herself believe it. (He totally gets the feeling.) 

"Thanks, May," she says, still in that slightly breathless tone of voice. 

And Lincoln has never heard May sound so warm as she replies, "Anytime." 

He's so caught up in wondering at it all that he almost doesn't realise when the door opens. He has to scramble like a mad thing to get behind one of the lockers so the women don't see him. 

"Lincoln should be somewhere nearby," Daisy says, and he winches at the absolute accuracy of that. "We always meet up for a chat around this time." 

"And you think you two don't have anything special," May snorts. 

Daisy shakes her head. "Yeah, yeah." But she's smiling as she walks off. 

Lincoln is smiling, too, and he's so relieved and happy that he totally forgets about the locker he ducked behind. As he stands up, he bangs his head against it, really, really loudly. 

Ow. 

And also, oh, shit. 

May whips around, her eyes narrowing. "Out," she orders. 

Lincoln sheepishly comes out from behind the locker, rubbing his head. That really hurt, and now he's busted. Just perfect. 

May's eyes narrow even further, if that's even possible. "How long were you there?" she asks in her soft, dangerous tone. 

Lincoln swallows. He wouldn't dare lie to May. So, shame-facedly, he admits, "since pretty much the beginning." 

"And why," May asks in a voice that bites like a whip, "did you think it was a good idea to listen in on a private conversation?" 

"I… was hoping… to get bribing material," he says weakly. "On, uh, you." 

He's sure he's just signed his own death warrant, but to his total surprise, May snorts and rolls her eyes. "This really is Coulson's circus, isn't it? He's really rubbed his no-personal-space-we're-a-family ethic off on you all, hasn't he?" 

"Uh, yeah," Lincoln says awkwardly. 

May shakes her head, but there's only fondness in her gaze. "He'd be so frustratingly happy to hear that." 

Her gaze sobers quickly, though. "I was right, wasn't I?" she asks, getting straight to the point. He's always respected that about her. "You do love Daisy?" 

"Of course I do," he says, and he can feel a grin tugging at his lips just to admit it. Wow, it feels good - but it's nothing compared to actually KNOWING she feels the same way. 

May's gaze is amused, but, he thinks, just a bit affectionate, too. "Good," she says. "Then I think you two will be very happy." 

"Thanks," he says, feeling his grin widen and his chest expand with warmth. "That means a lot, from you." 

Because it really does - May is basically Daisy's mom. The little exchange he just overheard pretty much proves that. 

May smiles at him - an actual smile. Whoa. "Off you go," she tells him. "Go find the girl you love." 

He can't stop grinning as he turns to walk away, feeling a literal bounce in his step. Fitz really wasn't exaggerating with the whole love-makes-you-so-happy-you-could-float-away thing, was he? 

"Just one more thing," May calls as he's about to round the corner. "I don't think I really need to tell you this, but if you hurt Daisy, I promise you I will put you in that cannon and fire you through the roof." 

Lincoln has to bite back a grin at the picture, but he's never been more serious as he replies, "I hope you'll never have to do that." 

May gives him a nod, and he really feels like he's passed a test. A nod and a smile from Melinda May? He never thought he'd see the day. 

He's so preoccupied in his proud thoughts that he completely forgets to look where he's going, and crashes right into someone on the other side of the corner. 

"What the… Daisy?!?!" he exclaims as he sees who it is. Then he processes her suspicious pose leaning against the corner. "What are you… were you eavesdropping on me?" 

Daisy’s cheeks are burning, but she folds her arms and stares him down. "Well, as it turns out, I was eavesdropping on you admitting that you had eavesdropped on me," she points out, confusingly but correctly. 

He has to concede that one - and he's pretty sure his cheeks are burning, too, as he realises what exactly she would have heard. 

"So, um, you… like me, too?" he asks. 

At the exact same time, she says, "I can't believe you like me, too!" 

"Well," he says, cheeks practically on fire from burning so much, "I thought I was actually pretty obvious, what with the whole watching you train and spending every free minute chatting with you -" 

"I thought you were just being a good friend!" she protests, and somehow she's drifting a step closer to him with every word. "I didn't know that I'd end up falling for you, even though your puns are the stupidest thing in this world!" 

"My puns are awesome," he argues, letting the last bit of distance between them draw closed. "And, really, didn't you see all the similarities between us and Fitzsimmons?"

"Well, you probably thought I didn't even notice you," she reasons, raising her hands to poke at his chest but ending up just resting them there. "As if I could not notice you!"

 "Should we just agree that we're a pair of oblivious idiots, then?" he asks, reaching out to brush a curl of hair behind her ear and letting his hand linger behind her ear. 

And, really, that line should not be as romantic as it is, but Daisy's gaze turns all soft and warm. 

"Yes," she says, and her voice is breathless in the best way possible. "We should."

And then they're kissing, her hands flattening and smoothing on his chest and his hands cradling the sides of her face. 

To think he ever thought she wouldn't notice him. To think she ever thought he was just being a good friend! 

If they weren't so busy kissing, he might even see what Hunter means. 

But as it is, he's fully occupied with the wonderful feeling of Daisy's lips on his. 

Well, at least until he gears someone start clapping slowly behind them. 

"Really, Hunter?" Daisy asks without even opening her eyes. 

Hunter doesn't even have the dignity to look ashamed of himself. "Come on, Dais, you know the drill." He holds out his hand to Fitz. "Come on, mate, pay up." 

Grumbling, Fitz forks over what looks like a hundred dollars. Lincoln just shakes his head. 

Then May walks calmly around the corner and takes the money from Hunter's hand. "Actually, I think you'll find that my bet predicted this to the day," she says, and holds out her hand for everyone to pay up. 

At Daisy and Lincoln's absolutely incredulous stares, she shrugs and pockets her money. "What do you expect? I married Phil Coulson." 

Then she's walking away like the badass she is, leaving everyone else to trail after her. 

Daisy buries her head in Lincoln's shoulder. "This is a crazy family we're part of, isn't it?" 

His eyes light up with mischief. "Yeah, it's a real circus." 

Daisy's eyes widen, and she groans and slaps at his shoulder. "Oh my Goooood." 

She can feel his laughter even more than she can hear it with her cheek pressed against his chest. 

And cliché as it might be, she's never been happier. 

She's found where she truly belongs. 

"They're crazy," she agrees, looking up at him with a soft smile, "but I wouldn't trade any of it for the world." 

The End. 

[whumpiary]

content warning: food paranoia, disordered eating, pressure to eat, referenced violence, panic attack, drugs/drugging mention,

-

It takes Josiah a few hours to calm down before he tries talking to Cass again. There was no point threatening pain because Cass didn’t fear it and there was no point pretending he was the sweet and caring nurse because Cass didn’t buy it.  

Cass knows who he is. Hard, violent, steel. And that’s what he’ll get.

“Alright, Cass. Enough,” he says, armed with a bowl of soup “Either you eat, or I’ll drive you to the nearest hospital and dump you out front.”

“No you won’t.”

“Try me, Ace.”

Cass flinches imperceptibly at the nickname.

“You hate hospitals even more than I do. There’s no way you’re taking me to one.”

“Didn’t say I’d take you in, I said I’d dump you out front.”

Cass scoffs like he doesn’t believe a word but Josiah sees his shoulders tense, his breath catch. There’s a fear there. He leans on it.

“Two nights ago, you drop at my doorstep, half dead, force yourself back into my life after a year of radio silence. I take you in, I patch you up. I don’t ask who did this, I don’t ask if they’re following you or if I’m in danger of them coming to my goddamn house. Hell, when I try asking, you force your way into my fucking head just to stop me.”

“That wasn’t what h-”

“I’ve dropped my whole damn life just to keep you alive and now you’re planning on starving yourself to death on my couch?” Josiah stands up straight, takes up as much space as he can. “You think I’m not begging for an excuse to get rid of you? Palm you off onto someone else? You think I won’t take you to a fucking hospital? Like I said… Try me, Ace”

Cass is breathing hard. Fuming. When he looks up, he seems to be trying to calculate something from Josiah’s face. Josiah stares him down, crosses his arms, hopes his face is impassive enough to hold down the lie.

“I’ll name you again,” Cass says, voice low in a shaky attempt menace and venom. “I’ll get into your head, make you cut your own hand off.”

Josiah snorts. 

“Go on, then. This time when you pass out I’ll let you choke on your tongue.”

Cass holds his gaze, trying to call the bluff. There isn’t one. 

“I didn’t mean to come here, I didn’t mean to…force myself back into your life,” he blurts. Panicked distraction. “It just happened.”

“I don’t care. You’re here now,” Josiah says, resolute “My house. My rules-”

“And I eat when you say I eat, I heard you. You gonna dictate when I shit as well?”

Josiah just shrugs and passes Cassius the bowl. “If I have to.”

Cass is breathing like he’s just lost a boxing match. He stares down at the bowl like he could scry a way out of here through vegetable broth.

Hair loose and hanging over his face like this, he looks impossibly young. Naive and innocent and wounded.

Young and wounded Josiah could buy. He doubted Cass had ever been naive. Innocent he wouldn’t touch with a ten foot stick.

Cass is shaking. His knuckles are white pearl where he grips the spoon. You’d think Josiah had asked him to swallow glass.

“Come on Cass,” he prompts, after a few too many moments of still. 

“I’m trying,” he grunts. Then a shuddering breath. He puts the bowl down on the coffee table, makes a sound of frustration. “I… I want to eat it.” A breaths. “I do.” A breath. “I’m just…” A breath. “I- I can't… can’t…”

He’s hyperventilating Josiah realises, bent at the middle, fingers gripping in long hair. 

“Cass-”

“I’m trying,” Cass whispers, voice thick. “I swear I’m trying, J. I’m trying”

Josiah had been prepared for the worst. He’d been prepared for defiance and snark and for violence and for a fight. He’d been prepared to be named again for Christ’s sake. He hadn’t been prepared for panic. For terror. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this. He really wasn’t the sweet and caring nurse. He wasn’t the person for that. He sits down next to Cass, touches a hesitant hand to his back. 

“It’s okay, Ace-”

“If you… if you call me that… one more fucking time…I really will make you cut your hand off,” Cass says between ragged inhales.

Josiah retracts his hand. He moves back on the couch to give the other man space. He resists asking what do I do like some moron. He counts in his head ten seconds, twenty seconds, as Cass’ breath slows.

“I’m fine,” says Cass, gripping his hair and resolutely not fine “I’m fine. I’m sorry. This is stupid. I’m just. I’m sorry. I’m fine. Sorry. I’m just tired”

“Yeah and probably hungry,” Josiah says, maybe a little too roughly.

“Yes. I’m hungry, alright?” Cass snaps “I’m fucking starving. Shut up.”

Josiah looks at Cass, stupidly. “Then eat”

“I’m trying you stupid fucking-” Cassius cuts himself off with a frustrated grunt. He looks like he could push Josiah’s stupid fucking head through the stupid fucking wall. He takes a deep breath and tries again “I’m trying, J. I’m just… in my head. In my head it's… not safe. The food, the… this place, the… God, anything. I’m so hungry and all I want to do is eat but every time I try my fucked up head tries to tell me that it's… that the food is…”

Cass trails off, gesturing mutely at the bowl. He can’t seem to say it. As though it’s too stupid, too paranoid. His shoulders are bunched up around his ears and he’s sitting on his hands. Everything about him screams shame and embarrassment.

“There’s nothing in the soup, Cass,” Josiah says after a minute. “There’s not even any stock powder, I ran out. It’s just vegetables and water. You watched me make it.”

“Yeah but I didn’t see wh-” Cass stops himself mid-thought again, clearly realising how stupid he’d sound to finish the argument “I know there’s nothing in it. I know that but I can’t tell my body that and I…”

Cassius takes a deep, deep breath and closes his eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is so small Josiah nearly misses it.

“I need help, J,” he says. “Just. I want to eat. Help me. Please.”

Josiah’s heart stops. Cass is asking for help. Cassius I can do my own damn stitches Drake didn’t ask for help. Ace never asked for help. Ever. 

He’d mutter apologies or thanks. He’d take what was forced on him. He’d allow help if you insisted, sure, but he never asked. Even two nights ago, delirious and barely conscious he’d tried to insist on walking inside himself. 

“J, please.”

Cass’ voice brings him back. It’s a whisper, almost a beg. And what else can he say?

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he clears his throat and reaches for the bowl “I can… look, same as the water, alright? I eat half, you eat half”

“Yeah but what if-” Cass cuts himself up, pulls his knees to his chest. When did he learn to make himself so small?

Josiah raises his brows, “What?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s stupid”

“Cass. I’m not eating half a bowl of soup just for you to come up with another excuse in five minutes. It does matter. What?”

Cass hesitates, closes his eyes, and then let’s it rush out all at once. “What if you’ve put something in that settles at the bottom and then you just leave the… the bad bit for me”

Josiah stares at him like he’s been struck. He brings his hand up to rub over his face, hand settling on the back of his neck. Is that what Cass thought of him now? “Jesus Christ.”

“Told you. Stupid. Sorry. I know it’s stupid”

“Yeah, damn right it’s fucking stupid,” he says, shaking his head. Everything about this is stupid. But Cass needs to damn well eat. Josiah sighs. “Fine. Alright. Fine, whatever. Spoon by spoon then. I eat, you eat. Till the bowl’s done. How’s that?”

Cassius seems to be trying to think it over, pick it apart, find the trick. Then, slowly, he nods. 

Finally.

Josiah takes a mouthful, taking care to very obviously swallow it. He feels like an idiot magician setting up a trick. Nothing up my sleeves! Nothing in the soup!

Then he holds out the spoon.

Cass is staring at the bowl like a viper might leap out to attack him, so Josiah scoops some broth onto the spoon and offers it out again, hoping some numb part of Cass’ brain registers the gesture. Instead of reaching for it, though, he opens his mouth like a baby bird. Josiah breathes in sharply.

This is fucked. Completely fucked.

He wants to walk away. He wants to punch a hole in the wall.

But Cass is terrified. And he needs food. Whatever stupid thing it takes. So he feeds him.

As soon as Cass closes his lips around the spoon he makes a sound like he’s been hit with pure bliss. It’s enough that he closes his eyes and Josiah feels such fucking relief that he almost forgets how awkward and horrible this is. He’s nearly holding back a smile.

It’s an easy process to repeat. Spoon for him, spoon for Cass.

“Fuck that’s good,” Cass mutters after the third or fourth mouthful. 

“‘Course it’s good,” Josiah says. “I cooked it.”

Cassius takes another mouthful, holding the spoon himself this time. “Since when do you cook?”

“Since when do you care?”

They keep eating. One after the other. Spoon by spoon.

“I’m sorry,” Cass says softly, once half the soup is gone. He doesn’t sound sure on what he’s apologising for.

“It’s okay,” Josiah tells him. 

Its a lie. They both know it. It isn’t okay. None of it is.

“For what it’s worth, I do care,” Cass continues, softer still. “About you. I care a lot.”

Josiah pauses. Despite the knife through his chest, he manages to keep breathing. How dare he? How absolute dare he?

He doesn’t want to eat anymore fucking soup. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to run away. He takes another mouthful.

Everything feels horrible. Everything feels like a cruel injustice and a demand he can’t bare. But he does. And so does Cass.

And they’re both surviving.

And Josiah hasn’t hit anything.

And Cass is eating.

And for now, for today, that’s enough. 

[gloomy-goober]

Ocean Man Summary:

There had always been natural twin behavior between the Thomas’ two creative sides. They seemed to speak in another language only known to them, they insistently fought over which was older, and they were naturally competitive.

But there was also the unnatural. The seeming telepathy between them, the habit they had of finishing each other’s thoughts or sentences or answering at the same time. Knowing when one half of the pair was hurt. When one half of the pair was in danger.

When one half of the pair was dying.

**********************************************************

The only sound in the living room was the slow tick-tock of the clock. Patton sat on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest and a mug held between two cupped hands. The steam was slowly clouding his glasses, but he did not seem to care. Just savoring the warmth.  

Lost in thought, the moral side was startled back to the world when a gentle hand touched his shoulder. Some hot chocolate went over the rim of the cup and slowly slid down the side.

“Sorry Pat, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“It’s okay, ki-Virgil,” Pat chuckles but the sound is a little dry.

Carefully the mug is sat down on the coffee table and he took his glasses off to wipe away the steam. The couch dipped as Virgil took a seat beside him.

“You want to take a break? Get some sleep maybe?” Virgil picked nervously at the skin under his thumbnail, “I’m used to staying up and worrying so if you need a nap-.”

“Virgil,” Patton placed a hand on the other side’s knee, “I’m okay. I don’t need a break.”

He looked to the door he had been watching before he zoned out. The white paint had started to peel. The gold accents were dull.

“I just wish I knew what to do for him. He’s barely around the mindscape anymore and when he is he just goes to his room and runs back out again,” a few tears began to form, “I don’t know if he is eating or sleeping. Or if I will see him again once he goes back in there.”

Patton sniffled and tried to hold back the tears. The fight was futile when the anxious side pulled him close.

“I know. I know Pat. I wish there was an easy answer to this.”

Patton hugged back; his face buried in the softness of Virgil’s hoodie.

“Perhaps there is.”

Virgil tensed at the new voice and Patton tried to wipe his tears away before he looked to the entrance to the hallway.

Logan stood there, his hands behind his back.

“What do you mean? Every attempt to talk to Roman has just been a fight or him ignoring us,” Virgil said.

Logan moved forward into the room, “We must force him to listen.”

“No,” Patton whined, “He just needs to figure it out himself is all.”

“He is simply in the stage of denial,” Logan countered, “It will be better if we ground him and help him move into the next stages so he can accept what has occurred.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Yeah, lets bring reality to Creativity. Like that has worked before.”

“Would you rather he continue this delusion?” Logan asked, “that we simply watch as himself and Thomas rot away without any other goal in mind.”

Virgil shrank back and held Patton tighter, “No.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Lo. It might be too soon,” Patton glanced at the door again before he looked to his friend, “We might make things worse.”

“It has been three months, four days, ten hours, thirty minutes, and 54 seconds since the very event that started this occurred. I believe now is as good a time as any to tell Roman the truth.”

“Or we let him burn himself out,” Virgil suggested, “Ro is a blockhead sometimes, but he isn’t dumb. He’s got to know, right?”

Patton’s head moved in time with the two discussing. Too torn between the two points to give his own opinion.

Logan sighed and moved so he could sit in the armchair next to the couch. His elbows rested on his knees so he could perch his chin on his hands.

“Sometimes knowing it and hearing it are two different things, Virgil. I believe that we have put this off too long. Roman needs to hear that Remus is not coming back.”

“You’re wrong.”

Three heads turned to the door to the imagination. Roman had changed in the three months of endless searching.

His hair was messier, no longer neatly styled. He had not allowed himself to shave, the scraggly signs of a beard had formed. The once stunningly white costume was grey, almost black, from the dirt that stained it. The red sash had vanished. His eyes were circled by large bags, sunken in and gaunt.

It was hard to believe this was the prince.

Logan stood up to his full height, back straight and ready for any confrontation that could occur.

“Roman, was impeccable timing. We were just discussing-.”

The door to the imagination was slammed shut behind Roman, “I know what you were discussing, and you are wrong.”

Logan linked his hands together in front of his body to show he was not looking for a fight.

“I know it is hard to understand, Roman, but you must come to terms with the fact that Remus is-.”

“Don’t you say another word,” Roman growled.

Logan did not hesitate, “is gone. Once again part of the subconscious most likely. This endless searching and denial-.”

“YOU’RE WRONG!” Roman yelled over the words and Logan faltered.

The pause of the logical side’s words was met with a prince that stormed up to him. Almost nose to nose. Logan stared into red eyes, usually a reddish brown but now fully encompassed by the color the prince represented.

“I still feel him. Right here,” he poked Logan’s chest none too gently, “He is out there somewhere. He is still alive, and I will be damned by God or whoever cares about facets like us if I am not the one that brings him home.”

Logan remained impassive, “I see. You are working off intuition. I can assure you that the aching feeling you may feel is just an illusory correlation. It is not a sign that your brother is still with us but simply grief that you are avoiding.”

“You say he is dead one more time I will cut off your arms and smack you with them,” Roman hissed through his teeth.

“Roman!” Patton gasped. The whole argument he had been silent. Too stunned with the sudden appearance of the very person he had been sat waiting for. The words that left the prince’s mouth startled him back to reality.

The prince’s head snapped to the other two and then he looked back at Logan.

“He started it, Pat! Coming in here and trying to turn you all against me! I know he is alive; I feel it!”

Roman took a small step back away from Logan and fully faced the two on the couch. Virgil looked away quickly. Patton’s face was almost as black as Logan’s except that tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. As well as a look of sad determination.

Logan opened his mouth to counter, but Patton beat him to it.

Morality stood up, out of Virgil’s hold, and calmly moved to place two hands on Roman’s arms. Firm yet gentle. An iron grip that felt as soft as kitten paws.

“Sometimes what you feel and what you know are two different things, Ro,” he said softly.

Roman looked like Patton had just stabbed him through the stomach with his own sword. The prince stepped back and broke the hold Pat had one his arms.

“No.”

“Kiddo, I have watched you run in and out of that door for three months. I have hoped everyday that you would return happy and successful but,” Patton took a beat to make sure his voice was steady, “Sometimes people in our lives, people we love, leave us-.”

Roman took another step back when Patton tried to get him back into his arms, “No.”

“They leave us before we are ready. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, stop it!”

“It hurts a whole lot. You want to bring them back; to turn back the clock but you can’t. Time doesn’t move backwards.”

Roman stumbled back further and his knees the back of the final chair in the room. He looked at Patton and then at Logan; eyes wide in fear. Pat stayed a step away to give Roman some space.

Then Roman’s eyes landed on Virgil. Hope, desperate home, lighted up those tired eyes. Patton did not have a chance to stop him as the prince rushed towards Anxiety. He fell to his knees in front of the couch and grabbed Virgil’s hand.

“Virgil, dark stormy knight, you got to believe me. You knew my brother; you know he would not just vanish without some kind of...of…of epic death. He’s still out there. He’s not…not...”

Patton let a few tears fall hearing the desperate words of his friend. His eyes met Virgil’s, who looked at him with fear and uncertainty on what he should say. He gave a watery sad smile and a small nod. Silent encouragement for his friend to do the right thing for Roman.

“He’s dead, Roman,” Virgil got out. His voice monotone but his free hand shook.

Roman let go of the hand like he had been burned and stumbled to his feet.

“You’re just saying that for them,” Roman shot back lamely, “Virgil please.”

Virgil looked down at his lap and shook his head no. His fingers nervously picked at a loose thread on his jeans.

Roman looked around the living room. The look on his face made Patton want to burst into tears and hold him close. He knew that Roman would not let him do that after he had laid down such a truth.

“You’re all wrong. He isn’t dead!”

“Roman, pumpkin, please,” Patton reached out a hand for the prince but found it smacked away.

“No! No you are all wrong! You all just never liked him and want me to let him rot!” Roman’s face split into a grin but it looked more like a grimace. Tears had started to form in his eyes, “Well jokes on you! I am not going to give up on my brother like you all did long ago! I’m going to find him and all of you are going to be-.”

“Roman enough.”

The room seemed to get colder as another figure stepped into the living room. Dressed in black and yellow. His had was missing and revealed messy curls. The capelet gone.

Deceit looked tired. Drained.

“Deceit!” Roman turned fast and grabbed the dark side’s hand. He clutched the yellow glove like it was a lifeline, “Please, you got to believe me. You know he is out there somewhere.”

A sad look passed Deceit before he looked at the other three. Virgil gave him a glance before he looked away. Patton was nervous. Worried that whatever Deceit would say would break what little words that they had gotten through to Roman. Logan looked impassive. Expectant.

The free hand gently moved and cupped at Roman’s face before it slid down to rest on his shoulder. A sad expression cast a shadow across Deceit’s face.

“You know I cannot lie to you.”

Roman fell to his knees, the hand moved in time to let the mighty prince fall. Roman clutched the hand in his grip tightly, forehead rested against the back of it.

“Please…please tell me I’m right.”

Patton watched nervously as a gloved hand carded through Roman’s messy hair.

“You’re right,” Deceit said slowly. As if he did not want to say the words.

Roman burst into tears, “He…he can’t be gone. He can’t be.”

“I searched everywhere,” Deceit continued to move his hand through Roman’s hair, “Even places he never told you about. I’m sorry, Roman. I know you want to believe he is out there but…he is terrible at hide ‘n seek. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His words were gentle. A surprising feat for someone so forceful in his manner of conversing with the other sides. He seemed to be schooling his face to not break down.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered the words.

The sound that escaped the prince’s mouth was one of pure anguish. Anguished and desperate for something to change the truth. Patton felt it in his soul and could not longer hold back the waterworks. Tears fell freely as he moved fast to collapse at Roman’s side. He hugged his friend tightly; the only idea he had to let Roman know that he was there and cared for him.

Slowly Virgil moved and sat next to Roman. He rubbed the prince’s back. Logan came next; he simply stood as a guard over the three on the floor. He watched silently as Deceit sunk down. Roman moved from just crushing his hand to crushing his body.

Four sides clustered around their fallen friend as he finally let the grief settle in.

(Line divide in the form of Logan)

The first thing he heard was the sound of something crashing. A rhythm that he could not help but find soothing. It called him to sleep but his body refused.

The next thing he felt was an ache in his limb and a pain in his head. Along with a cold, damp feeling all around him. The wet matched the sound he heard.

Then he tasted salt.

He opened his eyes and saw a bright light that made the pain in his head explode. He weak groan escaped his dry lips as he closed his eyes once again. The wet feeling crashed with a loud sound around him as he tried to turn away.

The air left his lungs and wet surrounded him.

The word Ocean echoed in his mind. The panic took over.

His eyes snapped open. The bright light did not bother him as he clumsily made it up the sand and away from the wet. Away from the crashing. Onto hot sand and air, which he gasped for desperately.

“Air. Need Air. Need Air. Air. Air. AIR.”

He coughed, the taste of salt only adding as it came out of his mouth violently. Onto the sand on which he lay. His stomach hurt, his limbs felt heavy, and now his throat burned.

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he curled into a tight ball under the heat of the sun. The wet clothes he wore slowly began to dry.

“Why does everything hurt so much?” Came his first thought.

He let the waves, “heh”, of sickness ride themselves out. Every cough threatened to bring up more sea salty bile. Every turn of the stomach or pain from his head made him want to give into the darkness once more. If only he was not scared of that too.

The heat of the sun began to lessen as he finally felt up to uncurling from his ball. His body still ached and felt heavy, but it was a relief to crawl away from what his stomach had kicked up. He got himself up the beach and towards the edge of a wooded area. His body decided that was enough movement for the day and he laid there under the shade of the palm trees.

Tired eyes watched the waves and looked out at the endless blue of the ocean. He traced the line where the sky met the sea with his eyes.

“Where am I?” He spoke the words allowed; his voice rough from his first few moments of consciousness.

He looked down at himself. Bare feet were pruned from the saltwater. They stuck out of black pants which had one leg partially torn off. What confused him the most was the jacket, with sparkles and an eyeball and fake teeth, it all hung off him soaked in water. A green sash barely hung on.

It was weird. Very weird. With all this added weight, those sleeves were probably supposed to puff up, he was not sure how he had even been washed ashore.

The man was halfway through getting the jacket off before a thought struck him suddenly. The belt sat beside him in the sand now, the jacket undone but still rested on his shoulders. The white tank top under it stained and on top of that a red pendant rested on his chest.

He was frozen. Unsure if he could comprehend what he was thinking. Panic surged through him again as he looked at the sea and then back down on his person.

The fear of where he had ended up did not eclipse the fear of such a question as this:

“Who am I?”

[danvssomethingorother]

Alright, here's a Brusty prompt for you. Through this season, we got to see Brock not particularly concerned about Doc's wellbeing. I can't blame it, Doc gets kidnapped every other day and it's usually Guild related, so he knows Doc's going to be alright. So the prompt is the opposite. What IF Doc's in genuine danger, and Brock goes from believing everything is in order to realizing Doc is probably going to die if he doesn't get there in time?

Ok so I apologize on taking so long but man did I get carried away, I’m not even really done. I’m just gonna make this multiple chapters cause my gosh am I getting out of hand.

A03

---

Brock had never beenopenly affectionate, especially not towards him. Never towards Doc.

On occasion he wouldcomfort or console the boys, show them a sliver of attention their fatherhadn’t been capable of giving them since their fifth death, but never had heshown Doc that. Never when people were watching. He always kept his composureand reminded himself it was just a job, the nights they spent together meantnothing, he told himself that so often he almost believed those lies. Almostthought he could shrug off an event like this as he had taken to doing for theboys, who he almost considered his own. His and Rusty’s children, he had gottenso desensitized to their deaths, he could just grumble a curse, clean up themess, and start the next day like it hadn’t happened.

This, this was so muchdifferent. Brock didn’t know how to process he had lost Doc, he just held hislifeless body, mumbling his name into his ear. No matter what he addressed himas, the man was not responding, he was not breathing, his heart had stoppedlong before Brock had gotten here and no matter what Brock did, it wasn’t goingto start again.

He could call him Doc,Rusty, Rust, Thaddeus or even TS, something no one would have ever called him,but he wasn’t going to respond.

The man had alwayscomplained behind closed doors that he wanted Brock to act like he loved himwhen other people were around but even with his friends and sons awkwardlywatching Brock hold the man’s corpse and even shed tears as he kissed him onthe forehead, he wasn’t going to come back to him.

Doctor Thaddeus S.‘Rusty’ Venture was dead and there was nothing that would change that.

---

Most would assumeThaddeus S. Venture’s funeral would have been a quiet affair, he was not themost liked person around, but it was no real surprise to Brock the entire Guildwas on outside the funeral home demanding to see this man’s corpse, notbelieving he could die.

The older members of theGuild in particular weren’t buying it that he had died or that it was possiblefor him to do so.

Even The Monarch, who hadbeen there when Brock had brought Doc’s body from the wreckage, would notbelieve the man was gone. He had left half a dozen messages to their home phoneand a dozen more to the new CEO of the company demanding for Rusty to stopfaking his death.

Brock wasn’t allowed tomourn in peace, to keep the proceedings some what quiet for the few people whotruly did love Rusty Venture, he had to keep the peace outside.

He twisted his wrist alittle, letting his drawn knife glint in the sun light as a warning to all thesnarling and fully costumed members of the Guild surrounding him.

“I arched Jonas Venturefrom 1960 to 1986!”  

Brock just glared at Dr.Z standing in front of him with a finger close enough to his face almost askingBrock to slice it off.  

“In the entire time Iarched that man, that little boy was practically immortal! One of my henchmenshot him in the freaking head. Blood and brains splashed everywhere. The stainnever came up and I thought it would be a reminder to anyone dumb enough tobring their damn six-year-old baby into war zones but the next week Jonas hadhis baby with him on TV! You explain how that happened, but one explosion cankill him??”

Brock could explainexactly how that happened, he had known the Venture family’s little secret forover twenty years but that was long gone. Even if it was an option, it wouldn’tbring Rusty back. If it was still an option, Brock would have already taken it.He would already be back home, already have Rusty back, this entire funeralwould not be necessary but as it stood that was no longer an option.  

Brock rolled his eyes andshrugged at the old man, acting like he had no idea what he was talking about.

“This is some fuckingbull shit!” Monarch yelled shoving Dr. Z aside and earning one of the man’sfamous death glares, “I have arched this family for god damn 20 years! I knowyou have your ways of bringing back the dead. Does Rusty really think he canescape me faking his death and sneaking out the back door??! That isn’t howthis fucking works!”

“Sweetie…” his wife beganplacing her hand on his shoulder, but he wasn’t done making a scene, he stompedhis foot and made Brock snarl as he got into one of his poses, this is exactlywhat Brock wanted today, to listen to an evil monologue.

“This is god damndisrespect on his part! He did this on purpose! He ruins my big ceremony bylying about us being related! And now he’s faking his death so I can’t arch himanymore after the level of bullshit I went through to get this far!!”  

“Yeah! They have cloningand a freaking necromancer!”

Brock took a deep breathto keep the urge from killing the henchmen now yelling at him, he was onhollowed grounds, they couldn’t harm him and he sadly couldn’t harm them duringa funeral proceeding. That was agreed upon on the Treaty of ’75 and hadn’t beenchanged since.  

“You all saw the corpse…”Brock sighed pinching the bridge of his nose, “Monarch was the witness to thissince he was the first there, do we have to do this now?”

“This isn’t what we arehere for,” Monarch’s wife said with a deep sigh gently pushing back her husbandand his henchmen sending a glare towards Dr. Z as he opened his mouth again,“We have been trying to get ahold of you for days. After a level ten passes,their level is always transferred over to their---”

“You send an arch for theboys so soon after their father’s passing, and I will make sure I send thecorpse right back to you.”

“Not so soon of coursebut you are refusing to answer, and you represent the boys,” she said raisingher hands up to keep the peace between everyone, “I would rather not godirectly to your superior officers on this, you know what’s best and we need tohandle and take care of this. Nothing personal, but this is the only place wecould confront you without risk of personal safety.”  

“After Jonas’s death, hisuncles agreed Rusty needed some responsibility and six months later he wasassigned his first arch,” Dr. Z began but Brock was already shaking his head.Rusty was on drugs after his father’s passing and it wasn’t right of the originalteam Venture to toss him into the lion’s den so soon and Brock wasn’t about totoss his boys in directly after their father’s passing.  

“But I know damn well Dr.Venture is not dead!” Dr. Z concluded with a firm shake of his head, “Do youknow the amount of shit that should have killed him as a child? I refuse tobelieve an amateur newbie you refused to take care could do what pros couldnot.”

“Z,” the council womansighed out loudly, “For the last damn time, that is not why we are here…”

“No that is exactly whywe are here!” Monarch yelled out pointing his finger towards himself andtowards his henchman.

“This is a god damn ploy!Some fucking ruse you and Dr. Venture cooked up just to fuck me over more! Youwant me to fucking believe you just let him be kidnapped?? You just let somefucking piece of shit nobody kill him??”  

Brock kept a straightface, he kept every feature impassive, passing off he didn’t care but inside,he was screaming. He let Rusty, his Rusty leave that night after getting a deaththreat. He shrugged it off, it was a disgruntled level three no one.

It had ended here, Brockstanding outside Doc’s funeral being yelled at by his arches that he was lying.

“Do you know how manyhenchmen this man has slaughtered for just looking at the Venture familywrong?” his henchman cut in making his leader throw his arms up and scream‘exactly’ loud enough to make Brock cringe at the shrill cry.

“Believe what you want,”Brock snarled their way, “Dr. Venture is dead. He’s not coming back and if youcome near the boys before they register as protagonists on their own volition Iwill fucking kill you.”

Brock was done with theirthird degree, he walked into the funeral home and slammed the door behind him.He rolled his eyes at Shoreleave as he approached him and cocked his headtowards the door silently telling him to deal with the Guild members stilloutside, waiting to bitch some more at him about how he was lying about this.

Shoreleavesympathetically patted him on the shoulder as he walked down the hall, duckinginto the funeral room in time to see Dean crying at the podium, telling a storyabout the one time he had truly related to his father. He was leaving out keydetails, but Brock knew he was talking about how they were both clones.  

[silveranchor]

Somewhere in between

Death is not always the end of the journey. For some, it’s just the beginning. Simbar Ghost!AU 

Every single time, this gets more angsty and out of control... I hope it doesn’t suck.

As always, thanks to Bianca @from-red-string for proofreading and helping out so much. She deserves all f the stars.

Previous chapters

Chapter 4 - See how deep the bullet lies

Luna leaves a small bouquet of flowers in front of Simon's tombstone and sits cross-legged on the ground. She looks thinner each day she comes to visit and the circles under her eyes look darker. Something like concern stirs in Ámbar's chest as she looks down at the girl, she tries to shove the feeling away.

Luna is silent for several minutes, just sitting there, looking down. She shifts in her place and the collar of her shirt slips down her shoulder, exposing sharp, protruding bones. Ámbar winces, Luna is even worse off than she expected.

"Hi, Simon." She moves her hair out of her face with a sad smile. "I wish I brought good news, but things haven't gotten any better for me. I'm still jobless and my grades keep slipping. It's like I don't know how to function now that you're gone."

A huge sigh escapes her lips. "I miss hearing your voice so much. I wish you were still here so you could tell me what to do... You did always give the best pep talks."

The blonde ghost can't help but feel the teeniest bit of compassion for Luna. She's pretty sure they're about the same age, but the brunette looks like a lost little girl, so small and fragile. For a moment she wonders how she'd have reacted if someone as close to her as Simon is to Luna had died. She gives up on the thought as soon as she realizes that not even her best friends knew her half as much as the girl and the ghost know each other.

She is honest enough to admit that it may be her fault. She's always been private, never letting anyone close enough to see the chips in her armor. It's something she learned from Sharon when she was just a little girl: No one can hurt you if you never let them near enough.

From a young age, she mastered the art of keeping people at arm's length. Her friends know the basics about her: her favorite color, her preference of caramel over chocolate, her favorite kind of shoes; but the deeper stuff: her fears, her feelings, and her doubts; those she reveals to no one.

The only person who ever got to see beneath her impassive exterior was Matteo. He didn't get to see much of the real her, but he did get closer than anyone ever had. Out all the people she'd ever met, he understood what it was like to be alone in the world even when surrounded by a crowd. Like her, he stood high on a pedestal of his own making, apart from the rest. The mask he wore was just as thick as hers, his shield just as impenetrable.

But as similar as they were, they were never the same. She was cold as ice, he was full of heat. Her heart was as hard as rock, his was soft as the caress of a feather. He worked hard to keep his wards up; to her, it came as naturally as breathing. He hid himself because of fear, she did it because that was all she knew.

She shakes the thoughts of him out of her head and realizes Luna is still talking. “I found my mom crying in the kitchen after she realized I hadn’t eaten anything, and my dad looks so defeated every time I tell them I don’t feel like going out of the house. I think I’m breaking their hearts and it tears me apart. I wish I could smile and keep going on just as before, if only just to see them happy again, but I don’t know how to.” There are silent tears running down her face as she bows her head, her forehead touching the grass.

Ámbar’s mind goes to Luna’s parents. For what she’s said, it seems as if they love her so much that seeing her unhappy causes them heartbreak. She wonders if Sharon would’ve ever cried if she had ever been sad enough to not be able to function, but she doesn’t think she’d ever have noticed.

But, her actual parents, would they have cared? She waves the thought away as soon as it comes, it’s not like she has a single clue.

Luna’s head is still bowed as if she were praying. “I don’t want to be like this anymore. I feel so numb like I don’t care about anything. This isn’t who I am Simon. You always said I was the most positive person in the world, remember? This isn’t me. I look in the mirror and I no longer recognize the person in there. I know everyone wants me to see a therapist or something, but I can’t. I want to be happy again, of course I do, but I’m so afraid. I know it doesn’t make any sense, and I know that you wouldn’t want me to stop living my life because you’re not here anymore… but I’m scared of being happy without you, I am afraid that I could.”

The brunette’s body shakes as she sobs and Ámbar looks away from her. Not even an ice queen is invulnerable to so much pain. Still, she’s glad that it is her listening to the poor girl crying and not Simon. She’s pretty sure Luna’s words would have broken his soul.

Minutes pass, and Luna’s cries subside. She pulls herself up with difficulty, her hands balled into fists… Ámbar is surprised when she notices that she’s not looking down, but straight ahead. The intensity in her gaze catches her off-guard. Simón always says Luna used to be the most determined person he knew, and she can see why now. There’s a fire behind her eyes that she’d never seen before in all her visits. It looks like she had some kind of revelation and if Ámbar weren’t so busy being confused, she’d be weirded out.

“You know what? I’m done. I’m tired of this. You wouldn’t want me moping around and giving up on myself, no matter how much it hurts. I owe it to you and to my parents to try. I would hate it if it were me who died and you gave up on yourself.” She wipes tears from her eyes as the blonde stares at her with wide eyes. “I promise you that I won’t let you down… I’m going to be stronger and I’m  going to get myself out of this.”

Luna strides away, and Ámbar can’t help but follow, still trying to process what just happened. Close to the cemetery gate, the brunette stops so suddenly that if Ámbar weren’t a ghost, she would have crashed against her. As it is, her noncorporeal body goes through hers. She turns and notices Luna staring at someone entering the grounds.

If it weren’t for the hair, she doubts she would’ve recognized him. Matteo looks like he was dragged through hell and barely survived. His slacks are stained, his shirt is wrinkled and buttoned up wrong, and as he gets closer, she can spot a nasty bruise on his jaw. He’s definitely drunk: he walks in anything but a straight line and he seems to struggle to keep himself upright.

Luna stays frozen in place, probably trying to figure out whether she’s in danger or not until Matteo trips over his own feet and plummets to the ground.

Luna runs towards him and Ámbar follows. When they get to him, the brunette kneels beside him looking concerned. After almost a minute passes and he doesn’t even twitch, the ghost gets worried too.

Luna shakes him and screams for help. The guard at the cemetery gates hears her and runs to where they are. Luna moves frantically, her hands going to the back of Matteo’s head. She quickly pulls it away and her eyes widen when she sees blood on her fingers. It is not much, but it makes Ámbar tense. The guard takes out his cellphone to call for an ambulance while Luna puts her ear to Matteo’s chest.

After Ámbar hears the telltale sirens approaching, the minutes pass in a blur. The ambulance parks a few feet away from them and paramedics rush out. They assess the situation quickly, and Matteo is carried inside on a stretcher in a blink of an eye. One of the paramedics is talking to Luna, but Ámbar doesn’t catch any of it. She stays still as she watches a very pale Luna nod and climbs inside the ambulance.

When she finally brings herself to move, the vehicle has already pulled away, and she is left alone wondering just what the freaking hell happened.