#will i ever unpin this doubt

[hheaven-sentt]

meet me in the woods

summary: dreams of the woods and being someone else | leon kennedy x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: the softest angst ever, fighting & sparring, mentions of injuries, language, wanderlust, love confessions, unfortunate situations, slightly forbidden romance, krauser mention (i hate that guy)

notes: 'm where have you been?' 'm when are you coming back?' i'm back. i'm alive. i am free from the shackles of college for three months lawd have MERCY | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The kick to the stomach should’ve been something you expected. You’d been calculating his moves the whole time, able to evade them without even thinking because you saw them from a mile away. But he wouldn’t stop talking. That’s always how he got you; opening his mouth and letting pretty words fall out of it. So when he said that the sunlight made your eyes a different shade, a prettier shade, you lost your touch. It was replaced by a boot to the stomach.

You let out a sound you didn’t even know you could make, a rush of air blowing past your lips. You hit the ground hard, half expecting a plume of dirt to come up around your shoulders. Leon is over you in an instant, locking your arms across your chest. He’s grinning. The sun outlines him like a halo.

“Yield,” he says, lips wrapping around his teeth in an obnoxious grin.

“Never,” you say, pushing back against him. You know it won’t matter so much, he’s always been stronger than you.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he asks, teasing. You notice your legs are still free, remaining unpinned by his. You finally return his grin.

“Never have,” you answer, managing to force your leg between his chest and yours. You plant your foot against him as best you can and give a hard kick. It’s enough to loosen his grip on you, and you’re back on your feet in minutes. You shake the dirt off of your shoulders.

You feel more at ease now, more in control. So long as Leon stays quiet, you might actually win this one. You put the voice in your head to bed, the one that says you’re still going to lose.

Leon tilts his head a bit, grin still hanging on his lips. He squares again, feet shoulder width apart. You could mirror his stance without even thinking. You know his strategies, you know his moves, you know the way his body works. He bounces on the balls of his feet before he swings, it gives him more momentum. He blocks too often with his right forearm, it’s covered in bruises that make it a weak spot. Yes, you know him. That doesn’t always make it easier.

You’re circling one another, waiting for the other to strike. Leon likes to bide his time; he knows you hate going on the offense so he tries to make you, tries to goad you into it. You often fall for it, but you’re trying not to. But he’s still grinning at you, which is mildly infuriating, like an itch you can’t quite reach.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. You raise a brow. “Are we just going to stare at each other, or are we going to finish this? I’d like to get something to eat, and half the mess hall will be closed by the time we’re done,”

“Then hit me,” you return. “Finish it,”

He lets a breath escape him in what seems like a chuckle. You try to ignore it. “Why don’t you hit me, huh? Why do I have to do all the work?”

“Because when you swing, your balance is off. Makes you easier to topple,”

“You’re a quick learner,”

He rushes you then, throwing a right hook that would most certainly hurt if it were to connect with your jaw. You angle your head back at the right moment, using his forward momentum against him. You slip behind him, spinning on your heel. Before you can regret it, you send a hard kick into his back. The satisfaction rises in your throat when he stumbles. He turns to face you. The sunset is peeking at you over his head. You smile. He laughs as he swings again, and you duck beneath the fist hurtling at your nose. He grunts when he takes a punch to the kidney, but you doubt it even hurt that much. It’s a dance of fists and feet, attempting to land a single blow on the other. You can see the sheen of sweat on his brow, something you try to ignore. If you think about it too long, you’ll be face down in the dirt below. You throw a punch, one that lands hard against the smooth planes of his cheek. You worry it will bruise. You push it down. When you’d first started this, he didn’t care if you bruised. He said it would motivate you to do better.

Use everything to your advantage, even losses, he’d said.

Four hours. Within four hours you had managed to lose every fight against Leon you’d started. They didn’t even last that long, so there was no telling exactly how many you’d lost. A kick to the back of your knees sends you down this time, his forearm coming to rest around your throat. His labored breath is hot against the shell of your ear.

“Yield,” he says. The anger in you is too much.

“Fuck you,” you say, ramming your elbow into his ribs. He grunts, the wave of breath cascading over your shoulder. It gives you enough of an edge to wriggle out of his grasp.

You swing with abandon now, anger and frustration and exhaustion haunting your body and movements like a poltergeist. It’s only a matter of moments before your back is on the ground and his boot is pressing into your chest.

“Yield,” he says again. You grit your teeth, feeling tears resting in your eyes. You will not cry in front of him. With anger and resentment, you hammer your palm into his leg twice, signifying your yield. He relents, allowing you to stand.

“You let your anger get the best of you,” he says, turning you forcefully to dust the dirt from your back. “It makes you sloppy,”

“I’ll show you sloppy,” you say, stepping away from him. He laughs.

“I’m serious,” he says, schooling his features as you look at him. “You need to stamp it out or use it to your advantage,”

“I don’t know how to do that,” you say. Your voice is hoarse from the lump in your throat. Defeat weighs heavy on your bones.

“You will learn,” he promises. “Use everything to your advantage,”

The punch to the jaw is a shock to the system. It wakes you up in a way. You feel that anger coming back, that refusal to accept defeat. With a breath, you swing your leg up, landing a solid kick to his side that knocks the wind out of him. Taking hold of the moment, you land a right hook to his face, which causes him to stumble. You can hardly believe your eyes when he falls to the ground. You stand above him, triumphant.

“Yield,” you say. You’re not even pinning him, just sort of hovering near him, hands on your hips.

He’s grinning at you. It’s not teasing, it’s not to get a rise out of you. It’s the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on him. Without a word, he taps out. Two hard beats against the ground are like the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard. Even in your exhaustion, you can’t help but thrust your fists in the air in celebration.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, extending your hand to him to help him up. “I actually won,”

When he’s standing in front of you, half drenched in sweat and smiling at you with so much pride, it’s hard to deny how beautiful he is. Constructed by the gods, you might say if he ever asked. You’re laughing, cackling actually, and he grips the sides of your head as he laughs with you. Your nose is bleeding, you can taste the rust on your lips. He brings your forehead to his, celebrating with you even though this was definitely a blow to his ego. 

After a few moments of bliss, you realize how close you are and how unprofessional it looks, and you back away. You’re both still grinning as he unwraps his knuckles.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” he teases, dropping the wrappings into the trash. The sun has nearly fully set. “You’re not the heavyweight champion or anything,”

“But, damn, don’t I feel like it,” you muse, smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt. He shoves your shoulder.

“Let’s get something to eat,” he says, grabbing your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is.

The mess hall is practically empty when you arrive, save for a few stragglers and the staff. Your usual seats are open, which is a relief. You feel like you can’t breathe when you set your tray down on the table. Leon sits beside you, like he always does, knocking his shoulder into yours.

“You have not won the war,” he teases. You roll your eyes. “Tomorrow night, you’re going down,”

“Who knows?” you return, sinking your teeth into a hard roll. “Maybe this is the start of your losing streak,”

He grins, stealing a piece of broccoli from your tray. In response, you shove the tray his way, a silent gesture to allow him as many as he would like.

You hate it here. It’s hard and trying, and it often makes you want to run away and live in the woods. But Leon makes it passable. Sometimes, after a particularly hard day, all you want to do is hit him. The thought brings comfort to you, settles it over your bones like a warm blanket. It makes your relationship with him strange, sure, but it works somehow. You hit him, he hits you, you get dinner, and the world can turn again. You don’t remember the last time someone had this effect on you, especially in this way.

Sometimes you wonder, on the days where the woods look like your best option, if he would come with you. Leon doesn’t like it here either, but he’s good at it. He’s good at following orders, he’s good with sparring, he doesn’t lose. He’s the star pupil if you’ve ever seen one. But there’s a part of you that thinks he might follow you. Maybe it would be under the guise of protecting you against bears and other woodland fauna, but you think he might just like an escape. Maybe he would go with simply because it was you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, knocking his shoulder into yours again. You look at him through your lashes.

“What comes after?” you wonder aloud. He quirks a brow, asking for elaboration. “When we leave? When I am no longer allowed to conquer you?”

He laughs at this. “I wouldn’t go that far,”

“I am David, you were my Goliath,” you say. He shakes his head.

“I don’t know what comes after,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to knock you on your ass every now and then,”

Something brightens in your chest. “A noble cause,”

“I’m serious,” he says. Your smile falters for a moment. “I think we’ll figure it out. One day, we won’t have to bruise each other anymore,”

“Maybe I’m only doing it to get your attention,” you tease.

“It’s working,”

The statement makes your cheeks flush. “Don’t get sentimental on me now. There’s no place for that kind of talk here,”

He laughs. “You sound like Krauser,”

“Take that back,” you grin. He shrugs, then laughs when you playfully hit his shoulder. He looks around for a moment, gauging your surroundings.

“I meant it,” he says after a while. You look at him. “That we could make it work. Guess I’m sentimental when it comes to you,”

You roll your eyes. “You say that like you’re about to confess your love for me, Kennedy,”

He laughs, a real laugh that rumbles in his chest and warms your flesh. You like when he laughs like this, and you like it even more when you’re the one who causes it.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he asks. His head is bent toward you, closing you into his space. He smells like dirt and cedar, a scent that you would let choke you.

It wouldn’t be a bad thing if you were anywhere else, anyone else. But you’re not. You’re you and he’s him, and you’re stuck somewhere that bleeds the love out of you one punch at a time. If you were in a coffee shop on a dreary street with a warm mug in your hands to unfreeze them from the rain, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would be a wonderful thing.

“Here?” you say. “With me? Yes, that would be a bad thing,”

He grins at you. “Then I’m not confessing my love for you,” he says. “But if we were in the woods somewhere, lost and wandering, I would,”

Your heart hammers in your chest. “In this hypothetical situation, lost in the woods and confessing love, I would welcome your confession,”

The conversation dies with that. You know your days will continue, the secret dream of the woods stuck in your heart somewhere. You refuse to allow that to be beaten out of you. You would spend your life trying to reach whatever woodland he dreamt up.

He walks you back to your bunks, like he always does. There’s something lingering between you, but it’s not a fire worth stoking, not now. His smiles are easy, his jokes even easier, and you allow things to continue as normal. That seems easier.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, voice soft and sweet and low. You let it wash over you. You grin.

“Only if you’re prepared to lose again,” you tease. He laughs, a low whisper of air.

And he kisses you, soft and sweet like honey on a sugar roll. Plush against him, you feel like putty, ready to be molded to do whatever he could ever need. When he pulls away, he lingers in your orbit for a moment. Your eyes remain closed, just standing in the feel of him.

“I will not be losing tomorrow,” he says. “I won’t go easy on you,”

With that, he’s gone. He’s never gone easy on you, so it’s not much of a threat. But that doesn’t mean he’s never soft. He’s always soft for you.

[letters-unsending]

No. 47

////

Hero only wakes in times of crisis and will not sleep until the problem is resolved. Hero and Villain teamed up to vanquish Villain and they win, but Hero is still awake.

////

“Goodnight,” Villain murmured.

The statement was perfunctory—they’d spoken it to Hero almost every night throughout war, but it was different now. Back then, he’d said it while pushing aside a fold of their tent with his arm. Hero would nod at him from across a candlelit table, still poring over maps and penning down strategy, and Villain would know, without a doubt, that he would find Hero in the same place the following morning.

However, they occupied Supervillain’s castle now. Hero reviewed charters and laws instead of war plans.

“You can rest,” Villain offered, eyeing the papers in Hero’s hand.

Hero glanced up at Villain. From his lifted pen, a bead of ink dripped, oozing darkly onto the topmost page.

“I need to see the city settled before…I rest.”

“No, I didn’t mean that kind of rest. I just meant,” Villain gestured in the air, leaning his temple into the doorframe, “you can relax now. I don’t know when you have to go, but I thought, maybe, you could enjoy the peace for a while.”

“I am not made for peace, [Villain].” Hero lifted the paper before the stain could seep through and set it aside. “I will have my rest soon. And this work, it is of no consequence to me.”

“You’re exhausted, [Hero].” Ever since they’d vanquished Supervillain, Hero’s power had flagged. His tireless facade waned into shaking hands and short breaths; the only work he could manage anymore was desk work. And so they’d labored side by side, discussing edicts and decrees. “I think—I think you’ve needed to rest for a long time now.”

Hero stared down at his ink-stained fingers. “There are things I need to do.”

“I am quite capable of running this city. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I know you are capable, [Villain].” Hero sighed. “By far, you are the most honorable man I have met in all my waking hours.”

At that, Villain shoved himself off the doorframe. “Then, why? Why do you insist on wasting away in this office?”

“The [magic] let’s me stay as long as there is something required of me.” Hero splayed his hand over the papers. “I have to work to stay awake. This is all I can do.”

“Then tell your [magic] that I need you.” Villain rounded Hero’s desk. “Tell it that I need you to rest, and that I need you with me.”

Hero shrunk back in his chair as Villain loomed over him. “The [magic] does not work so frivolously. You can not simply request it—”

Villain yanked Hero up by his lapel and tugged him out of the room. “I will not have you die reading over grain reports.”

“Where,” Hero winced, his lungs burning with each step, “where are you taking me?”

“To my room. To sleep.”

“[Villain],” Hero hissed, “I am not going to wake up.”

“You will.” Villain insisted, slowing as he heard the cramped hitch in Hero’s breath. He shifted his hand down to his forearm and clasped Hero’s terribly thin wrist. “And if you don’t, I will find a way to wake you.”

“You do not have my permission to start another apocalypse.”

“I wasn’t—,” Villain turned to catch the glimmer in Hero’s eye, “don’t joke with me about this, [Hero.] You shouldn’t have to continue saving the world if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to wake up every other century and fight for every second you’re conscious.”

As Hero opened his mouth to reply, Villain gave him a look and pushed him into his drawing room. He unpinned Hero’s cuff links and pulled off his overcoat before doing the same to himself.

“Even if I were to sleep and find myself in an era eons from now,” Hero proclaimed as Villain unbuttoned his vest, “I would remember you.”

In the wan light, Villain floated like a phantom, a shadowed slip of skin and silk, but Hero could still see his smile in the shadowed wrinkles around his eyes and in the gleam of his teeth.

“And I would recall you for the many years until my death.”

////

“I’ve never fallen asleep on purpose before.” Hero whispered.

Villain shifted closer and pressed his forehead into Hero’s shoulder. He reached over to settle his palm over Hero’s sternum. “Close your eyes.”

“Well, I understand that.” Hero protested.

“Close them, [Hero.]” Villain flattened his fingers and Hero took a deep, shuddering breath. As he relaxed, he set his hand overtop of Villain’s and squeezed his knuckles.

“I want to wake up tomorrow.”

“I will wake you.”

“If I don’t, I want to say—”

“Goodnight, [Hero].”

[factorialsotherfandoms]

QSMP in XCOM2 once again! Cellbit's orientation day, after he gets the Fed job to go undercover with but a week or so before he starts work! What delights await us, I wonder? (Anyone following my thoughts recently knows) (cat-hybrid!Cellbit, circa 9 years before Felps is rescued and 4-ish before first meeting Roier). Frankly while this one is specifically the au, it could also very easily fit into a slightly more fucked up version of canon.

TW: graphic torture sequence, blood, broken bone, unwanted and unnecessary surgery, declawing

A young woman in a Federation Uniform shows Cellbit through the office. She is the next newest hire, with scarring across her nose and the gills either side of her throat looking irritated from the air conditioning. Cellbit hasn't been given her name, only her rank of Junior, just like he has only been given the names of everyone else here.

He has been given his own desk, however, and allowed a few moments to arrange it - there's no place for sentimentality in the Federation, and even if there were he would not risk his mission. Still, he lays out his pens and his calculator, and lets himself be talked through setting up a login for the computer.

Just as he finishes that, she jolts; he looks, sees her eyes blown wide with fear, and follows them to the approaching Cucurucho.

"I will take over this investigation," the creature says, robotic and blank.

Junior bows and scampers.

Cellbit thinks of other fish-hybrids he has met, of the scars on her face where scales should be, and his ears twitch at the idea of what comes next.

"Follow me."

No matter what he suspects, Cellbit follows.

He's here for a reason, one greater than himself, and what price is his flesh to pay for access to the Federation computers?

---

Cucurucho leads Cellbit to an office, and has him sit. There's a metal tray on the table, and a pair of metal cuffs screwed into the desk. He's not ordered to put his hands in them, however - not yet.

There is also a man there, with a surgical mask on. He does not say anything, just gestures for Cellbit's hands.

Cellbit cannot afford to show doubt or hesitation, not this late in the game - he gives his hands, and barely flinches as each one is stabbed by a needle.

The tingling cold of anesthesia begins creeping from them, much like when his wisdom teeth were pulled. Local anesthetic - and, fuck.

At least he'll be awake for whatever torment the Federation has dreamed up.

(Perhaps, a weak, filthy part of himself thinks, he'd rather be asleep though.)

While the anesthetic spreads, the surgeon pulls out a set of hairpins and a mirror. Cellbit is gestured at and made to watch as his ears - his most obvious hybrid feature - are folded over and pinned into place.

The Federation demands perfection in all its workers, and clearly hybrids are not considered such - Junior, the fish lady, proved that well enough.

Cellbit's ears twitch under the rough touch, just grateful to be left intact; under his shirt his tail twitches too and - fuck, his hands.

His hands, where his claws lie under the skin.

His claws, his claws, an alteration in his very bone structure - local anesthetic in his hands, wrist cuffs, the tray - if they take his claws, will he ever be able to hold a pen again?

He starts to panic, and clamps it down.

Calm, calm, even breaths, do not let them see your fear.

It's worth it, anyway - he can pin his ears each morning and unpin them each night, and having his claws cut from his hands is not so very high a cost at all! To loose his claws - even his hands, if it comes to it...

It's worth it, it's worth it, if he can save Felps.

Not even everyone, everyone else is just an incidental factor beside saving his family - so long as he can save Felps without losing the rest of his people, /any/ cost is worth it.

And so Cellbit memorises how they want him to hide his ears, and lets his hands be clamped into place, and watches impassive as the sensitivity in his hands is tested and a scalpel unwrapped.

It sits there, staring, judgemental for a good five minutes as the anesthetic kicks properly in. The surgeon sits across the desk, waiting, and Cucurucho leers over him, blank smile ever affixed to the bear's terrible face.

And then, the surgeon is satisfied - content that Cellbit's hands will not be able to move, and ruin his work.

There is no more warning than the man picking up the scalpel, and digging it into the skin over Cellbit's leftmost knuckle.

Cellbit looks over the surgeon's head, to meet Cucurucho's eyes.

He feels nothing as the blade digs around his hand, blood dripping onto the table as the surgeon works.

The noise, though - oh God, the noise.

Scraping of metal on bone as it seeks out the joint, ruining the muscle tissue all around. Cellbit doesn't look, doesn't look, not until the surgeon flicks the blade, and there's a crack, and there in his hands rests one of Cellbit's bones.

Even that, however, Cellbit refuses to relent for.

He can feel nothing in his hands, nor his arms, but there's something hollow about it all the same.

The surgeon doesn't even stitch up the wound as he digs the scalpel into the next knuckle.

Cellbit looks back up.

If this be the price he will pay it willingly, pay it fourfold, and pay it thrice. He will watch as his bones are carved from his skin, he will stare Cucurucho in those soulless black eyes and swear his vengeance again and again.

Everything he is, he gives for Felps.

Everything taken, he will take back from them some day.

The scraping continues, and Cellbit dares himself not to look. He remains sat tall, remains sat proud, even as he hears the scratch-scratch-scratch.

Another crack, and another bloody bone is tossed to the side.

It's not until the fourth claw that Cellbit begins to flinch. The blood loss is getting to him, no matter how he tries to stay tall. The numbness creeps up his arms, and he knows it is bad, he knows it is wrong.

He knows that, even if he says something, they'll only be crueler.

For Felps, he reminds himself.

For Felps, who saw good in him when there was no good to see - for Felps, and for his family.

The scalpel is swapped out for another one around the seventh claw. Cellbit's right hand is no tougher than his left, but still a bigger blade is taken to it. The surgeon doesn't flinch, Cucurucho's face remains in its soulless smile, and so Cellbit refuses to be weak once again. He keeps his stance, keeps his posture, keeps his face perfectly schooled even as his hands are ripped apart.

The scalpel slips.

A shockwave of vibration shoots back through Cellbit's bones - his posture crumples as he gasps, the pain finally becoming apparent around his shoulder.

The surgeon glances up.

His lips are hidden, but his eyes are smiling.

And Cellbit... Cellbit cannot, will not let them win - he needs this, he needs this, this is his one chance and his one lead and whatever hell they put him through it /has/ to be worth the cost.

He cannot hiss, he cannot snarl, he can only breathe and bite his tongue and bring his eyes up once more.

Another crack, another claw, another chunk of flesh and another piece of himself ripped away.

They want perfection? Cellbit will give them perfection.

It won't be the perfection they want, but he'll give it to them all the same.

They can take his blood, they can take his bones, they can take his very soul, but he will not let them win.

What's a soul anyway?

He can answer the question in many ways, but his is black with sin, a sticky ichor infecting everything it touches. They want it? Let it destroy them - they've taken the cure, and no matter what he does, he will not let them also touch the balm.

Another claw gone - number eight caused them trouble, and it will be nothing compared to the hell Cellbit will unleash just as soon as Felps is safe.

His vision is blurring now, too much blood on the table, too much damage to his muscles and too much poison in his veins.

He hunches slightly, but keeps the eye contact. He can't stop the snarl, can't stop the venom, not now - but he can refuse to loose.

The ninth claw sheers into two as it is scraped from his hand, one piece pushing itself deeper even as the other is removed.

Cellbit turns his head down to fight the darkness, and watches as the surgeon cuts a line from his wrist to his second finger joint, peeling back skin and tortured muscle as he searches for the missing piece. At the knuckle the cut goes all the way to the bone, and yet Cellbit can barely see it for the blood.

Still he watches, still he stares, counting every crime as the blade digs through his skin in search of that fragment of bone.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually the surgeon finds it, pulling it out with a pair of plastic tweezers. This wound he bothers to stitch; Cellbit can still feel nothing, but his head is fuzzy and his breathing comes in uneven pants.

One more, just one more.

Cellbit cannot raise his head any more, cannot even twist his lips to a snarl. Still, he refuses to close his eyes - still he insists on winning, watching as his last knuckle is cut into, and the tenth claw is removed.

It comes with no fanfare and no announcement, just the wet plop of the bloody bone being dropped into a bottle of fluid - the other nine bones are gathered, various levels of intact, and join it.

Cellbit can barely breathe, can barely see. He hears his heart in his ears, uneven and struggling. He stares at the bloody mess of his hands - still bleeding, still bleeding - until the darkness is too much, until vengeance is not enough to keep him presence, until even the thought of Felps is out of reach.

"Welcome to the Census Bureau"

It's the last thing he hears before the darkness wins, and Cellbit finally, finally passes out.

---

Cellbit wakes up on a bunk, on top of the sheets. There's a ladder down to the ground, leading to the tiny floor space. He has a small sink, a mirror, a chest of drawers. Under the bed is a desk, a bookshelf, and a tiny cupboard.

His hands are wrapped in bandages, already bleeding through.

He moves his hands and finally, finally he gives in and screams.

[vodka-rocks-and-a-piece-of-toast]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @gaylanrivens, thanks!

1. How many works do you have on ao3? 92

2. What’s your total ao3 word count? 360,215

3. What fandoms do you write for? The IT movies atm!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Exposed, The Art of Romance, More Than I Thought I Did, Name of the Game and Wrapping Things Up.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I like to say thank you + sometimes they crack me up.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I guess Dollface or Fantasy since they are doomed by the canon. My truly angsty fics I never finish because it stresses me out to write them.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of them, but my most white-picket-fence ending is probably Grasp Reflex.

8. Do you get hate on fics? I wouldn't call it hate, but I get people telling me how I SHOULD have wrote things.

9. Do you write smut? More of a fluff girl.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Not regularly. I was gonna say Pushing Roses but I remembered I wrote something on Fanfiction.net like 8 years ago about Britta Perry being friends with Mozzie from White Collar.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes but not on ao3 :)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, with @yerbamansa :)

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? Let's go with Richie/Eddie.

15. What’s a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? I have a Word doc of about 6 unfinished fics that I alternate working on because that's how my brain works.

16. What are your writing strengths? Funny dialogue, and succinctness.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Maybe too succinct? I go UGH I have to make it clear where everyone is and what they're doing??? Can they not just be floating mists that talk???

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? Hahaa I used my French studies to give Melody some jokes in a Crashing fic.

19. First fandom you wrote for? On Fanfiction.net probably Community?? Who knows. Do I even still have the password for that account.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Maybe Unpin Your Butterflies.

Tagging anyone who feels like it :)

[whatsabriard]

So it is entirely possible to have withdrawals from a TV show you've watched 100 times already. So to soothe the savage beast or whatever, I decided to fill a flufftober prompt as a way of making myself feel better. So here, have a quick little ficlet.

~ wearing each other’s clothes ~ 

The night was still dark, the slightest fingers of pink streaking the sky when Jonathan awoke. At first unsure of what had started him to consciousness, a sweep of the large bed beside him revealed that she was gone.

He did not entertain the quell of unease at her disappearance, instead swinging his legs from the bed and his arms into his robe. 

Their evening clothes were still discarded haphazardly, which meant she likely hadn’t left the suite.

Her form, silhouetted against the window in the sitting room, settled his rising panic at once. He stood there, taking several moments to appreciate her. His dress shirt was comically large on her, reaching nearly to her knees, and her arms were wrapped tight around her middle. Her hair, a tumble of mahogany in the pre-dawn light, was a messy halo. He’d wasted no time in unpinning the severe roll she kept it in, running his fingers through the large, swooping curls as he held her for the first time earlier that evening. 

He couldn’t see her face, but she seemed relaxed although lost in thought. It amazed him once more to think he could know her that well after such a short amount of time. He didn’t believe in fate or soulmates, but the appearance of Jennifer Edwards in his path and his life seemed to indicate otherwise. And yet her stillness tickled at the insecurities he tried to keep at bay. He trusted her - he loved her - but he didn’t know if what he’d proposed, literally, would frighten her once she had time to think on it.

And so as he usually did, he masked his worry in humor. “Not having any regrets, are you?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice, but when she turned to face him her smile was blindingly bright. 

“Never, darling.” She bobbed her head, indicating he should come closer. She didn’t have to ask him twice, and his arms covered hers, wrapping around her middle and pulling her against his chest. “Just thinking.”

He loved her voice. It seemed to caress his skin before heading directly into his heart. He could feel her words there, in his chest.

“About?”

She tittered nervously and tucked her chin. She wasn’t a shy woman, far from. She’d taken his breath away with both her nerve and her verve. But whatever had caused that momentary lapse of confidence, it fell away because she spoke clearly. “Thinking how very much I love you.”

He tightened his arms and buried his face in her hair, wondering at the sting behind his eyes. Unconditional wasn’t something he knew much about before Max, but the gravelly old man had taught him to recognize it and to hold onto it when it appeared. 

Jennifer, he knew, was unconditional and the truth of it was enough to take him to his knees. 

“You have no idea how much I love you.” He whispered, the words punctuated by kisses against her crown. 

And this time, her laugh wasn’t nervous at all, but deep and throaty and full of promise. 

“Oh, I think I do.” She said, even as she twined their fingers together and led him back into the master suite. 

Jonathan followed behind her, docile as a lamb but hungry like a wolf. He eyed her shapely legs as they disappeared beneath the white linen of his shirt. They were just outside the door when he stopped and their twined hands brought Jennifer up abruptly. 

Her eyebrow questioned him - they were so close to the promised land and the rumpled slice of heaven they’d christened only hours before. 

“Looks better on you than it ever looked on me.” Jonathan tugged at the sleeve of the shirt and Jennifer grinned up at him, a challenge lighting her eyes. 

“Maybe you’ll have to fight me for it.” She teased, backing into the room. 

“I doubt it’ll come to that,” was Jonathan’s reply, already pushing the shirt from her shoulders. The door clicked shut behind them.  

[iscbeld]

@isabelofscots

"How you are not yet betrothed is beyond my comprehension." Isobel flashed her signature grin as she began unpinning the princess' hair mere hours after constructing the hairstyle in the first place. A grand banquet had been held that evening with every host and guest in attendance, and though such an event might tire out the most energetic among them, it had only fueled Isobel further. "Could you not feel every eye in the room upon you, Isabel? Men and women alike have been dazzled by your beauty and, no doubt, your mind."

Isobel was proud of many things, but chiefly among them was her friendship with James' sister Isabel. The women had become friends as girls whilst the king's advisors still ruled Scotland, and the years only brought them closer. The princess was probably the smartest woman Isobel had ever met, and among the most talented as well. She had introduced Isobel to various forms of art and literature, taking the time to explain each concept with such passion that Isobel could not help but fall in love as well. Especially in her position, Isobel was grateful to have a female companion she could truly admire and trust without fear of retribution or deceit. "Is there any name I should whisper in your brother's ear? A duke? A prince?"

[mauloveskpop]

[SIREN:DAWN] • Higher CONCEPT PHOTO #SIREN_SUN WOW, JUN & DONGHUN

[highladydawn]

hm if you're still doing the prompts for ships can i get something feelsy post ACOSF for nessian? (I just love them so much)

I love them too, friend! Hope you like this! :) I’ve given up on keeping these 100 words exactly, but it’ll still be short to match the general rules of the game.

Cassian laid flat on the bed, head pointed upwards so he could still see Nesta at the vanity. Her deft fingers twisted and curled three plaits of her golden brown hair over and under each other with ease. He could watch her forever like this, serenity washing over her like a mist—tangible and silky to the touch, yet unseen. 

Nesta was beautiful in moments of power and anger, moments where she wore her determination like a crown across her head. But she was exquisite just like this, too. Steady. Peaceful. Happy. 

In the reflection of the mirror, Nesta caught Cassian looking at her. She lifted a brow, tying a strong ribbon around the end of her hair. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. 

Cassian let his head sag back onto the soft bed, but twisted his chin so she didn’t leave his sight. The corners of his lips lifted into a lazy smile, one he knew Nesta couldn’t look away from. 

“Seriously,” she chuckled, turning to him. “What is it?” 

“I just love you so fucking much,” he murmured. 

“You don’t say it very much,” Nesta challenged, though her smile was just as blissful as his was. She left her braid unpinned to the top of her head and instead began crossing the room toward him. Cassian drew his lips into his teeth, propping himself up on his elbows. When she was close enough, he opened his arms to her. His lips puffed out in a pout as she settled on the edge of the bed, just out of his reach.

“I don’t say it often because once I get started, I won’t be able to stop,” he explained. If he inched just a little closer, his fingertips would graze over her spine.

“I’ve always been the type to show that I care. But I should say it more. I know you like to hear it,” he said quietly. 

Nesta didn’t look at him. She pulled her hair over her shoulder to begin fanning out the plaits, widening each section of the braid so it wasn’t so tightly coiled. 

“I don’t doubt it—if that’s what you mean,” she replied quietly. “I know you love me.” 

“Well I know you’re the most lovely female I’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t stop me from looking at you. From enjoying looking at you,” he countered. “You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to tell you they love you. I want to be that for you.” 

“The same goes for you,” Nesta swore, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I love you, Cassian.” 

The glassy softness in his eyes...No one had ever looked at her like that except for Cassian. Not her parents, not her sisters, nor the men she knew in the human lands. In an army of people that loved Nesta, Cassian was their general—giving his whole being in the pursuit of cherishing her. But when it came to the people who cherished him, Nesta was the queen. 

No longer able to take it, Cassian sat up on the bed and wrapped his arms around Nesta’s middle, pressing her back into his strong chest. She drifted further into him, letting the hand splayed against her stomach reach up and turn her head toward him. His lips found her cheek, the sensitive spot behind her ear, the curve of her jaw, and explored luxuriantly. His other hand, that had been previously rubbing up and down the length of her thigh, found her breast. She held his hand to her, encouraging him to delve deeper until his touch was both of his hand and something deeper. 

He knew what she wanted, could translate the breathy gasp she released, and tugged on the bond. They both careened toward each other at that sensation they shared in their ribs. Nesta stood off the bed, spinning around and closing the distance before he could feel her absence. Her lips were on his a second later, staking her claim on him in body and soul. The careful braid she’d been working on moments ago how was falling loose as Cassian tugged the ribbon off. He wanted her hair curtaining him, wanted her scent to drown out everything around him that wasn’t her. 

“On second thought,” Cassian gasped, breaking away and running his thumb over her cupid’s bow. “Why don’t I tell you and show you?” 

[fandom-puff]

Teach Me Tiger- Tywin Lannister

Warnings: political/arranged marriage, smut, loss of virginity, sketchy medieval sex Ed (ie, reader thinks the only purpose of sex is procreation), masturbation/guided masturbation, older man/younger woman

This is inspired a little by my Tywin Lannister marriage HCs a did a few weeks ago :). Also soz it took so long I was working on this for quite a while and I DEFINITELY got carried away oops xx

Gif creds to owner

Song creds to owner

Teach me Tiger how to kiss you

Show me Tiger how to kiss you

The heavy velvet draped over your shoulders, in Lannister red and gold, almost weighing you down as you turned back to the septon, not daring to look up at the old lion you now called husband. Barely processing the words of the septon, you stood stock still, until it was time for you to turn to Tywin, tip your chin up and receive his kiss. It was a chaste, barely there kiss, done out of duty rather than love. Of course there wasn’t any love behind it; this marriage was done only out of duty, duty to Casterly Rock, which needed a suitable heir without a tarnished reputation for incest and whoreing, duty to your house, which desperately needed Lannister gold and men. Nevertheless, the ghost of a kiss still left you a little breathless and dizzy, and you couldn’t help but think of the bedding ceremony later on that night.

Take my lips, they belong to you

“We do not have to consummate the marriage right this instant,”

You looked over your shoulder, lip drawn into you mouth nervously. “But-”

“You’re young, inexperienced. And you’ve been tense with nerves since you walked into the sept. Come. Sit. We’ll have some wine. Talk, if you’d like,” Tywin gestured to a simple couch, big enough for the two of you to sit without being too close.

Still worrying your lip between your teeth, you perched on the edge, accepting your Lord husband’s offer of a goblet of wine. “I- I thought... my purpose was to give you an heir, my Lord,” you murmured, staring at the dark red liquid in the cup.

Tywin sighed and sat down, leaving just over a foot between you, nursing his own goblet. “It is. Eventually,” he said. “When you are ready. I would not force myself on you,”

“But the king said-”

“Never mind what the king said. My grandson has no say in what happens in my- our marriage chamber,”

A little more relaxed, you braved a look up at your husband, admiring his chiselled jaw, his blonde hair streaked with white, before quickly draining your goblet, feeling a little more relaxed as you stood to set it down. Tywin watched with fascination as you put your cup back on the tray, eyes fixed on you as you came to sit back down- he was very much aware of the fact that you sat a little closer to him. Happy to go off your lead, he continued to nurse his drink, eyes occasionally flicking to you as you shuffled a little closer. He tensed briefly as you leaned into him, before relaxing slowly.

“I-I’d like you to kiss me, please,” you murmured, your soft voice barely reaching his ears. Tywin arched his brows, locking eyes with you, silently asking if you were sure.

You nodded your head, tipping your chin up the same way you had done in the Sept.

But teach me first, teach me what to do

Tywin gave you another chaste kiss that had your tummy fluttering, and you found yourself leaning further forward as he was pulling away. A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “Easy now,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, looking away, cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“For what?” Tywin asked, standing up and offering you his hand.

“For... being inexperienced, I suppose. I doubt I’m the most exciting bedfellow you’ve ever had,” you rubbed your arm, self conscious. Despite the heat of kings landing, you felt a soft chill skitter over your flesh. “I don’t... know...” you looked at the floor, suddenly very interested in the grain of the wood.

“You’re a maid, I take it?” When you nodded quickly, Tywin held up his hand. “It matters not to me. Not in that way. But I presume you’ve never known a man? I presume you’ve never... known yourself?” He added in an undertone, and you let out a little gasp, shaking your head.

“Will you...” you gulped, looking up at him, seeing his pupils slowly expand. “Teach me? To know...”

“Teach you to know me, or yourself?”

You straightened your back, chest raising and falling with each breath. “Both,”

Touch me Tiger when I'm close to you

The small sitting area, with its couch, desk, bookshelves and table, was most certainly not the place for the consummation of your marriage. Tywin led you through a small passageway and a door to his sleeping chambers. Instantly, your eyes made contact with the bed, already turned down, pillows plumped. Clearing his throat, Tywin directed your attention back to him. “Help me with these buttons. They are much too fiddly,” he said, gesturing to his doublet. You smiled softly, happy to carry out the simple task to put your nerves at ease, knowing full well that Tywin could undo his own buttons. “Shall I undo your braids?” He asked as you folded the expensive scarlet fabric, leaving him in his linen shirt and his trousers.

“Yes please,” you murmured. “The hairpins have been stabbing me all day and night,”

Tywin smirked, stepping behind you and towering over you as he began unpinning the intricate braids, letting you unravel them as they fell to your shoulders. “We can’t have that,” he said and you smiled, running your fingers through your hair. When the final braid was loosened and unraveled, you couldn’t help but lean back into Tywin, sighing softly as his hands came to rub the tension out of your shoulders. Eyes fluttering shut, you tipped your head back to rest it against his shoulder, exposing your throat and allowing him to undo your necklace and cast it aside as your apprehension melted away. Slowly, Tywin’s elegant hands moved from your shoulders to smooth over your waist, making you gasp as his fingers kneaded the flesh there.

“My Lord-”

“Tywin,” he whispered into your ear, relishing in your little shudder.

“Tywin...” you sighed. “Please... the dress...”

“Off?” He asked, just to be sure, not wanting to rush you. With your eager nod, he made a noise of content, stepping back a little to access the lacing of your dress, slowly unthreading it, allowing the delicate fabric to flutter to the ground, leaving you in your chemise and stockings and bodice. You kicked off your shoes, dropping a few inches in height as you began fumbling with the fiddly laces of your bodice. His eyes were firmly on you as you began the painstaking process of unlacing your bodice, and you did not miss the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips as your nimble fingers worked the end of the lace through the many holes. When the structured garment finally fell to the ground with a dull thud, you looked back up to him, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest- the thin chemise you wore as a buffer between your corset and your skin was sheer enough that you were sure he could see your tightening nipples through it.

Tywin flicked his eyes over your form briefly, before approaching you slowly. You were fully aware that he still had his boots and trousers on, though now that his doublet was off, you could see the tightness in them. Arching his brow in amusement, he asked “would you like me to undress?”

Chewing your lip, you nodded, sitting on the foot of his bed as you watched him take off his shirt. You gulped, eyeing up his chest shamelessly; you were surprised at how... well he looked, especially at his age, your eyes lingering on his sinewy yet strong form. Snapping out of your little trance, you looked to the floor, face flooding with heat as Tywin smirked at you. “You can look, you know. I am your husband after all,”

You let out a nervous laugh at his remark, though as he kicked off his boots and began to unlace his trousers, you couldn’t unlock your eyes from his stare, drawing your lip into your mouth as his trousers dropped to the floor. “S-should we... get into bed?” You murmured.

“We shall. But I will say this now, YN, if you do not want to be intimate tonight, I can wait until you’re ready. We could just lay and talk, or you could sleep,”

You smiled slightly. Tywin was surprising you more and more; at the wedding feast you had heard bawdy remarks that the head of house Lannister would simply have his wicked way with you and then bundle you off to Casterly Rock whether you liked it or not. It seemed he would do nothing of the sort. “I’d like to lay a while,” you murmured. Tywin nodded and gestured for you to make himself comfortable in the grand bed. It was difficult not to, what with the soft pillows and comfortable mattress. Tywin lay by your side, leaving a gap between you both as he had done on the couch, drawing the covers up to cover you both.

Help me Tiger, I don't know what to do

You lay in relative silence for a while, occasionally glancing at one another, making small remarks here and there. Eventually, a streak of boldness bolted through you and you turned on your side, facing Tywin, your chin propped up by your hand.

“you know before...” you began, trying to avoid Tywin’s gaze as he looked at you with amusement. You sighed, changing tack. “You said you would help me to know you,”

“That I did,” he prompted, knowing there was something more to your rambling.

“But... you also said you’d help me... know myself,” Tywin nodded slowly, urging you on. “How?” You finished bluntly.

“I assume you know... the mechanics,” he said vaguely.

“Yes. Well, what my septa taught me,”

“Ah. What your septa failed to tell you was that it can be quite... an enjoyable experience. For both parties. You may feel intense pleasure, that is,”

“But... the purpose is to... make an heir,” you said, frowning slightly.

“And there is more chance of success if you enjoy yourself doing it,”

You bit your lip slightly. “Can you show me?” You asked, voice barely more than a whisper. Tywin looked at you intensely, and instantly, you answered the silent questions that blazed in his eyes. “Please. I’m sure,”

Nodding, Tywin eased you onto your back, proving himself up on his elbow as he hovered over you. “It is very important that you prepare yourself... there are many places in your body that the simplest touch-” still beneath the sheets, he dragged his knuckle over your clothes waist, smirking at your shiver, “-will bring you pleasure. Touch your body, YN, through your chemise,” you nodded slowly, shutting your eyes as you ran your fingertips up, over your thighs, your hips, your waist... then back down. On every other journey, you’d swipe your thumbs over your clothed nipples, gasping and arching your back. Tywin hummed in approval, tipping your chin up so he could press several kisses to your throat. “Very good...” he whispered into your ear, relishing in your pleased shudder. He placed his large hand over one of yours and guided it further south. You gulped, aware of the hot wetness gathering between your thighs. “Now... here...”

You took a breath, hitching your chemise up until it was bunched over your hips. Tywin could not see thanks to the covers, but he could just imagine your wetness, giving the way you had been wriggling your hips. “Spread your legs,” he murmured, feeling his cock twitch in wake of your pretty sighs. “Good,” he praised, and you nodded, biting your lip hard. “Now, touch yourself, between your legs,”

“How will I know if...”

“You will know,” he affirmed and you nodded, beginning to stroke around the general vicinity until-

Your back arched and you let out a shuddery moan. He was right. You definitely knew. Quickly becoming both breathless and speechless, you allowed yourself to succumb to pleasure as your lord husband watched. Gasping for air, you felt yourself climb further and further and further, until you toppled over the peak, aided by a slight pinch to your nipple. Shaking, you stared up at the ceiling, feeling gentle lips pressed against your forehead as you recovered from your high. You felt yourself leaning into him, moaning softly at the dull throb between your legs. When you finally trusted yourself to speak without an embarrassing wobble to your voice, you looked up at your husband, eyes blown wide with desire for the lion. “Please...” you whispered.

I know that you could love me to

But show me first, show me what to do

This is the first love that I have ever known

What must I do to make you my very own?

Tywin nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You knew his tenderness was to calm you down. It wasn’t out of love; how could you love one another? Your marriage had been one of political strategy, and you were well aware that the only love Tywin Lannister ever knew was for his late wife Joanna.

Teach me Tiger how to tease you

But as Tywin manoeuvred himself between your thighs, the candle light casting shadows from his high cheekbones, you felt... something. He was being so gentle with you, so tender, his large hands splaying over your waist and stomach and hips as you tugged your chemise over your head, leaving you completely nude beneath him. You licked your lips quickly, feeling undoubtedly exposed as you were spread out beneath him, thighs parted to cradle him between them. Eyeing the bulge in his linen underwear, you bit your lip, your nerves running through you again, mile a minute.

Sensing your nervousness, Tywin took your hand, guiding it slowly to his prominent bulge. You gasped, feeling the hot, hard flesh through the fabric as you palmed him. Even through the fabric you could tell how well endowed he was. As your hand ran over the ridges of his cock, Tywin let out a suppressed groan. “Clever girl,” he praised softly and you smiled, nibbling your lip.

Eventually, Tywin knocked your hand away, reaching to fish his cock from his underwear. You barely got a look before he was hovering above you, holding one of your thighs apart with one hand, the other guiding his cock over your wet entrance. “This may hurt... only for a moment,” he murmured, and you nodded- your septa had not spared you the details of procreation.

As he eased his cock into your waiting hole, you felt yourself tense up. He was barely in you, yet you felt so full. The fullness was soon accompanied by a slight pain that had you gasping, but pretty soon you were overcome by the sensation of being stretched out. Giving an experimental rock of your hips, you groaned out, the noise guttural and wanton, and your lips were unable to stop it escaping. “Move,” you whispered. “Move, please,” you hooked your legs around his hips for good measure, heels beginning to press into his lower back as he began rocking his hips, pulling almost all the way out before easing back in.

Once he was sure you had adjusted properly, Tywin’s thrusts became a little rougher, shallower, and you could feel his cock drag over the sensitive walls then clenched tightly around it. He knelt up, dragging you further down the mattress as he rutted into you, skin slapping hard against yours as you wriggled, head tipped back to groan and cry out. Your hair was a mess, your lips were swollen, and your noises steadily grew louder and louder despite your attempts muffle them. Tywin did not try to quiet you, relishing in the cries of passion he was able to draw from you. It gave him a sense of pride to know that his wife was in ecstasy, that his wife was taking her pleasure beneath him like she were a common harlot and he a lowly peasant. And most of all, he relished in the fact that you would soon have a belly full of his children, swelling with the continuation of the Lannister dynasty.

Tiger, Tiger I wanna squeeze you

Clutching onto any inch of his skin you could find, your back arched upwards off the bed as your nails dragged down his arms, you came with a lusty, broken cry, your entire being quivering around him as a sensation more intense than your previous orgasm washed over you. Tywin growled, letting out a low shuddering groan as he finished, and you felt the odd, yet erotic, sensation of his seed filling you to the brim.

All of my love I will give to you

Panting, twitching, and letting out soft whimpers, you fell back among the pillows as Tywin moved to your side. “Are you alright?” He asked you, pressing the pads of his thumbs against your cheeks, swiping away your fallen tears. You didn’t even realise you were crying, too distracted by your crashing release. You managed a small nod and a hum of reassurance as you slowly regained the ability to move. Already you felt your thighs aching, your core still throbbing. You could feel a bit of your husband’s seed slipping from your body, trailing lazily between your thighs. The rest, you knew, was deep inside of you. Tywin sat up, tugging the sheets back over you before laying back down beside you. You hummed contentedly as Tywin pulled you into his side, and you could feel his heart still pounding as you both settled into post coital bliss.

“Do you think... it’ll work?” You murmured, already nodding off as the room became dimmer, the candles close to their ends.

“What, that you’ll be with child after tonight?” When you have a slight nod, Tywin chuckled. “Part of me hopes so. As you’re aware, I am in desperate need of a suitable heir,”

“And the other part?” You whispered.

“The other part of me hopes that you don’t fall pregnant just yet...” you picked up on the suggestive edge to his voice, increasingly grateful for the darkening room as your eyes widened.

“If I don’t... if I’m not... then we will try again. Maybe even... recreationally,” you cringed inwardly at your own formality; the man had been balls deep in you only moments ago. “But I will do my best to fulfil my duties as your lady wife,”

“Hmm... and the lady of Casterly rock?” He teased and you rolled your eyes.

“Casterly rock too. On one condition though,”

But teach me Tiger or I'll teach you

Tywin arched his brows, not used to being given conditions.

“You treat me well. You obey your vows. You don’t treat me like a whore or a thing to fuck and throw away as soon as you’ve got an heir and a spare. You treat me as your lady wife. Protect me, guide me, and at the very least, try to love me. Because that is exactly what I will be doing for you,”

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Look at me, writing a snippet of one the seventh hundreds AUs that can be resumed in “twisted family”. Cw for vampires, onscreen turning someone against their will, and Jon and Elias not being very good or moral people about it, even if they do have lots of feelings for Martin.

It was always hard to ignore Elias, and it’s harder still these days, when Jon’s mind and body are so specifically attune to him, in ways both horrifying and fascinating that he doubts they’ll ever fully understand. He tries his best all the same, stubbornly staring at the mirror in front of him, but Elias’ fingers wrap around his own hands all the same, moving them firmly out of Jon’s hair. Jon does not exactly resist -- no point, with a husband with unnatural strength, but he presses his lips thin in disapproval, as Elias replaces him to unpin his curls. 

“It was necessary,” Elias says, with no hint of apology in his tone. His voice is calm, unbothered, and his expression placid. If his gestures were not so gentle, if Jon didn’t know him better than himself, he’d easily believe that Elias does not care to have betrayed him at all. 

He thinks of Martin, laying in a locked bedroom down the hall; how after a year of acquaintance, Jon had finally realized how young he truly was when he’d seen him earlier. A child, despite being thirty, despite being too good of a liar, despite being the one hunter to almost surprise Elias into surrender. A child to Elias and Jon’s century of existence. Someone who, a few hours ago, still had a beating heart, like Jon. 

He says nothing at all to his husband, who sighs all the same. 

“Would you rather I’d killed him?” he asks. 

“You did,” Jon retorts, despite himself. His eyes met Elias’ in the mirror and he shivers as Elias reaches for the brush in front of him, sliding his cold hand into Jon’s hair. 

“I ensured he’ll be able to stay with us,” Elias rectifies. “One way or another, Jon, this was to end in tragedy -- were you not blinded by your heart right now, you’d realize that we couldn’t let him live as he was. He’s... talented. Eventually, he might have discovered how to fully overpower me, and did something senseless in his love for you. Then we’d all have died. Or to prevent this I could have had sent him to the Lukases, or ensure we fled him until mortality caught up with him, but that would have broken your heart.”

“Don’t,” Jon warns. “Don’t pretend it was for me --”

“Not just for you,” Elias admits, easily. “In the end, I’ll always prioritize our survival over anything else; but here I had a choice, so I made it. He’ll stay with us. I’ll teach him, and you’ll feed him. I suspect in a decade or two, he’ll be happier than he’s ever been in his life.”

When he bends to press a kiss on Jon’s temple, Jon’s eyes flutter. The future Elias paints is not unpleasant; of course not. And he can admit, reluctantly, that he’s more angry at Elias for not warning him beforehand, for not giving him time to prepare Martin, ease him into it perhaps, that he is at the thought of Martin becoming a familiar face in their household. It’s only been the two of them for so long, beyond servants they have to hide much from and discard every couple of years, and Jon loves Elias more than any of other but Martin is -- Martin alighted something new in him. And Jon might not be a vampire, but he hungers for the novel feeling all the same. 

“You won’t go near him,” he says. “Not again, not until I speak with him.”

“Fine,” says Elias. “We’ve already went through the most violent phase of it anyway; he shouldn’t be accidentally ripping your throat next time, and he’s yours to do as you please for as long as you wish.” 

What does it say of Jon, that a shiver of warm pleasure trickle down his spine at Elias’ words? He’s yours. Yes. Martin’s his, just as he suspects he’s become a little bit Martin’s in the past few months. It sets a precedent, Elias turning someone like this for the first time, despite a century of model behaviour, and Jon’s all too aware of it. But for now -- for now, he supposes they must deal with what happened. 

So Jon will take care of Martin. And Elias’ right, of course. They will make sure Martin’s happy, eventually. 

[rowan-underthehouse]

Backseat Driving

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Ruby/Sam Winchester

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3547

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, mild sexual content, language

Additional Tags: mostly comedy with a few more serious moments, relationship reveal

Summary:

Sam and Dean Winchester have done a remarkable job of keeping their relationships with things they should probably be hunting a secret from each other. That is, until now.

Read it on Ao3 here

Sam never thought he’d live to say it, but he should probably be more grateful his brother is alive.

In a grander sense, he’s thrilled. He would have given everything for this in a heartbeat. Hell, he tried to give everything for this. All he wishes is that there was a way around the guilt.

It had become white noise when Dean was in the pit, horrible and endless, but it could be drowned out. He could convince himself that Dean would have wanted this if he could have seen the whole picture. Now it comes in waves. One moment he’s fine, the next he can barely keep his head above the water.

Sam is lacing his boots, trying to be as silent as possible when it hits him tonight. Dean willingly went to an eternity of torture for Sam’s sake, and Sam couldn’t even honour his dying wish. It’s harder to justify with his brother sleeping curled on his stomach a few feet away. Harder to ignore.

It’s ridiculous, shoving pillows under his quilt like some teenager sneaking out the back door with a bottle of Jack, but if he can’t keep his promise, at least he can try to keep Dean from worrying.

He quietly drops the impala’s keys into his pocket, and slips out into the night.

…

It’s hellhounds that wake Dean tonight, tearing at his chest and leaving shredded ribbons of flesh. He can’t move. Can’t fight or even look down. He just lays there, feeling the wet warmth of blood soaking into his clothes, catching glimpses of enormous slobbering heads, gasping for the breath that barely makes its way into his lungs.

He bolts upright, only making it halfway to the knife beneath his pillow before his brain lurches into the dark and empty motel room a few seconds after the rest of his body. He goes for fistfuls of his hair instead, tugging until it hurts and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. His jaw aches, teeth having been clenched for far too long.

It’s another stupid fucking nightmare. That’s all it is. Dean just needs to fight through the relentless exhaustion still weighing him down and get his feet on the floor. Get some water or just stretch and try to reset his brain for any chance at a few hours of good sleep. But there’s a dog howling in the room next door and his eyes are so sticky with tears they almost burn and he can’t make his legs listen to his brain and kick off the covers.

“Shit.”

He doesn’t notice the telltale flutter of feathers, just the sudden steady pressure of Cas’ hand on his shoulder. Dean startles hard, sucking in a breath as he whips around.

“Cas.” A tiny bit of the tension drains from Dean’s body. “Did I,” he clears his throat, reaching for some dignity. “Did I call for you again?”

Cas smiles softly, setting a hand on Dean’s sternum, easing the crushing of his lungs, brushes knuckles against Dean’s jaw and saps out the tension. Maybe it’s a waste of his grace, but Cas always refuses to hear it.

“In a way. I sensed your longing.”

It sounds fucking pathetic, but Dean can’t bring himself to care. He’s too tired for the usual embarrassment that would come with grabbing fistfuls of Cas’s coat with trembling hands, and tugging him lightly toward the bed. Cas doesn’t need convincing.

Cas runs a hand through Dean’s hair and presses a kiss to the top of his head. He pulls back just long enough to drop his overcoat to the floor and kick off his shoes. Dean barely has time to register the loss of contact before Cas is straightening out the sheets, easing him out of his sweat soaked overshirt and jeans. He climbs under the covers and tangles his legs with Dean’s as easily as if it was breathing. Like they’re meant to hold each other this way. He pulls Dean tight to his chest, kneading his fingers into the tension in Dean’s shoulder blades, and Dean melts into him.

The battle against the bone-deep exhaustion dragging Dean back toward sleep is quickly becoming uphill. He presses his face into the fabric of Cas’ shirt.

“It’s alright, Dean. Rest. I have you.”

And Dean gives up the fight.

…

Maybe it’s hard-wired into demons for the sake of all their contracts, or maybe Ruby really wants to see what will happen next, but Sam doubts her constant punctuality is a courtesy.

She’s waiting on the corner of Oak and 19th when Sam pulls up, exactly where she said she’d be, jacket pulled tight across her chest to fend off the night chill.

Sam opens the door and she slides into the passenger seat.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

Sam keeps his eyes on the dash. “Yeah. Well, I’m here now.”

Ruby catches his arm on its way to the ignition, finally managing to meet his eyes, her tone more gentle.

“You can’t listen to him, Sam. You’re stronger than your brother. He wouldn’t understand. He’d ruin everything we’ve worked for. It’s too important. We can’t let him get in the way.”

Sam sighs deeply. “I know.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Sam. This is the only way.”

“I know.”

Ruby relaxes her grip on Sam, easing back into the passenger seat as if nothing had happened.

“I would kill for some French fries. We can go to that restaurant and try to pick up Lilith’s trail. We’ll have to make sure you’re strong enough for tonight…”

She slips out her pocket knife, casually drawing the flat edge across her bicep, like a fidget instead of the open invitation Sam knows it is.

“…help you unwind.”

Sam steps on the gas.

…

Dean doesn’t sleep for more than an hour, waking up with Cas still relaxed beside him, eyes closed. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think the angel was asleep. One big hand is splayed over Dean’s hip, thumb dipping just below the waistband of his worn boxers.

It’s driving Dean crazy.

It would be so easy to shift Cas’ hand to where he needs it. He’d just have to roll over. Maybe it would seem too desperate, but, fuck, Dean is desperate. It’s been weeks since they’ve had time for this and he’s passed one too many long drives thinking about Cas’ mouth on him.

Instead, he scoots closer, untucking Cas’s shirt to get to warm skin and toned abs. He presses a kiss into Cas’s collar bone, his neck, the underside of his jaw before finally pulling back to see his face. Cas’ eyes are open, pupils blown wide as he watches Dean. The grip on Dean’s hip tightens.

In one fluid movement, Dean repositions to kiss Cas more solidly, just about blacking out for a second when Cas matches his enthusiasm.

“Want you,” Cas gasps out between kisses.

His voice alone is almost enough for Dean. He closes his eyes again, trying to compose himself. “Yeah. Yeah, alright baby. Hold on.”

Cas frowns when Dean pulls back, obviously confused, until Dean props himself up and rolls to straddle Cas’ hips. It’s a process to get his shirt unbuttoned and off, Dean still kissing him like the world is ending much faster than it is, and Cas no more eager to pull away.

Dean finally sits back into Cas’ lap, taking a moment to catch his breath. He trails a hand down Cas’ chest, making him shiver.

“Fuck, sweetheart, look at you.” Dean loves seeing Cas like this, his face so open and happy. And because of Dean. It’s hard to wrap his head around. Dean traces along the smile forming on Cas’ lips, beaming when Cas presses a kiss into the pad of his thumb. He could get used to this.

Dean is leaning down to kiss him again when he loses his balance. He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening until his back hits the mattress, hands gently pinned above his head. It might be the hottest thing Dean has ever experienced. He barely stifles a moan as Cas shifts his weight on top of him.

At that exact moment, Dean remembers his brother, still tucked under his quilt in the adjacent bed.

“We should take this somewhere else.”

Cas nods, a strand of already disheveled hair falling into his face, and then Dean’s back hits the familiar cold leather of the impala’s back seat.

Arms unpinned, he sets to work on Cas’ belt, finally letting out the soft moan that’s been building at the back of his throat.

“Cas? DEAN!?” Dean doesn’t need to look to recognize Sam’s voice coming from the driver’s seat. “What the hell!”

…

Like so many other cars, the impala has a big, slightly scratchy blanket that lives in the back seat. The only difference is that this one has been replaced a good dozen times when there was too much blood to just wash out. The current car blanket is an almost new, grey number, which is, as it turns out, just big enough to wrap Dean in his relative state of undress like a very angry burrito.

He sits in the backseat, scowling at Sam through the rearview mirror. To Sam’s right, Ruby is looking only slightly less unimpressed.

Sam tries to enjoy the last few seconds of silence.

Ten…nine…eight…

“So it’s not bad enough to work with a demon, now you’re sleeping with her too?”

“Dean…”

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me! What the hell do you think you’re doing, man? How long have you been…been fraternizing with the enemy!”

Sam is living proof that no matter how hard you roll your eyes, they won’t get stuck.

“She’s not ‘the enemy’, and you don’t have much of a leg to stand on here, Dean. Do you really think it’s a good idea to get dicked down by an angel?”

Dean opens his mouth like there’s actually an excuse he could use here. No words come out. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Never say ‘dicked down’ to me again.”

Sam’s gained a bit of ground, and he refuses to lose it now.

He finally adjusts the mirror to get a good look at Castiel. He sits next to Dean, all shirtless and messy haired, but somehow the same stoic warrior Sam has always known save for the way he stares out the window like if he’s still enough they’ll forget he’s there.

It doesn’t take Dean long to deflect. “How long has this been going on behind my back?”

“You were dead, Dean! There wasn’t exactly a back to go behind.”

Ruby, who had apparently decided to let the brothers sort out their own argument, finally whirls around in her seat.

“He’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions.”

“Ruby-“ Sam wonders if it’s too late to launch himself out of the car.

“Apparently he can’t!” Dean half yells. “I’m dead for four months and the guy goes and hooks up with a demon! What if you knock her up Sam, did you ever think about that?”

Sam doesn’t have time to interject.

“And in my car ! Please tell me none of this happened in my car!”

Sam decides it’s best to say nothing at all.

“No.” Dean puts his head in his hands, ever the dramatic. “No! I’m going to have to deep-clean everything in here! No, you’re going to deep-clean everything.” He jabs an accusatory finger in Sam’s direction.

This was bound to come out eventually. Sam had hoped it would be many, many months down the line, over a beer, after he had defeated Lilith and saved the day. A little more congratulating and a little less half-naked Dean in the back seat. Now the best he can hope for is a chance at damage control. He turns to Ruby, who seems to be trying to glare Cas to death before he can do the same to her. That explains why they’ve been so quiet.

“Look, can you give us a minute, guys? It might be better for Dean and I to talk this out alo-“

Cas is gone before Sam can even finish his sentence. It almost feels too easy.

“Ruby?”

She hesitates, looking from Sam, to Dean, and back again.

“Alright, fine.” Her voice is seething with anger. “If your brother doesn’t trust me after everything I’ve sacrificed for you then I’ll just get out of the way. Enjoy your talk.”

Sam pulls over at the nearest gas station, getting one last icey look from Ruby before she opens the door.

“Lilith has been here.” A deep voice from the backseat makes Sam jump.

Cas has returned to his seat, now fully dressed, his brow pinched together.

“A town called High River 60 miles North.”

…

There have been a lot of awkward drives in the years Dean has spent hunting with his brother, but this might be the worst. He actually feels a flood of relief when the car rolls to a stop in a parking lot dimly lit by flickering lights.

The building in front of them appears to be a diner. It must be called Hal’s or Val’s or something, but after one too many seasons of snow, the sign reads A L’S I ER in washed out glowing red. The musty air reaches Dean a good twenty paces away when Sam cracks the door open and peers inside.

Sam signals behind him, and Ruby is slipping in the door before Dean can make a move.

“Just…wait here a minute. We’ve got it covered.”

“And let you go off with the demon chick and do whatever it is the two of you do when you aren’t defiling my car? I don’t think so.”

Dean starts after him, Cas stopping him by the arm. Dean doesn’t pull away. His heart does a tiny little flutter right out of a dimestore novel. It's embarrassing.

He gives Cas a once over, taking in the usual outfit, and then his own faded t-shirt and boxers. “Come on, man. You couldn’t have thought to grab me a pair of jeans?”

Cas’ face goes faintly red in the flickering light. He seriously considers something for a moment.

“I could go now, but it might be best for me to remain here.” He shoots a glance after Sam and Ruby.

“Forget it.” Dean grumbles.

Cas tilts his head to meet Dean’s eyes where he’s turned away. The grip on his arm goes from restraining to affectionate.

“You’re not angry with me. You’re embarrassed. And you’re scared that now this is out in the open something bad will happen.”

Dean scoffs “It’s not out in the-“

Cas moves a hand up to cup his face smiling gently. Reassuring.

Dean says nothing. Just covers Cas’ hand with his own and leans into it, closing his eyes.

…

When Sam peaks back out the diner door, Dean is waiting for him with his arms, and Castiel’s coat crossed across his chest like a disapproving sit-com mother.

“It’s all clear. Just one demon in there. We’ve got him tied up.”

“Wow, gee, great, Sammy. Did you gift wrap him for me too?” Dean calls back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

There goes the damage control. Sam sighs. At least the lying is over, even if it does come with the uniquely uncomfortable knowledge of why Dean’s grocery runs have been taking so long. Well… some of the lying is over. And he’s not lying to Dean about his powers exactly. Just strategically omitting details.

He pushes the door all the way open and leaves Dean to come in when he’s done sulking.

Maybe Dean is going to spend the rest of the night in You-did-something-I-don’t-like-so-now-I’m-going-to-be-as-miserable-as-possible mode, but Sam has to give him credit, he knows how to get a job done. When Dean marches up to the half-rotten chair the demon is tied to, it’s pretty intimidating.

The demon smirks up at Dean, not even struggling against the ropes bound over his grease-stained apron. He must have been the cook.

“Nice coat. Do you always dress like this for a hunt?”

Dean ignores him.

“What’s your name?”

Sam has stayed back behind his brother, half-bathed in shadow, and fixed his glare on the demon. If he’s heard anything from the others he’ll know it’s time to start talking.

“Does it matter?”

Shit. This isn’t going to be as easy as Sam had hoped. Apparently his reputation only precedes him so far.

Dean sets a hand on the back of the demon’s chair and leans in. “Alright. Let’s just cut the small talk then. Why was Lilith here?”

“Looks like you made it out of the pit, that’s a real shame, Winchester.” It’s subtle, but Sam sees Dean tense. Cas takes half a step forward. “Heard you were a real prodigy. Think you can get me to talk?”

Dean leans closer, pulling Ruby’s knife from the pocket of his…well…Cas’ coat. With a start, Sam realizes he had almost forgotten about the thing.

“Actually, I think I can.” He sneers.

At some point, Sam knows he’ll have to step in. He’ll have to bite the bullet and show Dean what he’s capable of. Pray he understands that it’s the only option. But Sam’s prayers have sat unanswered in some heavenly mail box long enough to collect their weight in dust. No. He’s going to make Dean understand.

He ignores Ruby’s warning look, closes his eyes and focuses on his breath, tugs on the dark thing deep inside him until he can feel it all the way to his fingertips, buzzing with power. He raises his hand. The squeezing starts to build inside his skull, like he’s standing on the roof of a plane with an unholy sinus infection. The demon’s voice barely cuts through it.

“Exorcise me if you want but Sebastian here has taken quite a beating. I leave, he dies.”

Sam lets his arm drop to his side, shrugging off the confused look Dean gives him. They’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

“What was Lilith doing here?” Ruby pipes up.

The demon possessing Sebastian chuckles. “That’s above my pay grade, sweetheart. I thought you’d know that.”

It’s Dean’s turn again. “You can lie all you want, but we’re going to find out about it one way or another. Let’s do this the easy way. Give her up now. Working with a demon like that is only going to cause you problems.”

Not-Sebastian looks confused.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Well if he’s lying for her, maybe there’s a good reason, Dean! He knows how you’d react if he told the truth! He’s not some kid you need to protect anymore!”

Dean spins around. “Oh, so this is my fault?”

“You’re doing the exact same thing! You only think you’re better because he’s an angel and you can’t accept that this isn’t as black and white as it seems!”

Not-Sebastian looks incredulously between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

It’s remarkable how fast Dean wipes the embarrassed look off his face and turns back around. “What did Lilith tell you?”

“Nothing. Just doing her annual press tour.”

Castiel chooses that moment to step in. “He’s telling the truth. He does know anything.” Before he can speak, Cas slaps a hand onto Not-Sebastian’s head, not flinching when a blinding light pours out of his eyes. The demon slumps in his chair. “It could be a trap. We aren’t prepared for Lilith to bring the fight to us. We need to leave.”

And just like that it’s over. Sam doesn’t bother trying to talk to Dean again. He avoids Ruby’s glare from the back of the room, glancing between the scorched eyes of Not-Sebastian and Castiel. She brushes past him on her way out the door and down the street. There will definitely be complaints later. For now, she leaves the impala behind her, not wanting to follow Not-Sebastian.

He can barely make out Dean’s voice from inside the diner.

“Think the health inspector must have missed this place. Maybe they barbecued him up Whistlestop Café style.” A long stretch of silence. “It was a joke, man.”

Sam finally breaks the silence halfway through the drive. Why Dean let him drive again is beyond Sam, but it’s good to have his hands on the wheel and his mind on the road. Even with the welcome distraction, he can only last so long. “Can we just talk about this in the morning?”

Dean sighs. He looks exhausted, the bags under his eyes easier to see when he’s not dedicating every moment to hiding them. “Fine. But we’re talking about it.”

“Deal.”

The quiet is softer after that, underscored by faint music from the radio. It doesn’t take Dean long to slump into Cas’ shoulder, asleep faster than Sam has ever seen, maybe because of the protective arm Cas has tucked around his waist. Dean seems gentler like this. Almost happy. It brings a smile to Sam’s face.

Sure things are messy, but they’re the Winchester’s. He expects nothing less. And maybe if things work out for Dean, if he can actually be happy like this, it will be okay for Sam too.

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley Chapter 1

Behold, my attempt to rectify the appalling lack of into the mind fics in the BNHA fandom.  :P

AO3

FFN

.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He stood on top of the stairs to the beach, looking down on them.  With the sun rising behind them, his pupils were pinpoints, his irises shockingly bright. He wore a thin windbreaker over a t-shirt that read ‘tracksuit’ and a pair of sweatpants with his signature red shoes.  His expression was strangely flat and blank.  He had never looked at them like that before.

“Deku?” said Ochako, uncertainly, taking a step forward, her hand half raised, as though she could reach him despite being so far away.

The commission instructor flung out an arm, stopping her.  He was staring up at the boy, too, his eyes blown wide, lips pulled back with something like worry, something like fear, and something like avarice.  “Whatever that is,” he said, “it isn’t Midoriya Izuku.”

.

Aizawa reviewed the program the commission had sent to him, ignoring the gentle bumping of the bus and the barely controlled chaos of the students around him.  It looked fairly straightforward, all things considered.  The requirement was new, and Aizawa felt it was illogical to test students like this, when they could simply have the material added to the course load, but, overall, he’d seen worse.  

So why did this bother him so much?

He scanned the paperwork again.  He was going to be getting the same certification as his students, had arranged to be part of the same general ‘cohort’ even, because he didn’t trust them on their own.  At all. Ever.  

But that shouldn’t be an issue.  Even when they did get split up, they’d be going in groups of five and—

Ah.  There it was. Groups of five, with any odd numbers being used to fill out other groups who were undergoing testing on the same day, most of whom were adult heroes, if he recalled correctly.  

With the addition of Aizawa, there were twenty-one of them.

Calling on years of experience, Aizawa didn’t groan.  The thing was, Aizawa knew, even before arriving and having numbers and groups assigned, who the odd one out would be. There was only one student who could be so problematic without trying or indeed having any control over the variables that went into causing the problem.  

Midoriya.  

Aizawa almost suspected that Midoriya had some secret trouble-attracting quirk on top of the lightning-spitting bone-breaking insanity and the randomly appearing eldritch abomination tentacle things.  It would fit right in.  

Sadly, Midoriya’s ability to find trouble didn’t seem to go away when Aizawa stared at him, so he had to acknowledge that the kid was just that unlucky.  

If Aizawa let Midoriya go off to complete the course on his own, he would probably discover that, oh, pro hero Wash was laundering money from an overseas smuggling operation disguised as an environmental clean up charity.  Or, somehow, locate a villain, despite being at a secure hero commission building. Like he had during the provisional license exam.  Or break a bone.  Again. Or discover a previously unknown aspect of his quirk.  Again. Or get into a fight with Bakugo. Again.

No way.  Not if Aizawa had anything to say about it.  

.

Izuku bounced in place, excited.  He was attending a professional development course given by the Hero Standards and Practices Commission.  It was like a dream come true!  Literally!  He dreamed about this!  Of course, he’d had the dream when he was seven, and he’d just learned about the HSPC and what it did, and All Might had been the course teacher, which he wasn’t going to be for this course, and which was also a little redundant, because All Might (Mr. Yagi, Toshinori, Eight) was already his teacher, and the reason behind this course, and making everyone with any kind of hero license take it, was a bit disturbing, and he’d had to opt out of some of the course features, because reasons, but, regardless—

“Midoriya,” said Jiro, tapping on his shoulder, “they’re calling for you.”

“Oh!  Thanks!” said Izuku, nodding vigorously, and, man, he really had to cut his hair soon. It was getting long enough to fall in his eyes when he did that, and that would be distracting in the field. Good thing it wouldn’t matter for today!

They weren’t going to be doing anything physical, after all.

He walked up to the table, showed the person with the clip board his provisional license (he could still hardly believe he had it!  It was so cool!) and received a card with a number on it.  

“Pin that to your shirt,” said the man, hardly looking at him.  

At least, the man was trying to look like he was hardly looking at him.  Maybe he recognized him from the sports festival and didn’t want to make things awkward?  But it had been a while since the sports festival.  They tended to drain from common memory pretty quickly, and—

Oh, no, he’d been holding up the line.

He sketched a quick bow and ran over to where the rest of his classmates and teacher were waiting.  

“So,” said Aizawa, looking as exhausted as ever. There was a spark of something in the man’s eye, though.  Vigilance. Had he noticed something amiss? Should Izuku be on alert as well? “We have consecutive numbers, so most of us should be together in the same groups.  Problem child.”

Izuku jumped to attention.  “Yes, sir?”

… It was kind of sad that he answered to the name ‘problem child,’ wasn’t it?

(Was it sadder that he almost liked the nickname? It was nicer than what some of his other teachers had called him.  It didn’t have the same bite.)

“Trade numbers with Yaoyorozu.”

Izuku blinked and looked at Yaoyorozu in surprise.  “Um,” he said.  “Okay?”  He unpinned his card and held it out to his classmate.  

Yaoyorozu took it carefully, frowning at the number.  “Why are we doing this, sensei?” she asked.  

“Because knowing his luck, Midoriya is going to be the odd one out, and you’re the only one I trust not to kill someone or get kidnapped if you’re left on your own.”

Okay.  Harsh. But fair.  

“What about Iida?” asked Kaminari.  

“I know what I said.”

Harsher—Wait.  Aizawa knew about that?  Since when?!

“Didn’t she go off that one time, though?  At Kamino?”

Aizawa turned to stare at Mina, who held her hands up. “Forget I said anything, sensei!”

“No, no, you’re right.  Hagakure, you take Midoriya’s number.”

“Eh, me?” asked the invisible girl.  

“Yes,” said Aizawa.  

“Er, are you sure?  I don’t know if I could survive a Midoriya-level calamity!”

Izuku felt his jaw drop a little.  Was that what they were calling it now?  Rude.  

“The calamity won’t happen if he isn’t there,” reasoned Aizawa.  

Which.  Okay.  True.  But also, rude.  

Izuku wasn’t that bad, was he?

Izuku took Hagakure’s card.  The number put him between Uraraka and Aizawa, so he’d probably be with at least one of them.  On reflection, Yaoyorozu’s number had put him on the other side of Aizawa.  Which probably wasn’t a coincidence.  

The rest of the class got through registration shortly thereafter, with several of his classmates trying to trade their own numbers, only for Iida to scold them.  Which was typical, really.  It was almost calming, and Izuku needed calm after… that.

Was his luck really that bad?

Now he was much more nervous than before.  Except, before he’d been excited, and, now, he was really—

Not.  

He fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform, trying not to pick at his scars or cross the line into overtly fidgeting and being distracting.  He wished he’d brought one of his grip strength training tools.  At least with those he could pretend their only purpose was working out, unlike his other fidget toys.  

Oh, gosh, was that pro hero Rosemary, the memory hero? And Strato!  The high altitude hero!

Wow, he’d been so worried he almost hadn’t noticed how many amazing heroes were here!  There were even some he didn’t know!

And then they were being called up, number by number.  

Hagakure, true to Aizawa’s prediction, was placed with a group of confused-looking strangers, including Rosemary.  Izuku was almost jealous.  He’d love to learn how her quirk worked.  

Actually…  All of the people in that group were heroes with mental quirks.  How interesting!  Izuku would have to ask Hagakure if they gave her any tips.  He was sure they’d have different insights than the other people in their class, especially considering the subject matter of the course.  

The subject matter being combating mental attacks.  

That’s why Izuku had to opt out of being a ‘subject’ for the course.  He didn’t entirely understand it, not yet, but One for All definitely had a mental aspect, and he didn’t know how or if that would show up in a simulated attack like the ones they’d be demonstrating.  It was better to play it safe.  His quirk was already weird enough as it was.  He still wasn’t sure how he’d manage to talk Aizawa and his classmates out of being suspicious after blackwhip came out.  Most of that day was a blur.  

Izuku suspected that things would not have been smoothed over nearly so easily if Nezu hadn’t known about One for All.  

He also wasn’t looking forward to the reaction when the other user’s quirks started coming out – Even if being able to use them was going to be really cool.  

Anyway, his own group had resolved itself to consist of Aizawa, Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki.  He was relieved.  Todoroki looked relieved, too.  That made sense.  With what Todoroki had told Izuku about his history, he wouldn’t want to be doing this with people he didn’t know, either.  

But Todoroki would have opted out, anyway, right?  Or did Endeavor not let him?  Honestly, that would be par for the course for Endeavor. Todoroki said he was getting better, but…  Izuku had doubts.  He liked to think that people could always be saved, even from themselves, that most villains could be reformed, even if the government didn’t think so, that people like Endeavor and Kacchan could see the error of their ways. But.  

But even though Kacchan was better than he was before didn’t mean that he didn’t still do things that Izuku… didn’t like.  

And he couldn’t imagine that Endeavor was changing faster than Kacchan.  

“Who will they have us do first, do you think?” asked Uraraka. “I mean, I know they’re going to go through all of us, but all of this is making me so nervous.  I have a lot of embarrassing memories, I mean, I’m sure everyone does, but, ugh, that didn’t come out right…”

“Well!” said Iida, energetically.  “If they let us volunteer, I shall go first!”

“What?” said Izuku, surprised.  “You didn’t opt out?”

“Opt out?” asked Uraraka.  “That was an option?”

“I mean, yes?” said Izuku.  “I mean, I had to file a bunch of paperwork and get Mom, All Might, and Principal Nezu to sign off on it, but, I mean, it’s an option for people who know secrets that shouldn’t be exposed.”  Like Iida.  What was he thinking?

“I… did not know that was an option,” said Iida, who had evidently now realized he was in deep, deep trouble.  

Izuku resolved to protect his friend’s secrets as best as he was able, even if it meant he didn’t get a good score in the training.  

“I didn’t think there was an opt-out option, either,” said Todoroki, frowning.  He reached towards his face but tugged on his hair instead of touching his scar.

Okay.  So.  “Am I- Am I the only one that asked?  L-like, it wasn’t easy, I had to get a bunch of signatures, but it was doable, I…”  He shrugged, helplessly.  

“I wasn’t informed there was an opt-out,” said Aizawa, grumpily and a little… suspiciously?

Izuku cringed.  He did not need his teacher to be suspicious of him.  He did not need people looking into his life.  Into his past.  Into his quirk.  

Maybe, if they couldn’t keep Iida’s and Todoroki’s secrets quiet, he could play his reluctance off as pertaining to those.  Even if the idea made him feel incredibly guilty and unworthy of his friends.  

He would just have to do his best to help them.  

Before any more conversations could be had, their group was called into one of the rooms.  A set of six cheap futons laid on the floor.  Monitoring equipment lined one of the walls.  Two commission personnel, a man and a woman, were waiting for them.

When the woman saw Izuku, she frowned and pulled her phone out of her pocket.  What was that about.

“Hi,” said the man, who had a rather hooked nose and very bright, almost glowing, yellow eyes.  “I’m Ito Kenzo, and I’ll be your instructor for today.  You can call me Ito-san.  This is Saito Yume, we’ll be using her quirk for today’s demonstration.”

The woman smiled brightly, putting away her phone quickly. “The way my quirk works is that I can put up to five people into a shared dream state modeled after a sixth person’s mind.  All six people lose consciousness when I use my quirk, and the perception of time in the dream state is usually altered, although by how much varies depending on the group.  The dream state persists until either I release it, the people involved break free, or eight hours pass.  However, I’ll be making the rounds once an hour to pull everyone out and let you move on to the next person in the group.”

“I’ll be joining the dream state with you, to help point out tactics,” said Ito.  “Although the person the dreamscape is modeled on won’t be completely aware of what’s going on, the goal is to familiarize you with what it feels like to have your minds invaded in a safe, secure environment.  Saito-san’s quirk is similar enough to that of several known villains to be a good example of what to expect.”  Ito paused.  “Any questions?”

Uraraka raised her hand.  “Who’s going first?” she asked.  

“Ah, that would be—” He broke off as Saito tugged on his sleeve and showed him her phone.  The man did a double take, then paled, slightly.  He glanced at Izuku.  “Er,” he said, “you’re not supposed to be in this group.”

“Yes, I-I am,” said Izuku.  “This is- This is my number?  It matches?”

Ito glanced at Saito.  Then his phone rang.  “Oops,” he said, looking at his phone.  “It looks like I’m in the wrong group.  You kids are supposed to have Suzuki-san, I was, was requested by another group, so sorry! He’ll be here in a minute!”  Ito retreated through the back door at high speed.  

Izuku swallowed.  Something was going on behind the scenes.  This wasn’t about the suspected traitor thing again, was it?  Izuku had thought, after the training camp, that it was pretty obvious it had to be a teacher…  And it couldn’t be Aizawa-sensei.  He’d almost been killed by the noumu.  

(Also, he was the best teacher Izuku had ever had.)

A new, much taller man walked through the door.  “Hello,” he said.  “I am Suzuki Takami.  I am your instructor.  Apologies for the mix up.”

“No worries!” said Saito.  “Everyone, go ahead, lie down, get comfortable.  Midoriya-san, you’re first!”

“What?” said Izuku.  “But, I, um, I opted out?  I filled in the paperwork and everything.  I got a signature from Abe-san, and Kondo-san, and, and—” He fumbled to pull out his paperwork.  He’d kept copies, just in case.

Saito and Suzuki didn’t so much as look at it.  

“This course doesn’t have an ‘opt-out,’” said Suzuki.

“Excuse me,” said Aizawa.  “He clearly has paperwork for an opt-out.  Maybe you were misinformed.  Like you were about the room.”

Suzuki shook his head.  “I don’t know who you talked to,” he said, “but they were either mistaken about what course you were referring to, or you misunderstood them.”

“But,” said Izuku.  

“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, “if you want to sit this out, it’s fine.  I can go with you, so you won’t be alone.  No one’s going to make you subject yourself to a quirk you aren’t comfortable with.”

“He can do that,” said Suzuki, “but he’ll lose his provisional license.  He’d have to go through recertification entirely.  When’s the next licensing exam?”

“Hold up,” said Aizawa, “you’re doing this course two more times, aren’t you?  I know I was given multiple options for getting this certification.”

“Sure,” said Saito, “but it’s still going to be my quirk.” She wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger, stressed.  

Izuku’s mind was racing.  He couldn’t lose his license.  He couldn’t lose his ability to help people.  He—What would All Might think?  He couldn’t—

“It-It’s-It’s fine, sen-sensei, I’m um.  It’s fine!  I’ll- I’d have to do this anyway, right? Mi-might as well get it over with, huh?”  He walked over to one of the futons, and set down his backpack, trying to hide his trembling hands.  “So, is-is there anything special or specific I have to do for your quirk to work?”

“Nope,” said Saito, cheerfully, “just lie down and close your eyes.  Come on, everyone lay down.”

Aizawa moved slowly, which was nothing short of shocking considering how eager he usually was to crawl into his sleeping bag.  He put the bag down on one of the futons.  “You’re sure there’s no way for Midoriya to opt out?”

“Positive.  We’re really sorry,” said Saito.  

“Illogical,” grumbled Aizawa.  He got into his sleeping bag nonetheless.  “You sure about this, problem child?”

“I-I’m sure, sensei!  Plus ultra, right?”  He laid down, trying to get comfortable, but the panic rising in his veins really didn’t allow for that.  He could, distantly feel One for All (and all it contained) pressing up against the back of his mind with something like concern.  He swallowed.  Don’t think about it.  

His classmates were, hesitantly, picking out their own spots. Iida looked like he wanted to say something.  Uraraka’s brow was furrowed, her lips pursed.  Todoroki was difficult to read, as always.  

Suzuki was already lying down, staring at the ceiling.

Izuku closed his eyes.  

“Alright!” said Saito.  “Here we go!”

.

Yume left the room with Midoriya Izuku in it, feeling just slightly dazed.  She paused for a moment in the back hallway.  She had dozens of other groups to set off, and she was running late after that little snafu.  

Midoriya Izuku was supposed to be in a group with Suzuki-san and four other specially picked professional heroes.  Heroes who would get to the bottom of why and how he had multiple quirks, who would find out who he really was, who would figure out how he was in contact with the League of Villains and why they decided to pick some random quirkless nobody—

Assuming that’s what Midoriya Izuku really was.  The initial investigation had uncovered some discrepancies in his family records.  

In any case, he was not supposed to be in a group with his little friends and overprotective teacher.  

Oh, well.  Except for Midoriya, they were all clean.  If they were really heroes, they’d do what was right.  

Yume pushed off the wall (when had she started leaning on it?) and stumbled.  Something bright and red caught on the periphery of her vision and she looked down.

Her nose was bleeding.

She licked her lips, tasting copper.  It shouldn’t be bleeding.  That only happened when she overused her quirk, when she tried to put too many people into one dreamscape or tried to combine two dreamscapes into one. She’d been pacing herself.  This shouldn’t be happening.  It shouldn’t be bleeding like this, like she had just put more than a dozen people under.

Suzuki Yume promptly passed out.  

.

“Wow,” said Uraraka, looking around in delight.  She was still worried about Deku.  He’d looked really bad right before Saito-san activated her quirk, and she and Suzuki-san had been acting kind of shady, but—

But—

This place was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but be a little in awe.  She’d kind of expected dreamscapes to be more… Mushy, maybe?  Darker?  Her dreams usually weren’t very clear (except for the nightmares, and those didn’t count).

But Deku’s dreamscape was as bright as he was: a beautiful beach and a cerulean ocean at sunrise.  Or was it sunset?  Either way, the sun hovered above the ocean, its light gleaming off the waves.  

“Wow,” said Todoroki, approaching the breakers on the beach.  He crouched, looking at the sand.  “It’s really…”  he poked the sand, “detailed.”

“As expected of Midoriya!” exclaimed Iida, waving his hands. “His attention to detail is unparalleled!”  

“Hm,” said Aizawa.  “Too bright…” He put on his goggles.  

“Excuse me,” said Suzuki.  “If I can have your attention, please.  I apologize for the deception, however—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

[mikwrites-archive]

of angels, blood, and lifetimes

☞ pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader         ☞ warnings: kind of stockholm syndrome? blood, major death, guns ☞ wc: 4.8k words        ☞ genre: mafia/gang au

☞ a/n: this used to be a haikyuu fic that i did but wasn’t too happy with the more i read it so i revamped it for jeonghan !! i hope u guys like it ♡ and if u see any mistakes w the names pls lmk !!! ignore the title highkey i hate it but im so bad at titles HAHAH

Jeonghan wonders how you ended up in a place like this.

The lounge is sordid and foul, filled with an underlying stench of mold and dust, creaking floorboards, and disreputable individuals that looked like they’d pounce upon you like a pack of ravenous wolves if given the chance.

Yet your demeanor is relaxed, the bright spotlight cast upon you and the stage softening your features and illuminating the delicate, gauzy dress you adorned as the deep maroon curtains are swept aside for you, and only you. Even your voice was gentle as you sang, like a gentle angel, as if lulling the wolves to placidity in their den. 

But doesn’t distract him from the job. It’s rare something ever does, in all honesty, but Jeonghan almost feels remorseful for what’s about to happen.

When your performance ends, the hollers and catcalls dying down as the curtains swing shut, Jeonghan cocks his head slightly towards the hallway next to the stage where the bathrooms, and no doubt, the dressing rooms were located, with the three other men accompanying him.

“She was pretty good.” Joshua comments, and Seungcheol barks a laugh.

“Yeah. Doesn’t change the fact that we’re after her brother though.”

“She’s pretty too.” Joshua ignores Seungcheol’s statement and Jihoon who rolls his eyes at the former’s statement. “What do you think, Hannie?”

“I think we should stay focused.” 

Joshua laughs lightly at the answer, but doesn’t get a chance to reply, the dressing room door being swung open with Jeonghan’s knuckles hovering in the air, about to knock.

“Can I help you?” 

You’re somehow more breathtaking up close, hair unpinned, a fluffy robe wrapping your body, and your features are clearly startled at their appearance. 

“We were just wondering if we could have a moment to talk?”

You don’t have a choice, but you’re unaware of that, uneasiness flooding you as you search your memory for any recognition of the men and coming up blank.

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak to the owner of the lounge if this is about business, and I don’t take-”

“Sorry if it wasn’t clear, honey.” Jeonghan brushes the side of his suit coat aside lightly, revealing the handle of his gun, and your eyes widen. “But we weren’t asking.”

You let them in quickly after that, and suddenly, you’re sat down with him, the rest dispersed around the room, poking curiously around your vanity and dresses. 

“Your last name is Jeon, right?” Jeonghan inquires, and you nod. “Have you been in contact with your brother lately?”

The mention of Wonwoo drains all warmth from your face, and Jeonghan is taken aback by how open you are. 

He’s been around enough to tell a liar, and somehow, your posture is open and vulnerable, like a blooming flower, something that almost blinded him, as if you were a beacon of light at the end of the dark tunnel that was the dark business he was in.

“I haven’t seen him in almost a year. He took all my family’s money then left without a trace.” Your tone is bitter, and Jeonghan curses under his breath. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“Your brother,” He inhales slowly, answering in clipped sentences. “Owes us some work.”

Your innocence does nothing to disguise the way your gaze sharpens in thought, and Jeonghan smiles inwardly.

“Were you two close?” He prompts, changing the subject.

“I wouldn’t think so.” You start slowly. “But if you’re asking me whether he’d talk to me, I don’t know. Maybe. People have always told me he felt an obligation to care for me, being his younger sibling, but it’s not something that’s ever really stood out to me.”

It’s good enough for Jeonghan, who gets up, brushing his pants off as he does so, ignoring your perplexed gaze as he glances at his men, who stop their curious investigation about the room and stand beside you.  

“What’s- don’t touch me.” You snap, slapping Jihoon’s hand away from your arm, and the room suddenly drops in temperature.

“Woozi.” Jeonghan warns, and he sighs.

“You really think she won’t struggle?”

“What’s going on?” You repeat demandingly, and Jeonghan is struck with a sudden appreciation and interest at your boldness.

“You’re coming with us.”

The words are heavy, and silence blankets the room for a few moments, and your quiet question unsettles everyone.

“Do I have a choice?” 

“I think you know the answer to that, honey.” Jeonghan attempts to be sympathetic, but he also knows to not let his guard down, the prettiest rose often having the sharpest thorns.

“I can’t.” 

Someone behind you snorts, and it steels your resolve, despite the unreadable expression of the man in front of you who raises an eyebrow. 

“I have to work.” You explain haltingly.

This brings a bout of laughs around you, and your eyebrows furrow indignantly, irritation rising at the sound. 

“I’m being serious.” You argue as they die down. “My parents can’t work; it’s only me. Wonwoo took almost everything.”

“Maybe your brother should have thought about that, before he-”

“They’ll be given sufficient funds.” Jeonghan cuts through impatiently, and everyone blinks. 

“You’re not serious.” Joshua exclaims, and instead of relieved, you look scandalized. 

“And I’m not stupid enough to entrust my parents to some organization hunting my brother.” You burst, and Jeonghan grins.

“Smart. But which would you prefer, leaving them with no assets, or have some organization give them money for the time being?” 

You nod shortly after a reluctant pause, and Jeonghan gestures for Seungcheol and Jihoon to take you to the car, to which they do so silently, flanking you in obedient order. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Hannie.” Joshua muses as they exit the room, one you wouldn’t be in the presence of for a while, and Jeonghan looks suddenly grim at the statement. 

“I’m not in charge for no reason.”

You stay in your designated room for the entire first day.

It’s luxurious, bigger than the living room in your own family home much less your own bedroom, and although you aren’t restricted to this single room alone, free to roam the entire house, you stay locked inside upon choice.

You can hear the commotion outside at times, or the curious rustles and whispers at your door, but you don’t move towards any of them, deep in thoughts pertaining to your situation.

It was almost twisted, the more you thought about it. 

The syndicate you were currently held within, was revealed fairly quickly as you made the drive to their headquarters, and darker than you expected. It chilled you to think your brother was involved in mafia business, and you prickled with sympathy at the realization of how young some of the members were. 

It made your head spin to think of why, how and when, since primarily you thought of your own involvement now. 

You knew you were here because of your relation to your brother, but as to why they were treating you so well, considering whatever deed Wonwoo had committed against them. There was also how they figured upon finding your brother and when you’d be able to leave.

If you ever would be able to.

The thought sends a chilling shiver down your spine, and just as you swing your legs off of your bed, there’s a rap on the door, and Joshua opens it soon after with a small smile.

“Dinner’s ready. You’ve been cooped up here all day, everyone wants to meet you.” 

You trudge alongside him slowly, and he doesn’t look impressed with your lackluster behaviour, but you don’t care. You simply want to eat, survey the members, and return to your room. 

There’s eight of them at the table.

Yoon Jeonghan was the leader of the group, his right hand man being Hong Joshua, with Choi Seungcheol and Lee Jihoon as close second and third. There was Lee Seokmin, an experienced member, though he seemed to fill in for any of the top four whenever needed, and Kim Mingyu, the basis of intelligence research and support. There was also Boo Seungkwan, a nervous looking boy, though skilled, and Lee Chan, master of reconnaissance, the two youngest members.

They don’t talk to you much, and you’re not exactly inviting them to, although the curiosity is palpable through each member’s gaze.

The scrape of forks against plates is all that fills the room, until everyone is satisfied, and it’s broken by Jihoon.

“Anyone wanna go shoot some rounds?”

You’re left to sit there confusedly as they all scoot back their chairs, agreeing quietly or silently, leaving the room until Chan peers back inside.

“Are you coming?”

Seeing that you didn’t remember how you got to the dining room in the first place from your own accommodation, you quickly stand, following and trying not to get distracted throughout the winding hallways. 

You find yourself in a gun range, and you’re torn between wanting to laugh at your circumstances, or being concerned as you stand by the doorway, watching as everyone bustles around as if it were a normal occurrence (as it was).

They place bets, apparently Jeonghan being the reigning champion of the targets, and it’s fairly amusing to see them curse and shout as they all fire off. 

“Can I try?” You pipe up, attracting the attention of the group with surprise, and they all exchange glances before shrugging in agreement; but before one of them can offer his gun, you tug a small pistol out of the folds of your clothes, and they all halt.

“Did you always have that on you?” Seungcheol shrieks, and you stare at him.

“Have you seen where I work?”

“No one thought to check her for weapons?” Jeonghan raises an eyebrow amusedly, and mutters arise from the three who accompanied him. You want to retort how you weren’t stupid enough to pull your tiny pistol on a group of them but bite your tongue.

You pay no attention to the bickering that arises after as well, aiming your gun for a few moments before firing, and making the group jump. You continue on consistently, and when the bullets run out, you stare at the blistering holes in the target, eyes burning as they observe the results interestedly.

You don’t catch the pair of deep brown eyes upon you as you place the gun gingerly next to the other emptied ones.

“She did better than you, ‘Kwannie.”

“Shut up, Dino.” 

That night, you’re awoken by what you think is a ghost.

Your sleep was restless anyways, being unable to slumber peacefully throughout the entire night ever since you’ve arrived, so as you tiptoe out of your room to discover the source, it’s almost welcomed.

Your fingertips trail against the vintage wallpapered walls as your ears strain to follow the melodic drifting voice, halting at  the ajar doorway you deemed your destination, moonlight streaming out. 

The sound is almost haunting, high and lonely and beautiful, and you sway to it unconsciously in your attempt to stay at a standstill as you listen outside the doorway. It cuts off as you make the tiniest step closer to hear better, and you hold your breath. 

“Who’s there?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, praying to whatever higher being that resides in the heavens to protect you from the outcome of revealing yourself as you step cautiously into the room. 

“Oh, it’s you.” Jeonghan sighs, and you release a breath of relief. 

He looks like an angel in the gauzy moonlight, not the cherub, rosy cheeked ones, with fluttery wings, but the powerful, punishing, broad shouldered beings with cold gazes. He reminds you of a double edged sword, glinting, in delicate beauty and dangerous pain.

“Your voice is beautiful.” You offer softly, clutching the material of your soft pyjama gown, and Jeonghan smiles wryly.

“Says the lounge singer in our midst.” 

“The company at the lounge aren’t exactly the best judges. I don’t think they really care about how I sound too much, just how I look.” You muse, sitting down as Jeonghan gestures for you to.

“I would say they have pretty good judgement, honey, hearing and seeing both firsthand.”

You don’t reply, looking away from his amused gaze, perking up as he begins to hum, starting to sing once more.

You blame it upon the late hours that your eyes flutter heavily to darkness as you listen, propping your face upon the heel of your palm, and when you regain fuzzy consciousness, you’re rocking slightly side to side, just enough to be aware of the arms cradling you, and the flash of blonde hair as you crack your eyes open.

You sleep throughout the rest of the night, waking up in your own room, wondering if the previous night was a dream.

“The boss wants dinner with you.”

“Now?” You glance up from the television screen, at Seungkwan who stood at the doorway, scoffing.

“No, tonight. It’s three in the afternoon, for god’s sake.”

He dodges the pillow you chuck at him easily, and raises an eyebrow.

“Getting quite bold, for a hostage.”

“If you wanted me dead, it’d have happened by now.” You muse, eyes trained upon the screen once more, as you had spent the majority of your time here doing. 

Seungkwan smiles at that, moving to leave, calling over his shoulder. 

“Be ready by seven. Someone will come to get you.”

Dinners with Jeonghan end up becoming a regular occurence, the first few filled with awkward silence and stunted conversation, until it became more smooth, skimming the surface of being almost friendly and welcomed in their happenings. 

By the seventh dinner, you were prepared to ask a question that had nagged at you since they first appeared at the lounge you worked at, and as the forks and knives were set down, you were set to inquire. Yet Jeonghan seemed to have the same idea.

“Would you ever consider joining us?”

“What?” All thoughts of your own question flee your mind, and are filled with numb shock. 

“Well, you’ve been here for a while. There’s not really anywhere you can go after this is all over. You’d make more money than you would singing.”

“When this is all over.” You repeat slowly. “What does that mean? What is going on in the first place and what does it have to do with my family?”

Jeonghan sighs, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers. 

“Wonwoo was stealing money from our operations. The last time any of us saw him, he had just transferred a large sum into his own account, before disappearing.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“I’m a lot of things, honey.” Jeonghan is solemn, no sign of deceit upon his features, and you shake your head. “But I’m not a liar.” 

You tremble as you clench your fists, gritting your teeth, and he thinks your eyes are glittering with tears, but the sound you emit is a hissed snarl of anger, and he blinks.

“He wouldn’t have. He couldn’t.” Your gaze snaps up to meet him abruptly, and Jeonghan almost recoils. “Tell me how much it was.”

He finds it impossible to refuse in your gaze, and when he tells you the specific amount, your face hardens.

“He stole all that money… and still took mine, our family’s…���

“I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t need your apologies.” You snap, and he quiets as you fume. He can practically see your anger, raging in a fueling tempest as you stand and pace, no doubt trying to process and calm your whirling emotions. “I worked for years, spent years of my life in that shitty lounge, and I’m never going to get them back.” 

Collapsing back into your seat, you don’t realize tears are running down your cheeks until Jeonghan reaches over and brushes one away with his thumb, and you take a gasping breath, shuddering as it all crashes down. 

And he sits next to you, through it all.

The next night, you don’t sleep.

Your inability to fall asleep is inhibited by the events of the previous night, eyes still aching from the outburst, and also to the fact that there’s nothing stopping you from getting up out of the tossed and tangled sheets and leaving, for the mafia was out on business.

But you stay, staring up at the ceiling, and you don’t understand why. 

You’re not sure if it’s lucky or not that you do, because as you sit up, planning on getting a drink of water to clear your thoughts and soothe your throat, your door bursts open, and the first thing you see is blood.

“You’re still here.” Joshua breathes, eyes wide, matching your own gaze of shock. “Do you know basic first aid?”

You don’t get to answer, or perhaps you took too long, because a chorus of shouts and members clamour down the hallway, and Joshua dashes after them in a haste, with you trailing after in confusion.

The red stains are staggered on the floor and streaked on the walls from fingertips leaning on support, and you follow it like a sick trail of breadcrumbs to the witch’s house, the infirmary. 

Apparently, Mingyu knows first aid and hospital procedures, snapping on blue latex gloves, holding a variety of metal surgical tools while the rest of them bustle around, assisting in any way they can.

“Stay down, or you’ll make it worse.” 

“I’m fine.” Jeonghan grits, a contrast to his wince as he props himself up on his elbows.

“You literally got shot.” Joshua looks serious for once, and Jeonghan collapses, groaning. 

“Hey, you.”

You jolt at the order, realizing you’re being spoken to, and you answer with a croak.

“If you’re gonna be here, at least do something useful. Help remove the material.” 

Mingyu points at a pale Jeonghan, and you swallow, making your way over and gently beginning to unbutton the dress shirt with surprisingly steady hands, avoiding the scarlet bloom on the side of his stomach. You steal glances at Jeonghan, who doesn’t give any notice that you’re technically undressing him, eyes closed and teeth clenched as sweat beads at his forehead. 

You’re quickly shoved aside as you finish, and you join Joshua outside the doorway, chest heaving as he gazes at you in curiosity. 

“You checked him out didn’t you.” It’s not a question, but a statement, and you give him the most disgruntled look you can, but your mind flashes back and you can’t hide the flush. 

“No- I- you don’t know what you’re- he’s dying.” You glare, and Joshua laughs. 

“He’ll be fine. He said so.” 

You can only stare in amazement at his dismissal, but you miss the way his expression fades to solemnity as he walks away. 

You have a feeling no one sleeps that night, with the exception of the one, who once he wakes, calls for you.

Jeonghan offers you a pudding cup, which you take as he devours his own, before posing his question.

“Have you thought at all about my offer from the other day?”

“Well,” you begin slowly, toying with your spoon. “I can’t exactly leave without posing a certain risk. And I don’t have anything going for me outside of here, so… I accept.”

He smiles.

“On one condition though.” You look at him solemnly, gaze piercing his own as he listens.

“When we find Wonwoo, I want to talk to him, before whatever happens.”

He thinks for a moment, before nodding.

“Welcome to the gang.”

It’s not difficult to feel like you belong. 

Ever since you had begun to stay, you had attempted to forge bonds with each member for your own safety, some of them joining you in your television binges, or you joining them in their leisurely activities if you didn’t feel like too much of a nuisance. 

And once you were officially considered a member of the organization, you began to understand why they stayed. 

They were a team, bound by bonds over blood, and while they constantly bickered, it was clear that they were unbreakable except by death, and it was now offered as an extension to you which you took gratefully.

And while you could say you became closer with all of them, there was one you felt you became more distant with.

Dinners became scarce with Jeonghan, as well as almost all interaction with the exception of greetings and meetings on business.

Just as he dismisses you from a meeting, eyes on his paperwork, you suck in your cheeks, bolstering yourself as  you confront him.

“Was all that stuff before just a ploy to get me to join? Or is it that you regret asking me to join?”

He blinks, gaze snapping upwards.

“Of course not.” 

“Then,” you feel extremely childish, as if you were a highschooler dealing with a frustrating crush. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I…” Jeonghan inhales, standing up as he begins to pace the room slowly. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“You told me you weren’t a liar.” 

He flinches, almost imperceptibly, but you see it, honing in like a hawk on its prey. 

“Not consciously.” He amends, eyes meeting yours briefly, and your gaze flickers with confusion. “I just don’t think it’s wise.” 

“Why?” You press, stepping towards him, tilting your head as you search his avoiding gaze for answers. 

It’s quick, the way his lips meet yours as if in a haste, but it’s like a blurted confession, and the position later is slow, like the realization of your happenings.

Your fingertips are light on his cheek, your gaze boring into his, and he finds himself perfectly content in being suspended within your eyes, each breath short and lost to the thrum of his heart.

“That’s why.” He breathes, and you swallow.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

“Do it again.” 

And so he does.

“You’re in a good mood today, Hannie.” 

Joshua’s voice is sickly sweet, aiming to trap Jeonghan in his sticky honey clutches, but the leader knows his friend all too well, and narrows his eyes.

“Am I?”

“Mhm,” Joshua assents, grinning mischievously as he leans forwards. “And I think I know why.”

“And why is that?”

“Our newest recruit of course.” 

Jeonghan says nothing, bringing his cup up to his lips as Joshua looks like the cat who caught the mouse, enjoying this immensely, while Seungcheol and Jihoon watch amusedly.

“Did you guys fuck?” Jihoon inquires, and Jeonghan chokes on his drink, and that seems to serve enough of an answer to everyone else, who nod knowingly. 

“They totally fucked.” Seungcheol laughs.

“We did not fuck.” Jeonghan argues, clearing his throat as he uses one arm to prop himself up further in his seat uncomfortably. “We just kissed.” 

The exchange of glances around the room proves their disbelief at his statement, and Jeonghan pinches the bridge of his nose.

A knock grasps their attention, and they perk up at the sound, eyes honing in on the door swinging open. 

“Hey.” You suddenly feel like being put under a spotlight as you step inside, everyone’s gaze snapping towards you, warily speaking your next sentence. “I just thought we could return to what we were talking about yesterday. I think I have something.”

“Is this some kind of sex codeword?” Joshua murmurs to Jeonghan, who glares. 

“A what?” You blink, and Jeonghan gestures for you to forget it, to which you furrow your eyebrows before shrugging. 

“What did you have in mind?” Jeonghan leans forwards, resting his forearms on his thighs, and Joshua waves his hand expectantly.

“Hello, are we missing something here?”

“I have a plan to get Wonwoo.” You answer, and the room suddenly bleeds into an atmosphere of seriousness, with all eyes and ears upon you.

“Go on.” Jeonghan nods, and you rub your sweaty palms on your pants. 

“It’s simple really…”

As simple as the plot was, things went horribly off course.

You weren’t supposed to be involved, as much as you protested, yet the majority of them agreed, your only role to be the bait as it was from the beginning. The reveal wasn’t a surprise to you, having figured it out within days of staying at the house, yet it stung to still be reduced to that role despite proposing the scheme itself.

The week was spent sending subtle messages in public of where you were and whom you were with, and you had received information from allies that Wonwoo was on the move, seen exactly where you had been planted alone with other members in public briefly.

Yet as the night came, the house was dark and silent, and you were startled by the sound of your door creaking open, heart racing. 

“Hello?” You squint, the only source of light being the moon, and as they step from the shadows the first thing you see is bleached blond hair and the metal glint of a gun. “Wonwoo?”

This was not part of the plan.

“How did you get inside?” You stammer, wondering how he managed to get past the members on defense and whether they were alright, however not having heard any shots fired, your nerves were settled for the time being.

“Let’s go.” He gestures the gun lightly, but the aim is still pointed at you, and you swallow, exiting the room slowly as he trails behind you. Your own weapon is heavy upon your side, your mind racing as to the ways you could reveal it without getting your head blown off. 

“She’s not going anywhere.” 

The cocking of guns is slow, almost drawn out in the hallway, and you’re in the middle of it all. 

“Lower your gun, Wonwoo.” Joshua’s tone is cold, and Wonwoo sneers, not moving his aim.

“You got her to join.” Wonwoo glares at Jeonghan, whose gaze is equally stony.

“It was her choice.”

“What, is this all just some ploy to get back the money I took?”

“It was at first. But you took more than that didn’t you?” 

A flicker of confusion falls over Wonwoo’s face and it’s that moment you tug your pistol from its confines, aiming with a steady hand.

“Do you remember when you gave this to me?” You muse, unmoving as Wonwoo freezes. “You told me to never let anyone take anything from me. And I won’t. Not anymore.”

A gunshot fires, and the air is heavy and thick, for no one breathes until someone drops down in the dim light, and you don’t move towards them, but everyone else does. 

A hand rests tentatively on your shoulder, and it’s warm, the voice paired with it, comforting as you lower your gun, wisps of smoke emanating from the barrel. 

“Are you alright?” Jeonghan inquires, and he thinks your eyes glimmer shinily as you gaze at the body of your brother, but when you meet his gaze, they’re sharp and dry as you reply.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” 

The stone is chilling on your back as you lean against it, tilting your head to the sky as you stretch your neck, before relaxing and falling back down to the blades of grass that swayed gently in the breeze.

“You’ve been coming out here a lot.”

You don’t need to look up to know who it is, able to tell from the sight of shoes in your vision and the voice, but you do anyway, smiling up at Jeonghan, who looks down at you concernedly. 

“It’s quiet out here.”

He settles down beside you, and you grasp his hand lightly, to which he squeezes it in return. 

He didn’t question it, he felt he understood enough; the night you shot that bullet, killing your brother made you carry a weight that had to have shifted something internally. 

“Are you happy here?”

“Not particularly. It is my brother’s tombstone.” You respond drily, and Jeonghan smacks your arm lightly, scoffing a laugh as he shakes his head.

“I mean, working here. Staying here.”

“I don’t know.” You hum. “Are you happy here?”

“I don’t know.” He responds, and you narrow your eyes at him, searching for any sign of derisiveness in his gaze, but you see truth. “I haven’t known anything else my entire life besides this. But, I am happy with you. I know that much.” 

“Could we leave? Is that possible?” 

“Is that…” Jeonghan starts slowly, searching in his mind for possibilities, surprising himself with his own openness to the idea. “Is that something you want?”

“I want to be with you.” You gaze at him, eyes meeting his. “That’s all I want. For as long as possible.”

“Let’s do it then.” 

“Yeah?” You blink, and he nods, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his legs, holding his hand out to you helping heft you upwards to your feet.

“Yeah.” Jeonghan smiles, and you return it. 

“A lifetime with you doesn’t sound too bad.”

☞ taglist: @writeiolite​ @isthistherealifeoristhisafantasy​ @peachy-yabbay​

let me know if you’d like to be added/taken off!

[missturtleduck]

The Girls of Ba Sing Se - (Sokka x f!Reader) Pt. 6

Part Five│Part Seven

“You let me nearly be eaten, Toph!”

She didn’t know how she ended up on Sokka’s chest, but Y/N wasn’t complaining.

It had been a few days since Azula administered psychological warfare on the Avatar and friends when she deprived them all of sleep, and so far, the days had been uneventful. The group had gone through the usual motions; travel for a while, make camp, eat, train, and sleep. One achievement Y/N was especially proud of, however, was training Qin to not eat Momo – Qin being the twenty-foot-long mongoose lizard that had refused to leave Y/N alone.

“I can’t believe you’re keeping it!” Katara had said, eyeing the creature warily, Momo clinging onto her by her loopies.

“But, Katara,” Y/N had whined, “We let you keep Sokka!”

Sokka was not amused.

Sleep, however, was a priority after they were deprived. With little to do when they made camp, Sokka and Y/N often made the most of it – the basking warmth of the sun and the cool shade from overhanging trees – with naps throughout the day. Perhaps that was how she ended up with her head on Sokka’s chest, ear over his heart, soothed by its steady thumping. How his hand ended up in her hair was another question entirely to Y/N, but she assumed it was probably the same for him; they had just moved in their sleep.

Just as Y/N was about to drift back into lazy slumber, Sokka yelped, shooting up and knocking her off of his chest. As she was about to shout at him, the anger caught in her throat, bubbling into laughter when she saw the mess in front of her.

Qin had her head on Sokka’s legs, pinning him down, her tail thumping like a dog – something she had likely learned from Momo. Her laughter developed into raucous cackling as Qin’s head slid up to rest on his chest, Sokka flailing his arms miserably in an attempt to get her off. Betrayal crossed his face as he watched Y/N double over in pure glee.

“Y/N!” He croaked, not appreciating the reptile nuzzling against him. “Get your dragon off of me!”

Still giggling, Y/N clapped her hand, Qin’s head snapping around to identify the noise. Clambering off of the poor boy, trampling him along the way, the lizard waited excitedly in front of her. Her tail had the strength of an earthbender’s tremor, enough to break ribs or send a soldier flying. Y/N though it was adorable, like when Kuai would wag his stub of a tail in excitement at the littlest thing. She missed Kuai.

“Qin,” Y/N said, catching her breath from giggling, “Qin is not a dragon. She’s a mongoose lizard.”

Sokka narrowed his eyes. “She’s probably spying for the Fire Nation.”

“Oh yeah?” She challenged, resting her chin on top of Qin’s head. “Qin, are you a Fire Nation spy?”

The reptile took its great tongue and licked its own eye, letting it loll dumbly after. Y/N gestured to the docile creature as if to say proof enough.

“That is exactly what a Fire Nation spy would say.”

Y/N didn’t think she had ever laughed so hard in her life. Taking a seat in front of the campfire, which had lit very easily, she began boiling tea over the flames. Sokka sat opposite her, a goofy frown on his face as he grumbled to himself. To add to insult, Qin seemed completely unaffected, learning nothing about personal space as she curled her tail around Sokka’s midriff as she basked in the sun.

Comically, the three raised their heads to look eastwards as a great crack resounded through the mountain range. Aang was learning to earthbend, Y/N knew this much, but was it honestly that loud?

“I have an excellent idea!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at her friend across the fire, whose hands gestured so wildly that his tea flew out of his cup. “I hope it’s not crying over spilt tea.”

“Hardy har har,” He blanched, sticking his tongue out. “No, we should train Qin to hunt!”

On cue, the reptile raised her head to look at Sokka, eyes glazed over with glee. Looking at the dopey animal, Y/N doubted it had the mental capability to catch an animal. Chase an animal? Qin could do that for miles? Have the depth perception and overall smarts to catch it? A firebender had more chance surviving in the North Pole.

“If you want to help train Qin, we’ll train Qin.”

With those words, Sokka tightened his wolf tail and wrapped his forearms ready for a hunting trip. Slinging her staff over her back, Y/N finished her tea, smothering the flames. She had a feeling that today was going to be very amusing.

To start with, Sokka held seal jerky under Qin’s nose, talking to her lowly as if he were bartering with a stall vendor. Surprising Y/N, Qin seemed interested. She knew that mongoose lizards were omnivorous, but she couldn’t imagine any animal wanting to snack on, let alone take a whiff of, dried seal jerky. Maybe she was just projecting; she wasn’t overly fond of the food as Sokka was, though he seemed fond of any food put on his plate.

Qin’s tail hit the floor in enthusiasm, a clear sign she smelt something similar. Sure, she was no shirshu, but she still had a keen enough nose to do what Sokka needed – well, wanted.

Following her nose, Qin moved swiftly, running ahead of Y/N and Sokka until she was nearly out of sight. Skidding to a halt, the lizard looked over the edge of the canyon, eyes trained to one spot. Obviously, she had found something. It was Sokka who got there first, less wary of the rocky edge than Y/N. He pumped his fist in the air, whooping something about an easy lunch.

That was until Qin startled, knocking him over the canyon edge.

“Sokka!” Y/N screamed, tripping over herself to look over the edge.

He looked up from the rocky crevice he was trapped in, a goofy grin on his face. “Aw, you care.”

“Shut up,” She muttered, sliding down the rock face with relative ease, Qin not far behind. “I was only upset because if you died like that, Katara would never let Qin stay.”

“Uh huh, and that’s why you screamed my name.”

Flushing red, she stared pointedly away from the boy, focusing her attention on her new favourite reptile, who was struggling to descend as easily. It took a few moments for the blood to return to normal in her face, so she thought it was safe to look at Sokka again. She was wrong. He was still grinning at her from his trap, eyebrows raised. She suddenly had a very vivid image of a fair game she used to play at festivals involving a large stick and a hole hopping gopher – and she already had the big stick, or staff.

“You’re very cocky for a boy stuck between a rock and a hard place,” Y/N quipped, taking a seat next to Sokka on the ground.

Sokka barked out a laugh. “And you’re very funny today!”

Y/N, cupping her face in her hands, pouted. “I’m always funny. Speaking of...”

Stifling a giggle, Y/N pointed past Sokka’s right side at Qin. She had managed to make it down the cliff face, and even found what she was hunting. Rather than having the baby animal between her jaws, she was playing with it, watching it chase her hand.

“You know, when I trained Qin to not rip Momo in half, I think she’s just applied it to all tiny creatures,” Y/N mused, “Kinda cute, really.”

He hummed in agreement, sounding almost dreamy. “Yeah, she is.”

The place he had managed to get stuck, though snug, had some beautiful surroundings. Naturally, the canyon was home to many different flora types, but the trees that had weathered such harsh conditions were phenomenally beautiful. Somehow the leaves seemed to shine with a green more brilliant than the uniforms of earthbending soldiers, or even the emerald adornments of noblewomen’s robes. It was shockingly quiet, bar the occasional bird call, each one new and more exotic than the last.

Grunting with effort, Sokka shimmied himself up in the crack, propping himself up with his arms.

Y/N frowned. “Should I go find Toph?”

“No!” He exclaimed, startling her. “No. Just keep me company?”

Her frown quickly dissolved into a small smile. Wordlessly, she sunk to his level, unpinning her hair and laying on the dusty ground. The sky was nice at least, serenely blue against the earth tones of the canyon.

“Is the sky as pretty here as it is in the South?” Y/N asked, tilting her head to catch a glimpse of Sokka.

“Oh, way prettier,” He said, his tone completely confident. “You know how blue the sky is right now? In the South Pole, it kinda meshes with the ice, like an ocean of sky.”

Y/N snorted. “Oh, so you’re a poet now.”

“Hey!” He pouted. “You asked! And I would know what that was like, considering I’m the only one from my village who can captain a ship.”

“A ship!”

“Well, more like a boat.”

“A boat?”

“A very small fishing canoe.”

The pair dissolved into laughter, Sokka shifting so that he didn’t slip down entirely.

“You live in the South Pole though,” Y/N said, brows furrowing in confusion. “Isn’t fishing your livelihood?”

“Not just fishing.” Sokka’s tone shifted, becoming more serious as he eyes glossed over with something very different from the glee it had just been. “My dad and his partner, Bato, would know how to captain proper ships. Most the men from my village knew how to work on a boat.”

Knew.

Y/N sat up, propping her chin up on her palm. “You’re the only man in your village?”

“You’re looking at him!” He joked, though his heart didn’t seem in it. “The best captain, warrior, and overall guy you’ll find.”

She looked at him, her eyes sad, her smile even sadder. Silent, she put her hand over his, looking at him in the eyes. They stayed like that for a moment until he cleared his throat, his face red and uncomfortable.

“What about you then?” Sokka asked, staring up at her with what she could only describe as puppy dog eyes. “You’re my friend and I know nearly nothing about you.”

Spirits, help me.

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Do you have parents?”

“A mother,” She nodded, her face softening ever so slightly. “She lives in Ba Sing Se, actually. It was where I was heading when Lao had his tantrum.”

“Is she pretty like you?” He said, head tilted in curiosity.

“Sokka, you best not be going after my mum,” Y/N scoffed, hiding how pink she was turning. “No, I’m her spitting image, apparently. Brown eyes and what not, y’know? I didn’t, however, pick up her affinity for earthbending. I don’t really know what she’s doing since she sent me away.”

Sokka scowled, a silent question.

“I guess she though Ba Sing Se wasn’t safe anymore,” She shrugged. “That, or she finally got sick of me.”

“No offence to your mother,” Sokka began, eyes wide in ready defence, “But I don’t understand how anyone could get sick of you.”

Y/N eyes widened to the size of the moon, Sokka’s face falling as it happened. He was opening his mouth, she realised, but honestly Y/N was far too distracted by the saber-tooth moose-lion leering over the pair. Qin realised too, hackles raised as she nudged the baby back towards its mother. With Qin stalking to Y/N’s side, she realised that Sokka had no idea what was about to attack them. Gently, she pulled her bō staff out, holding it low down but ready to strike.

“Don’t tell me,” Sokka deadpanned. “Foo Foo Cuddlypoops’ mum has finally come to pick him up.”

“You called it Foo Foo Cuddlypoops?” Y/N hissed, placing a hand on Qin’s nose, anxious she was about to pounce.

Before Y/N could make a rash decision – she was going between charging the beast, kidnapping its kid and running as fast as possible, or likely following Qin to stop her killing herself – Aang came into the clearing. Trying to prevent a very messy accident, Y/N gestured subtly to Sokka, something along the lines of use your magical Avatar superpowers and get Sokka out of this mess.

Aang smiled panicked, replying with something like I can’t earthbend, what do you want me to do?!

With the still growling moose-lion, Sokka looked between the two like watching two teams in a sports game. “Hello? Sokka here! Still stuck!”

Startled, the moose-lion charged, and they reacted fast. Scooping up the baby, Y/N grabbed onto Qin and began to run. Maybe if she was watching the ensuing chaos, she would have laughed at how the baby seemed content with the wind hitting its face, looking at its mother unfazed by the distance between them. It took all of her willpower not to scream the entire way; death by moose-lion was not going to be written in her obituary, not if she had any say in it. Then the path ran out. Another cliff edge, another chasm to fall into. Climbing off of her mount, Y/N dropped her staff, holding the baby in one hand and doing the one thing she could think of.

She ignited.

Holding the flame near the baby, Y/N held back grimacing tears as it squealed in fear, but it was enough. The mother, seemingly unbothered about trampling Y/N and Qin, whined desperately, snarling and spitting up a vicious storm. Slowly, she put the baby to the floor, letting it run from them. As the mother tended to her child, she looked up briefly, as if considering whether she could get away with brutally killing the firebender. One look at the flame, and they bolted.

Extinguishing the fire swiftly, Y/N exhaled a sigh of relief, the nausea in her stomach – that she hadn’t been aware of until she had stood still – dissipating. Keeling over, she heaved herself onto Qin, letting the reptile run her back to her friends.

“Oh, hi Y/N.”

Toph was grinning atop a stone pillar. Had she been there the entire time?

“I can’t believe you watched that happen and didn’t do anything!” Sokka shouted, Aang sharing the sentiment with a scowl.

“Pssh, the Avatar learns better under pressure.”

Y/N eyes widened as she saw red, opening her mouth to speak; no words came out as she covered her mouth, trying not to be sick. “I was nearly eaten by a moose-lion.”

“You’re being dramatic- “

“You let me nearly be eaten, Toph!”

“Nearly is the key word there!”

Baffled, Y/N stared at her friend. Somewhat hysterically, she cracked up into laughter, clutching onto Qin for support. She laughed and laughed until Sokka approached her, holding her up by her arm.

“I am not making dinner tonight.”

TAGLIST: @lunariasilver​ @maragreene​

[el-michoacano]

Zoya x Genya prompt - confessing their feelings for each other? I'm a simple woman and that is what I live for.

Here you go! Best girls in love ♡

.

"You look beautiful." Truer words had never been spoken. Genya looked gorgeous. Then again, she always looked gorgeous, and Zoya made a point of telling her so as often as she could. She deserved that, and more, and everything.

"Oh, me?" Genya sat at the vanity in their shared bedroom, carefully unpinning her hair, long ginger locks spiraling down her back. "You should look at yourself, Zoya." Their eyes met through the mirror, gold on blue. "You look like a queen."

Zoya scoffed, though the sound was gentle, more amused than annoyed. "I should hope so," she said. She approached Genya, rested her hands on her shoulders. The dress left Genya's scarred, freckled shoulders bare, and Zoya leaned down to press a kiss to one of said scars. Softly, she asked, "Do you need help undressing?"

Genya laughed at her. "Are you really that eager, Zoya?"

Of course she was. She always was. She just hid it well. "I only meant the topmost layers," Zoya said, though there was a smile curling the edges of her painted lips. "Though if you want to take off more than that, I certainly won't complain."

Again, Genya laughed, and it was the sweetest sound Zoya had ever heard. Glancing over her shoulder with her single amber eye, she said, "Unlace me, then."

Zoya did as she was told, but she kept her eyes on the mirror, watching as Genya continued undoing her hair, freeing her auburn curls with each pin removed. She was beautiful, and Zoya leaned in again, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Do you have any idea lovely you are, Genya?"

"I have an idea of it," Genya said, shrugging the bodice of her gown further off her shoulders. She gave Zoya a charming smile and said, "I could ask the same of you." Her smile melted into something softer when Zoya pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I adore you, I'll have you know."

"Is that so?" Zoya looked nothing short of extraordinarily smug. It was a good look on her, but really, was there any expression that didn't look absolutely radiant on the face of Zoya Nazyalensky? Genya highly doubted it. "I suppose I can't blame you."

A giggle in her voice, Genya said, "Of course you can't!" She turned her head, brushed her lips over the high curve of Zoya's cheekbone.

Zoya leaned into it, catching Genya's soft lips with her own. Very softly, she said, "I don't think adore is a strong enough word."

[glenncoco4]

Doctors and Detectives Part 4

Final chapter of this mini-series! Hope you guys enjoyed it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She slowly starts to come to, not sure if it’s been 15 minutes or 15 hours. It’s dark that she knows, the only light in the area is coming from a semi-large fire in the corner. Her fingers find the crown of her head where she feels the stickiness of her blood trail from. Judging by how quickly she went out, the blood and the nausea that is slowly making itself known, she can without a doubt diagnose that she has at least a mild concussion along with a possible broken ulna.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly sits up as she assess the rest of her body and once satisfied she’s able, she stands up to gather her bearings. Knowing that her arm will get in the way, she begrudgingly takes off her white coat and blue scrub top, unpinning her father’s ring and slipping it into her pocket before ripping the seam of the blue top to use as a makeshift sling.

She picks up her phone, already knowing that it’s dead, and seeing as though she may be stuck here for awhile all she knows to do is look for others.

The day only gets worse as she’s maneuvering around the rubble and comes face to face with many lifeless bodies that belong to her colleagues. She has no idea how she’s going to recover from this...if she ever does.

A sudden cry draws her attention towards the blazing fire. Getting closer, the cries become louder, she’s examining all around looking for any signs when a head of curly black hair that’s covered in soot hits her line of sight.

Quickly jumping over the steel beam, the doctor races towards the little girl who is probably no more that 4 years old. Tears are falling down her little cheeks, the light of the fire illuminating her ebony colored skin, and the most heart wrenching terror in her brown orbs. “Hey, sweetie. It’s okay.”

“I want my mommy.” She whimpers, her cries dying down as Kensi’s presences calms her a little.

“Okay, we’re gonna find your mommy. Can you tell me if you hurt anywhere?”

“My leg and my tummy.”

She’s never been all that great with kids, I mean her patients sure, but outside of the hospital and her stint with DWB, she’s never really around them. But this little girl needs her right now so she can’t dwell on that. “Okay, what’s your name, baby?”

“Everly.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

She smiles her tears all but dried up. ‘Thank you. What’s your name?”

“My name is Kensi.”

The curly haired little girl suddenly gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. “That’s my bestest friend’s name.”

“No way.”

Everly nods her head but then winces as the movement causes her abdominal muscles to contract.

“Okay, Everly, is it okay if I check your tummy?”

She nods, cringing as the doctor slowly pulls up her shirt.

The brunette doesn’t even need to test the tenderness her belly to know what’s wrong. The extremely darkened skin tells her what she feared all along...internal bleeding. Their rescue is even more paramount now.  

“Am I gonna die?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Knowing that they’re in a vulnerable place, the brunette takes a scan around the rubble in search of tools to make a splint for the little girl’s leg. “Okay, sweetie, I need to splint your leg, its gonna hurt but I need you to be brave for me.”

“Okay.”

Grabbing the two pieces of wood and tearing the cloth of her top, Kensi adjusts Everly’s leg resulting in a high pitched scream of pain.  

“You are so brave. You’re doing great.”

“I want my mommy.” Tears pool in her little eyes once again unable to hide how scared she truly is now.

“I know you do, baby. I know you do.”

She doesn’t know how long they’re gonna be stuck down here so she carefully picks up the little girl and walks over to find the sturdiest place possible. The sturdiest place possible also happens to be right next to one of the bodies of her colleagues that she thankfully covered up with her coat. Sliding down against a beam, Kensi cradles Everly in her arms, hoping that help is on the way.

The doctors sees the little girl slowly starting to drift off, she has to think on her feet knowing that she needs to keep her awake. “So, how old are you?”

“Five.”

“Wow, that’s old.”

“I’m almost a grown up.”

“You are. Do you have any tattoos?”

The little girl giggles as if that’s the most absurd question. “No, silly.”

“What about a boyfriend?”

“Uh-huh, I have three.” She says matter of factly.

The brunette’s eyes widen in surprise. “3? How do you keep up with that?”

“They know their place.”

“Oh, do they?”

“Yep. What about you?”

Kensi’s mind begins to drift off as she thinks back to two days ago and how she and her love spent the entire morning curled up in bed together before heading to the beach, only to come back home and end the day the way they started it. She just really hopes it wasn’t the last. “Yeah, I have a boyfriend.”

“Just one?”

The surprise in Everly’s chocolate orbs makes the doctor laugh. “Yeah, I don’t think I could keep up with 3.”

“What’s he look like?”

The woman thinks about the best way to describe Deeks when a grin spreads to her lips. “Have you ever watched Scooby-Doo?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, he looks exactly like Shaggy.”

They both start to laugh, but abruptly stop  when Everly winces in pain. All Kensi can do is make her comfortable now as her mind wanders back to the man she loves, wondering where he’s at and imagining the turmoil he’s going through right now.

XXXX

“You gotta let me in there, Claire.” The blonde detective follows the chief firefighter as she continues to help those that are being brought out by rescue.

“I’m sorry, Deeks, but I can’t have any more civilians in there.” She sighs knowing exactly how he’s feeling. It wasn’t too long ago that her wife was being held hostage at the bank and he was the one telling her she couldn’t go in even as a trained medic.

“Kensi’s in there.”

“I know. A lot of people’s Kensis are in there. You gotta let us do our job so we can get them out.”

It’s then that Jake comes over, pulling him away from the thick of the action so that Claire along with the others can get back to work and hopefully bring Kensi out alive. “Come on, man. Come help us over here.”

“I can’t loose her.” He starts to break at the thought of her lifeless body mangled in the rubble.

Jake’s arms wrap around his partner, trying to give his best friend the most comfort he can right now. No doubt if Katie were in there he’d be acting the same way. “I know, buddy. I know.”

XXXX

The silence around only builds with time as it finally sets within the doctor’s mind that they may very well die in here. As the fire only continues to burn hotter and spread, its inevitable.

“Kensi?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we gonna die?”

“No. No, we’re not.” She hates giving the little girl a false sense of hope but she can’t find it in herself to tell this sweet little girl that they’re most likely going to take their last breaths in this place.

There’s a beat of silence when suddenly voices that are not their own can be heard over the cracklings of fire. “Call out. LAFD. If anyone can here me, call out.”

“Over here! We’re over here!” Tears start to flood her mismatched chocolate orbs not only because this little girl will get the medical attention she now needs but once again she’ll be able to look into his beautiful cerulean blues and tell him how much she loves him.

It’s takes about 30 minutes for the firefighters to get her and Everly out. She’s able to walk out of the rubble on her own, her hand never leaving Everly’s as she’s carried out on a backboard. Once satisfied that the curly haired girl is being taken care of and is reunited with her mother, Kensi is ushered over to an ambulance where a medic attends to her injuries.

A few minutes later the medic places the last butterfly bandage across her forehead, as she’s looking across the parking lot, suddenly locking eyes with him. His cerulean blues are full of concern.

She watches as he takes a deep breath before he starts running towards her, zigging and zagging through the crowd of people. Tears threaten to spill from her eyes as he closes the distance between them, his arms opening wide, leaving her to all but fall into his embrace. “God I love you so much.”

“I love you.”

He pulls back slightly from their embrace, cradling her head between his hands while he examines her injuries. “Are you okay?”

God how she loves this man. She’s not really sure what’s going to happen after today but as long as he’s here she knows she’ll be okay. With a small smile, she leans forward, bringing her lips to his, pouring all the love she has for him into the kiss. “I am now.”

As they relish in the feel of being wrapped up in each other’s arms, Deeks’ eyes are drawn to the figure walking up to them, curiously wondering what’s going on.

“Excuse me, Kensi?”

The brunette turns around as she sees the man approach hesitantly. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Everly’s dad.”

“How is she?”

“She’s was rushed into surgery, but the other doctor said that if it wasn’t for you she’d be dead. My little girl’s alive because of you.”

“It’s nothing really.”

“No, it’s everything.” Shaking his head, he can feel the tears build up in his eyes. “Everly told my wife how you kept her safe and wouldn’t leave her side.”

“She kept me safe just as much. You’ve got a strong  little girl in there.”

She sends him a small smile as he almost looks a little lost. “Go be with your family.”

“Thank you.”

Deeks sees that she’s about to loose it, so he takes hold of her good arm and pulls her behind the ambulance. His arms carefully find their way around her and the tension in her body slowly ebbs away, tears now falling from her eyes.

She slowly collapses against him, pulling him to the ground with her as the pain of today lets itself known. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I know. All I could think about was never holding you again or seeing your beautiful smile or...”

She looks up at him, reddened eyes full of curiosity. “Or what?”

Reaching into his pocket, the detective pulls out the small object that he’s been holding onto for months now. “Or give you this.”

More tears begin to fall from her eyes at the sight of the delicate diamond ring placed between his fingers.

“I know this isn’t the most romantic of settings but after today, I just can’t wait anymore...Dr. Blye, will you marry me?”

She can’t help but let out a teary-eyed laugh, as she reaches into her own pocket and pulls out the band that once belonged to her father. “Only if you marry me.”

“So is that a yes?”

She burrows her head back into his chest, nodding in confirmation.

This time its a little easier to find the joy instead of dwelling on the sadness.