#DRAWN TOO MANY OF THEM FIGHTING AND GLARING AND COVERED IN WOUNDS

[crushedsweets]

If u consistently choose kindness on the internet in comment sections and dms and content I love you.

[lady-ashfade]

The Sketch Of Sin.

Astarion Ancunín x Artist!Reader Drabble

I have not played the game yet so forgive if I get anything wrong, this is just based off of the things I have seen.

Warnings; Suggestive, Teasing, me just being a simp, s*xual themes, just him being him.

Astarion has always allured people in on his looks, his past making it known he was attractive. The cocky man says so many times just how hot he is and how he could have anyone on their knees. But...He often wonders what he actually looks like. It's been forever since he’s actually saw himself in the reflection that he forgot what he truly looked like.

Days after fighting and traveling through the world, wounds and brushes covered your body as you ache from exhaustion. The arts are what you relax with in your tent to take the worlds weight off your shoulders. Many sketches, of the many views you have encountered over the months or people you surround yourself with filled the thick pages. You tried to keep it hidden from others of the talent you possessed, so you hid the book underneath your pillow.

Of course, it didn't stay hidden with astarion visiting your tent. He had a urge to visit you and he did just that, needing to see his pet that made him very happy. Much to his disappointment you were no where in sight. A sigh left his lips and walks towards your bed to await for your arrival. He threw himself of the bed and crossed his feet, smirking as he thought of your sweet face being surprised.

His hand reached underneath the pillow to give him some support but something hard hit his skin. Frowning his brows in confusion he took ahold of the object and pulled it out, a book now resting in his hands. "What is this?" He asked with a amused tone, hoping it was a diary of some sort. Astarion was impatient as he yanks the book open waiting to see the words written but non met his eyes, only scratches.

Beautiful artwork.

His amusement turned to awe at the thought of you being this talented. He looked through the pages and remembered each place you had drawn, but your eyes saw them in a much brighter light. Then he saw the companions he worked with, all of them smiling and in heavy details. He was sucked in and couldn't take his eyes away from the book, you were magnificent.

His fingers turned the page and he was met with someone so familiar yet unknowing. With each detail he took in he began to realize it was him he was looking at, more pretty then he remembered. Was this what he looked like? Or, was this how you saw him? His chest filled with confidence and pride.

He heard the flapping sound of the tent opening and he looked up to see you, his pretty little pet. Your face widen in surprise for a moment and then to the book in his hands, him loving every second. You had not a clue of what to do. "Darling, come and sit." He leaned up to pat the place next to him.

"What do you have?" You asked taking a few steps forward and he could tell they were slowed and hesitated. He chuckled, taking his eyes away from you and back to the book. "Clearly something you don't want me to have." His smirk only grew as you huffed and crossed your arms, glaring at him.

“Don't be that way, you left it all alone- Not even a good hiding spot. Tsk tsk, thought you'd know better.” You flushed and hopped onto the bed to take it from him, but failed miserably. His arm pushed you back and his other holding the book away from you. His laugh filled the tent and warmed your ears, but not taking you away from the embarrassing moment.

"Give it back.” You demanded. A thin line on your lips as your eyes dimmed down, along with the brows above meeting them halfway. “And way would I do that?" He was having too much fun messing with you by the sound in his voice. He was teasing you.

"Come on, it's private and I want it-" stopping your sentence he pressed his lips to yours and grabbed ahold on your chin with two fingers. As mad as you were at him... His affection was never worth giving up. He pulled away only a inch from your lips and breaths against them, "You captured me quite well, my darling pet."

The compliment made your cheeks feel warm and body tempered rise up at the praise. He was aware of the effects he had on you, even the slightest of ways. His hands meet your chest and push you back onto the bed, his body moving away from you and off the bed. You mumbled in confusion but he shh'd you.

"I want to pose for the next one." You watch him undo the shirt he had on ever so slowly then push it above his head. No matter how many times you see his body it always leaves you wanting more, to worship the ground he walks on. He eyes found yours as he reached just below the top of his pants, a glint of mischief shining in his pupils.

"Think you can handle that, little pet?"

[takamikeiigos]

Okay I know made an ask already like 2 days ago🙄 but what if hawks s/o had to fake their death on a mission for like a month or 2😮‍💨 and when they come back the first thing they do is look for hawks even though they’re tired, beaten and look like complete shit😩😩 I’m just such a sucker for these kind of tropes !!!

Also how’s ur day been :))

ayo i got you fam!!!

this was legit all i could think of for like 3 days so i hope it's okay!!

Title: "You Came Back to Me"

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (for now)

Relationships: Hawks x Reader

Tags: temporary character death, violence, drinking as a coping mechanism (minor on hawk's part), emesis

Word Count: 2.8k

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3

You look up at the villain who currently has you pinned to the floor, your ragged breaths leaving your mouth with every rise and fall of your chest.

His vibrant green eyes are piercing as they stare down at you, his expression wicked and merciless as he presses his foot harder against your throat as a warning.

"Here are your options, darlin'," he pulls his foot away, instead opting to sit back on his haunches. He brushes your hair from your face and rests his hand on your cheek. It makes you flinch and your breath hitch.

"You either find a way to dissappear, or I'll track down that precious little birdy of yours and take his wings for myself."

○ ○ ○

- three weeks prior -

"Let me come with you. Please."

"Kei.." you say softly as you back the rest of your necessities in your bag, finally turning to look at him.

He's on edge, you can tell by his posture. His wings are drawn tight to his back, but his feathers are puffed out. It reminds you of how hair stands on end and goosebumps make them selves known under fear and stress.

"You know I can't.."

"This is too much for one person to handle." His arms are folded across his chest now as he leans against the doorframe of your shared bedroom.

"You don't think I can handle myself?" The words leave your mouth sounding offended, and he instantly deflates.

"That's not what I meant. If you didn't know what you were doing, you wouldn't be working for one of the top agencies in Japan." Keigo steps forward, now in your space, and you can see a faint trace of fear flicker across his face. "I just.. this man is very dangerous, y/n. And if anything happens.."

"Hey. It'll be okay. It'll only be a month and I'll be home before you know it. I won't let anything happen, I promise." Your hand falls against his cheek and he nuzzles into it, both of his hands coming to rest against your own.

"You promise?" he asks quietly, needing one more confirmation that you'll be home and safe in a couple weeks.

"I promise."

○ ○ ○

"Have you made your mind up, sweetheart?" Kimura, the man who has had the utmost pleasure in beating you within an inch of your life, asks. He slams you against the brick wall of the alleyway one more time for good measure, his hand wrapped firmly around your throat.

"Please.." you gasp out, your hands coming to wrap around his wrist, trying to relieve the pressure against your larynx. "P-please promise me you won't hurt him, that you w-wont lay a hand on him.."

He chuckles darkly, tossing you aside onto the cold, dirty floor of the alleyway.

Your vision is blurring, slowly darkening at the edges, but you manage to see him move a few feet away, bending down to pick something up off the ground. You blink sluggishly and suddenly he's in your space once more, holding the object, which you soon realize is your phone, in your face.

"Go ahead, songbird. Give him one last goodbye."

You cringe at the abuse of the nickname that you hold so dear, but weakly reach out and take your phone from his hand, Hawks' number already dialed.

All you had to do was hit send and that would be it.

You close your eyes and rest your head against the brick wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You can feel tears burning as they make themselves known, clinging to your eyelashes and not yet falling to your cheeks. You blame it on the amount of pain you're in, but you know the true reason is because you're absolutely terrified.

You press send.

As it rings you notice Kimura bringing out his own phone, holding it up and aiming it in your direction.

What a sick bastard.

"Baby bird!" Keigo's voice comes cheerfully from the other line. Though it warms and calms your senses, it still makes you sad knowing that he's completely oblivious to what's about to come.

"H-Hey, Kei.." you try your best to keep your voice steady, but the damage from excessive force to your throat is unforgiving and the words leave your mouth sounding raspy and distant.

"Y/n, where are you?" Keigo's voice drops an octave and you can tell his worry has set in, which was exactly what you wanted to avoid.

"I'm okay, just uh," you pause mid-sentence, your throat tightening around the words as tears threaten to spill again, "just got knocked around a lil bit."

Your laugh comes out bitter. You hate the sound of it.

"Y/n. Tell. Me. Where. You. A-"

"Kei, listen. I need you to know how much I.." your voice betrays you and cracks, and you suddenly find that you can't fight the overwhelming fear and sadness coming over you. You weakly bring a hand up to wipe at your battered cheeks, tears continuing to fall and mix with the grime and blood that covers your skin.

You try again to steel yourself, another deep breath falling from your lips shakily, making your lungs rattle. It's becoming harder each second to keep your eyes open and your mind focused, but if you make it through this one phone call, you know you'll be able to rest easy.

"I need you t'know how much I love you. 'N that everything's g'nna be fine. That you'll be okay. And to not c-"

Suddenly a gunshot rings out and your whole world stands still for a split second, before turning completely sideways.

You register warmth blossoming over your abdomen, spreading and soaking your hero uniform. You can hear Keigo frantically yelling from where your phone slipped from your hand and landed on the concrete next to your head. And the last thing you see is Kimura holstering his gun with one hand, tapping away on his phone with the other.

"What a shitty ending for a hero, don't you think?" Kimura grins down at you.

Yeah. What a shitty ending for a hero.

○ ○ ○

The quiet trickle of water finds its way to your ears, and the feeling of something cold and damp against your forehead is a soothing contrast to how hot your body feels.

Opening your eyes feels as though it takes half of whatever strength you have left, and your vision swims. Suddenly hit with a wave a nausea, you lean over and vomit over the edge of the bed you're laying on. Luckily there's a bucket on the floor, and you assume it was placed there for a reason.

That someone placed it there.

In a panic you sit up, your wounds pulling tight and your body protesting. Your vision swims again and it takes you a few moments to ground yourself.

"Ma'am, please don't move too fast. You'll re-open your wounds and you're already in bad shape," a quiet voice projects throughout the room. You look up and notice an older man, probably in his sixties, sitting in a chair next to the bed you're currently occupying.

"Who are you? Where's Kimura?" You grit out, grabbing the edge of the blankets and tossing them off of you. The man in front of you is ready for your attempt at escape and he places steady hands on your shoulders, pushing you back onto the bed.

"Please! My name is Daichi Tanaka, I am a doctor! I found you in an alleyway near Higashiosaka. I would have taken you to a hospital but you begged me not to," the man pleads, his hands persistent on your shoulders.

You glare at him momentarily, before relaxing back onto the bed, still weary of his intentions.

"Kimura? Is that the name of the person who did this to you?" The man - Tanaka - asks hesitantly.

You ignore his question in favor for asking your own, "How long have I been out?"

Tanaka stares at at you, seeming to contemplate answering, but you figure he finally realizes you aren't taking any shit because his answer comes out with a sigh.

"A little over a week. You've been in and out, your fever finally broke this morning."

Over a week. You've been out for over a week and you don't know where you are, where Kimura went, and where Keigo-

Keigo.

It all comes crashing back to you and you lie back, your hands resting over your eyes.

Tanaka seems to have been reading your mind, because he pulls your phone from the nightstand next to you and passes it over.

"I wiped as much blood from it as I could. You have many new notifications and quite a few missed calls. I wasn't able to unlock it to call anyone, but it seems there are many people worried about you." Tanaka stands then, making his way toward the bedroom door.

"I will give you some privacy for now, but expect me to be back in twenty minutes to check up on you."

With that, Tanaka leaves, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You stare down at your phone, the screen cracked and a few specs of blood and dirt tucked into its crevices. You type your pin in and pull your notifications up, Keigo's name amongst others filling the screen.

You don't realize you're crying until a small hiccup forces its way from your mouth, your cheeks wet with tears.

You notice a voice-mail from him, and though you know it's only going to make you more upset, you force yourself to open it to make sure he's okay.

His voice floods the room and it immediately breaks your heart at how wrecked he sounds. You can tell he's been crying by how gravelly his voice sounds as the message plays out.

"You know," Keigo laughs bitterly over the phone, "I punched Ryosetsu in the face for letting you go on this mission alone. Gave 'im a real nice shiner on your behalf."

The message goes quiet and you can hear what sounds like a glass bottle being opened in the background, Keigo's quiet sniffles also making themselves known.

"Fuck, y/n. They didnt even.. they didnt even find your body. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh?

"They wouldn't even let me anywhere near the scene, I had to sit back at the office while they kept me informed. He said there was uh.." you assume Keigo pauses to take a swig of whatever he's drinking based off the tink of the glass bottle, "heh, he said there's a low chance you're even alive because there was so much blood. Fuck."

You grimace at how blunt he is with the statement and how distant his voice sounds. You can only hope that he hasn't been drinking as often as your thoughts are telling you.

"Please come back to me," he whimpers over the message, and a new wave of tears fall down your cheeks. "Please.. I can't do this without you."

○ ○ ○

A few days pass.

Tanaka refuses to take any of your shit.

He most definitely refuses to let you leave until you had one more solid meal in you, and one more day of rest.

You're still a little weak, bruises and abrasions littering your skin ( not to mention the nasty bullet wound Tanaka managed to sew up for you ) but you finally have enough strength to stand and walk on your own.

He pleads with you to stay one more day, just to ensure you're strong enough to be by yourself, but you shake your head and bow before him.

"Thank you, Mr. Tanaka, but I have to keep moving. It might be unsafe for you if I stay."

So instead he writes down his phone number on a crumpled piece of paper and hands it to you, patting your hand briefly.

"You're a strong one, just be sure to take care of yourself." He smiles kindly at you, and you nod before taking your leave.

○ ○ ○

Days go by as you hop around from town to town, only stopping for food and rest.

It's been a little over two weeks since you made the decision to distance yourself to ensure the safety of your friends and Keigo, and nearly two months since you were assigned the mission. While you knew faking your death was the only way to keep people from asking too many questions about why you suddenly disappeared, you weren't expecting to actually get shot and almost die.

You keep up with the recent events as best as you can, continuously watching news coverage and especially keeping tabs on Keigo's agency.

Your breath catches in your throat one day while you're moving through a rural seaside town, large red wings and a familiar hero uniform immediately catching your attention.

A flood of emotions run through you and it takes everything in you to not run up to him and hold him. But the fear of Kimura's prying eyes hold you back, and you steadily remind yourself that you're doing this to protect him.

You keep your distance and watch his every move. He's staring down at his phone for a while and after a few moments it rings. He brings it to his ear and though you can't hear what he's saying, it must be something important.

Because soon enough his wings are spread out and he's taking flight into the afternoon sky.

○ ○ ○

'Pro-Hero Hawks makes appearance in. Tanabe - finds lead on hero killer'

'Hanamatsu hero case still under investigation'

'Top Hero Agency in Japan pursuing hero killer - Kimura'

The news headlines on your phone cause your blood to run cold. How foolish of you to think Keigo would let this go so easily.

To think he wouldn't trace every piece of evidence and go to the ends of the earth to take down someone who hurt you.

○ ○ ○

You keep tabs on him as best you can. It begins to feel like you're stalking him, in a weird way, but you'll be damned if you did all of this just to put his safety on the line.

Keigo stays in Tanabe for the time being, the week passing by in a blur as you track his movements.

You figure Kimura went into hiding since his criminal activity fell flat after your encounter with him, but Keigo is as persistent as he's ever been, nitpicking every lead that comes his way.

A few days later word gets out that Kimura has been spotted in the village of Hidakagawa, just thirty minutes northwest of Tanabe.

You only hope you can get there before Keigo does.

○ ○ ○

Hidakagawa is exactly what you pictured, a perfect little town for a low-life criminal to live under the radar.

Its quiet and rural, its occupants living their lives happily tucked away from the bustling life of the city.

A few squad cars rush past you as you look at the map you have pulled up on your phone. It seems a little out of character for such a small town, so you push yourself forward and follow them.

○ ○ ○

When you finally catch up to the squad cars, the scene before you makes your hair stand on end.

Keigo has Kimura pinned to the ground, battered and bruised, his fist closed around a one of his feathers that he's currently wielding as a blade. A few dozen officers surround the scene, guns drawn and on edge.

Kimura smirks up at him and whatever he says is out of earshot, but its enough to piss Keigo off and send him into a frenzy.

"Kei, stop!" You find yourself yelling shakily. You finally manage to push through the barricade of officers and it's then that Keigo makes eye contact with you, his closed fist halted in the air.

Kimura takes the split second of distraction to knock the blade from Keigo's hand, flipping their position so the winged hero is pinned to the floor of the temple. He pulls out his gun and cocks it, pressing it to Keigo's forehead.

All the while Keigo keeps his eyes on you.

"I thought I told you to stay away, little one," Kimura grits out, wiping a trail of blood from his mouth, "Now it looks like your little hawk is about to lose his wings, all because someone can't listen."

You move on impulse when Kimura turns his attention back to Keigo, and you grab the handgun from the officer closest to you.

You waste no time in firing a bullet, hitting Kimura right in the temple. But as it strikes he squeezes the trigger of his own gun on impulse, which is still trained on Keigo, a second round going off.

- to be continued -

tbh i was super nervous to post this bc im so new to the fandom but here we go!!

also i just made up random characters bc im not quite caught up with the manga, and also picked random spots in japan that i know absolutely nothing about

rip to my writing skills lmfao

♡ ky

[elvish-sky]

All Wounds Heal Eventually {Legolas x Reader}

Requested by Anon on Tumblr: Hi first off i wanna say I absolutely love ur account your fanfics are perfectttt (especially leggy ones <3)  Also i was wondering if you can write a legolasXreader where (female) reader does anything she can to make Thranduil like her and accept her but whatever she does he doesn't seem to accept her as part of the family and keeps judging Legolas for marrying her... but make it a happy ending??? This is so confusing I'm so sorry but i hope u get what I'm saying  :,)))

A.N: I sort of thought of the dance at the beginning as a formal one from high-society events in the early 1800s England, but you’re welcome to your own interpretation. The elves could have really liked hip-hop, who knows? Thank you so much for this request! I'm so sorry this took so long, Anon, and I hope you enjoy it and have/had a lovely day!

Word Count: 1,336

Summary: Thranduil does not accept you as his son’s wife.

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Warnings: Blood, Wounds, Angst, Fluff, not being accepted by family.

**** All Wounds Heal Eventually

Your elven dress swirled around you as you twirled on the arm of your husband, Legolas. It was the yearly Feast of Starlight in the realm of the woodland elves, and as the newly married prince and princess, you were required to open the Feast with a dance. As you paraded between the rows of other dancers you glanced up at the throne of your father-in-law. 

King Thranduil had not approved of his son’s choice of wife and had made it very clear to not only you but the whole court. He was currently glaring at you with a glass of wine in his hand, sipping it every so often as he lounged on his throne. Your mind flashed back to your wedding day, to the ceremony that the king had not even deigned to attend. He had never blessed the marriage, and had in fact done his best to force his son to wed someone else. You had tried many things to gain his approval, from mastering all the dances known to the tutors in the court, to memorizing every law and rule of the kingdom, as well as proper manners, so that you would not embarrass him. Yet he still did not approve of your marriage to his son. All of these things hurt you, but you were willing to ignore the slights so that you could be with your love.

“Melleth nin,” Legolas’ words drew your eyes back to his, “What is wrong?” “Oh, nothing,” you forced a smile as he spun you into his arms. “Only, I am afraid I cannot recall the ending to this dance!” “Never fear. Just follow me.” You let your husband guide you through the final steps and dipped you, finishing in exactly the right pose on exactly the right beat. You glanced up at the throne to see if Thranduil approved, but he was just gazing at his people, looking bored. 

Walking off the dance floor to applause and compliments, Legolas steered you towards the refreshment table. “Wine, my love?” “Not tonight, I’d like to keep a clear head.” “Ok.” He grabbed two glasses of the fruity, non-alcoholic drink and led you over to a table near the side of the large, open feasting hall. Even after living here for centuries the beauty and majesty of it all still took your breath away. The open ceiling meant that this room was one of your favorite places in the whole kingdom, as it was one of the few where you could see the stars. 

You were drawn out of your reverie by a guard urgently approaching your table, bowing, and then addressing Legolas. “Your highness, I’m so sorry to bother you but there’s been an orc attack just outside the borders to the northeast. According to our scouts they are making their way into the kingdom.” He lept up, “I’ll go drive them out immediately. I’m sorry, melleth, I have to deal with this.” He bent down and kissed you farewell, but backed away as you stood. “I will join you.” You declared, and began to walk outside, the guard alongside you. Knowing it was futile to argue, Legolas sighed and hustled to catch up. 

After quickly stopping at your rooms to change into something that allowed for more movement, and to grab your weapons, you set off with your husband and a troop of soldiers in the direction the guard had pointed you. 

You jumped into the next tree, Legolas across from you on another branch, looking down at the orcs passing beneath you. He held up a hand to signify that you and the soldiers near you should wait to attack, then moved it in a circular motion. Getting the message, you all made your way to branches so that when you dropped you would have the orcs surrounded. 

As Legolas raised and clenched his fist, you somersaulted off the branch to land on the shoulders of one of the orcs, slicing its throat with one of your blades. The sounds of fighting quickly broke out around you as the other elves did the same. You made quick work of them, and turned to see how the rest of your troop was doing. Everyone seemed to have their fights under control, and were in fact just dispatching the last few orcs. 

Hearing a small gasp from behind a tree, you sprinted over to see an orc standing above an unarmed Legolas, sword poised to slice him in half. Crying out, “No!” you ran to put yourself in between the blade and your beloved. You felt the blade bite into your side, but still managed to drag one of your daggers across the orc’s throat as you fell, making it fall back and disappear from view. You collapsed onto the ground and heard Legolas’ pained voice whisper, “My love, no. We’ll get you back to the healers, it’s going to be okay,” as he gathered you in his arms, heedless of the blood now staining his clothes from your wound. You heard those last three words repeated as a mantra as you passed out from the pain.

The next thing you knew, you were lying down in a room with calming morning sunlight streaming in from the windows. You had been undressed at some point and were lying on a large bed with a sheet covering your body and wrappings on your torso. You turned your head to see, to your surprise, the King of Mirkwood sitting next to your bedside, his son slumped at a table nearby. “Your majesty!” You tried to get up so that you could bow, hissing in pain as you moved, but he placed a hand on your arm, guiding you to lie back down. “Stay still, Y/N. You passed out due to blood loss after saving Legolas from an orc.” 

As he spoke, you remembered the gut-wrenching fear you had felt at seeing Legolas in such danger. “Do not worry, my king. I care more for your son that anything, and will always protect him.” “I know you will, Y/N, and I was blind to not have seen it before. But please take care of yourself as well. Now that I have a daughter, it would not do for me to lose her as well.” Your eyes filled with tears as he named you daughter, “thank you, my lord.” “No, Y/N. A father-in-law should never be called their title by their daughter. Call me Thranduil.” “Thank you, Thranduil.” 

“No, Y/N. Thank you for saving my son.” Thranduil grasped your hand and as you looked into his eyes you could see the depths of gratitude that dwelled there. “Now, I believe we should let the doting husband greet his now awake wife.” As he spoke he glided over to where Legolas was asleep, face resting on his elbow. He shook his son awake and left the room. “I shall return to check on you, daughter.” 

As his father left, Legolas rushed over to your side. “You’re awake! How do you feel? Is there anything you need?” You laughed at his concern. “I’m fine. I thought you would be mad after that stunt I pulled!” “I’m furious!” he declared. “I’m just going to wait until you are healed to make it known.” “Oh, great. Something for me to look forward to.” He laughed at the expression on your face and settled onto the bed next to you, careful not to jostle your wound. “Seriously, thank you for saving me.” “Anything for you, melleth nin.” You snuggled into his arms, resting your head on his chest as he whispered “gi mellin.” “I love you too,” you responded, and sighed in content. Although you were hurt, you knew the wound would heal eventually, as all did. Even the one caused by your husband’s father not accepting you had been repaired, something you never thought would happen. You were just happy to be alive, with your Legolas, accepted, finally, by Thranduil. 

Everything tag💖: @boyruins @anjhope1 @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing 83 Review

guess who isn't weeks late this time. my opinion of the series is going up a little bit. it's still not great, but i'm not actively put off by it anymore the way i was after 81. not going to tag as spoilers, but be warned that they are under the cut

i’m sure you all are well aware of this but now, but dear god i love bruno redondo’s art. like, an unhealthy amount. the pink and blue is getting to be a theme with either him or just this run, but i am definitely enjoying it. the movement in this cover is clearly obvious, but well done. you recoznize right off the bat that the cover was drawn to drag your eyes down the page until you get to the bottom, but you enjoy the whole ride there. 

also, redondo’s way of drawing a character in stages of action so we can see just how much they’re doing in a split second of movement is quickly becoming something i like to see drawn with dick, and any other character that has that sort of ease of movement and body sense, like cass or sin or maybe a super. 

and he’s in action the entire time! there’s shot drawn just to show off a shirtless comic book character, the way nightwing is so often subjected to. he’s shirtless because he’s changing his clothes, and that’s all we see, no more and no less. very practical, very well done. i like it.

he looks so cute right here oh my god. the little squint, the hair curls. it’s adorable.

but also like. unless melinda has specifically outfitted the door spyhole so that the person on the other side can’t see dick looking through it (and in all honesty she might have) then everyone on the other side can see dick looking through that door. 

bringing your attention back to the “i can’t see melinda’s fbi file oh no!! it’s redacted!! whatever can we do!!” stupidity. redacted files are child’s play for oracle, and definitely doable for both dick and bruce. so that’s bullshit.

now, melinda apparently grew up with the maroni family, then took down part of the family from the inside. the maroni family is a large and notable presence in gotham, one that bruce pays a respectable amount of attention to. he definitely would have grown suspicious when two members of the maroni family were taken down, and with some investigation, he would have discovered melinda’s plan. and it should go without saying that the majority of things you see batman doing? dick can do it too.

it’s not so much that i don’t like how clever the villains/antiheroes are getting. i don’t like how dc heroes are increasingly written as less intelligent. they seem to be relying on pure fighting skills or luck, which may be the case for a couple heroes, but has never been the case for most of dc’s big name heroes, the bat family included. it’s irritating to me to see this sort of stuff pop up as a major plot point when i know that, if dick or bruce had been written with the amount of skill and power that they canonically possess, this entire mess would have been sorted out years ago.

unrelated but dick and melinda have the same hair

this may just be me, but i was always under the impression that dick doesn’t really have a “double life???”

yes, he’s talented enough to create enough differences between robin/nightwing and dick grayson’s mannerisms, way of movement, voices, and speech patterns so that it’s very difficult to put the two together.

but nightwing has never been separate from dick grayson, not the way bruce and batman is. he’s always leaned more towards clark in that aspect: his hero persona is an exaggerated, stately, larger-than-life version of who he really is. there’s no second persona, no real “dick grayson identity” and “nightwing identity.” they’re the same person with the same goals, ideas, and skills. one just pretends to abide by the law, and one gives up pretense of that.

oh good thank god. if he’d trusted her right off the bat (hehe. bat.) i would have slapped him upside the head. at least he’s still got instincts.

gosh the colouring on this is cool. the red has enough purple and pink tones to it that it doesn’t abruptly ruin the tone of the artwork. but it’s definitely glaring enough to take the reader outside of this personal moment they had slipped into between dick and melinda, to put them back in the present where they’re reminded that oh yea there are people hunting dick down. 

the next panel keeps this up too, in a less severe way. melinda’s bodyguard shows up (i forgot her name sorry :[ ) and subtly places us in the middle of an action scene rather than a private, personal scene.

laughing so fucking hard have our little vigilantes grown so accustomed to breaking into places that it doesn’t even register as a crime anymore??? tim coming in through the fire escape to pick bernard up for their date and being very much confused as to why bernard is freaking out.

i really like melinda’s shirt and now despite all the work i have to do and the fucking conference i have to host on monday i want to spend hours scrolling through clothing shops online trying to find this shirt. the mock neck/neckline is so cool i want it

so roland just assumes that a very dangerous vigilante who is highly talented in combat and a very dangerous bodyguard who is also highly talented in combat had a fight that ended with this very dangerous bodyguard being tied up and she looks completely fine? roland just assumes that her having no visible wounds or bruises means that they got into a fight and she lost that easily? uh. aight then

dick what are you doing. legitimately what the fuck are you doing. why are you posing oh my god. you are injured and tired and in absolutely no position to go hand to hand with one of main enemies. jesus christ run away or head to lower ground or something. don’t just stand around letting the floodlights show exactly where you are.

i don’t understand what he’s trying to do here??? blockbuster fully bought the story that dick fought them both, won, tried to get info out of them and failed, then hightailed it out of there. he didn’t have to draw roland out for a fight.

but it does look cool. the way the light just highlights his silhouette and the blue parts of his costume does look badass. he does get style points in my book for this.

w h a t  d i d  i  f u c k i n g  t e l l  y o u ,  d i c k ?

very classic superhero line and it does sound like something dick would say in a fit of righteous rage but also it makes me laugh so hard because all vigilantes think they’re so powerful that the law doesn’t apply to them. dick vigilantism is illegal. you’re acting above the law and pretending it doesn’t apply to you. hypocritical much?

it happens so often in superhero movies, tv shows, comics, whatever and it makes me giggle every damn time.

pretty decent comeback but before i start seeing people writing blockbuster as a thug i’m going to remind you that he made a deal with a demon for genius level intellect. if this turns into another bane situation i’m going to be a little miffed. he’s a smart man, which makes him a dangerous and infinitely more interesting enemy for nightwing.

this is so horribly in character i want to scream. (or. at least. it lines up with one of the versions of nightwing i have in my head.) he’s running right towards the bullets, miraculously doesn’t get shot, while making a sort-of pun. i hate this so much. i love him.

this is cool. this art is really really cool.

he leaped from a building right towards a helicopter that’s actively shooting at him, but none of the bullets are touching him. none of the corruption of the city can touch him no matter how hard it tries, because he’s too good to be corrupted. Comic Book Logic Can Be Good Sometimes Actually.

batman’s belt what??? swiss army knife who?? sorry, i only know nightwing’s bright blue escrima.

this is one of my favourite things about heroes with exceptional abilities, even more so if the hero is human. the things they can do are so far beyond the realm of normal human abilities that it’s equal parts terrifying and awe-inspiring every time they act.

he just used modified grappling wires to hook to the door of a moving helicopter, swung around the helicopter safely without hitting the blades, gained exactly the right momentum to swing upward again right through the opening of helicopter, then fought and tied up the men before they had any idea what was happening. that’s near impossible to do.

it’s stuff like this where i just sort of sigh in contentment. no matter how many times they leave out dick’s detective skills or conveniently forget that he’s actually a master planner and team leader and make him out to be this forgetful dude who makes everything up on the fly because of his “circus roots,” at least they won’t ever take away dick’s sheer physical ability honed to perfection. 

the art, too! in a few panels, dick’s drawn a little lightened or blurred. he’s moving so quickly and fighting so efficiently that he can barely be seen by the enemy. he’s got perfect form all the way through.

and THIS!

there was a helicopter that had five men shooting at him with what looks like machine guns. most people would be dead. some would run away, and be nimble enough to survive without fatal hits. there are very few people, even in fucking comic books, who can look at that hopeless situation and turn it around so quickly and thoroughly that he benefits from it instead.

i just. love nightwing.

it was funny the first time as a comic reader aware of the meme. it’s really not anymore. why the hell would you, in universe, be wearing a shirt that has a picture of your boyfriend being hit in the face by his father. 

okay that was funny. 

look at lil bitewing, so concerned for her human!!! love her sm. 

also a question as to the timeline of things. is nightwing happening before or after urban legends? 

i was so distracted by dick wearing a robe and briefs and nothing else that i didn’t register the second part until later. he slept for two days?? babs, baby, he recently had a very traumatic brain injury. why do you sound so nonchalant?

@TIM X COFFEE SHIPPERS GET FUCCCCKKKKEEDDDDD

ngl i totally forgot about that dude oops

this comic is giving so many reaction pictures. you know how you always use the worst possible picture of your friend for your friend’s contact picture? i’m just getting so many of these.

leslie!!! the titans!!! lucius!!! dick going to go see old friends!!!! the titans!!! this part made me so irrationally happy it really did. gar being the one to just. offer dick solutions with open arms. this was the best

i wish i could just copy and paste this entire scene, but that would take up way too much space, so i’m just going to talk about it instead. 

you gave me my name, nightwing, and you gave me some of the best advice i’ve received in my life: beautiful little throwback to nightwing’s origin. you’d be surprised at the amount of people who don’t know where the name came from, or who don’t know how much clark means to dick. and the fact that dick still looks up to clark as a hero, recognizes that clark isn’t always perfect and yet continues to hold him in such high esteem, and still looks back on advice that clark gave him fondly just warmed my heart so much.

for a man who has fearlessly stood up to darkseid, bruce will do a lot to avoid a conversation: “grrr. i’m the BATMAN. i’m so DARK and MYSTERIOUS. nobody knows the true me. no one ever will. i will be LONELY for the rest of my CURSED LIFE. such is the price of a hero. ignore my farmer himbo husband in the background”

but i don’t think there’s anything heroic about being a billionaire: another nod to how much dick follows clark’s example rather than bruce. yes, this was a very poignant and important criticism, and i think it’s wonderful that this was published in a pretty popular comic book. but the thing is, there is a way to be a heroic billionaire, but only in fictional universes. the way bruce, ollie, t’challa only ever use their wealth to help people. they donate massive amounts of money to charities that they themselves create so they know exactly how the money is being used. they hire people who aren’t likely to get jobs anywhere else and pay them much more than what a base living wage is. they use their power to help push progressive laws and social change. they are helping. 

dick doesn’t fully see it that way. he spent more than half his childhood the son of a billionaire, but still believes that one could be more heroic when one doesn’t have obscene amounts of wealth. whose example do you think he followed to come to that conclusion?

superman looked up to alfred pennyworth?: i mean yea alfred may have been a wildly irresponsible guardian and one hell of an enabler but goddamn if he didn’t love his kid.

you don’t need my input. you’ve thought it all through: ooooooh this line made me grin. for so long, dick’s treated clark as a mentor and a guiding figure. he’s still seen as a kid, an up and coming, snot-nosed titan with dreams of a better world. clark still thinks of him as a kid, despite watching him grow up. but this little line was something i think dick needed sorely to hear. he doesn’t need anyone’s guiding hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t need to ask for permission. he doesn’t need clark to support him the way he did when he was a teenager. he’s all grown up now, and he doesn’t need clark’s help. i imagine it was a bit of a surprise for dick to hear that. 

honestly, i couldn’t think of a better role model: ohhh but it doesn’t stop there. clark just straight up turns the tables on dick. imagine you’re dick, and you’ve looked up to this one hero your entire life, and then one day he turns to you and says that he thinks you’re so kind and smart and worthy of a person that he wants you to mentor his son!? goes to show just how much clark trusts dick.

i swear to god dick probably cries every time he hears clark compliment him because bruce is so rare and sparing with his praise that clark giving him the slightest hint of approval is just a dopamine rush.

also, now deathstroke and superman have both asked nightwing to mentor their kids. the juxtaposition is fuckin hysterical. imagine either of their reactions when they realize what kind of company they’re with

lets talk colours for a second, because i absolutely adore how classic colour tropes have been subverted in this comic, and in this general run really.

warm tones have usually (usually, not always) been associated with light and comfort and friendship and,,,,,well,,,warmth. whereas cool tones are usually used to unsettle, or make a scene seem colder and put the reader on edge. this varies if a comic only uses cool tones, or only uses warm tones, but if a comic uses both, this is generally well-used.

that isn’t the case in this run.

dark red, orange, and other warm tones have been used to symbolize danger, action, attacks. hot pink isn’t usually included in this colour group, but it’s definitely part of it in this case. in contrast, scenes that have cool colours give us the impression of slipping into a comfortable, calm scene with babs, tim, the titans, and other allies. even the beginning scene with superman has this blue, but then it transitions into something more golden coloured. dawn broke over dick, as his new idea came to light, and that was reflected in the art (and the sunrise setting.)

have there ever been times when dick’s longed for the comfort of his mask because he didn’t feel confident as dick grayson? i can’t think of any. i may be wrong, but this struck me as pretty ooc.

am i just??? gay and reading this all wrong??

cause i was under the impression that when someone says they are grateful for your friendship you don’t immediately kiss them. 

or is this like. normal straight mating rituals.

i mean he’s smiling afterward but still babs aren’t you supposed to at least make sure it’s okay first? you guys broke up a while back after you said something along the lines of “i want to be coworkers with you and nothing more because i don’t trust you or feel comfortable around you as a civilian anymore.” like lmao after you say something like that to someone i would assume that you don’t have the permission to just kiss them whenever you want.

show of hands who else got real sad when they realized dick was talking about himself in this.

sure, he could be referencing the things he’s seen blockbuster pull, and the children on the streets. but “i’ve seen money used for enforcement,” sounds a little too close to dick’s entire life being destroyed by one man threatening the circus to pay protection money for me to completely ignore. and “i’ve seen the poorest and most vulnerable blamed and punished rather than assisted” becomes a lot worse when you remember dick was thrown in juvie for a couple months until bruce was able to obtain legal guardianship, and in there, not a authority figure believed him when he told them his parents were murdered.

he’s lived this before.

a. mother. fucking. typo.

fucking why

i mean i’ve stated my distaste for the batfamily groupchat before but like. this is reaching new levels of ridiculousness. jason sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. tim sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. steph sounds like she was written by someone who doesn’t know the first thing about steph and wanted to include her for “family points!!!!!” damian’s supposed to be completely off the grid, and everyone’s searching for him. i do love the way cass texts tho.

well god fuck now i’m crying

dick got a phone call, a sorry, and a thank you out of bruce. i feel so much secondhand happiness for him, if that’s a thing. we’ll just ignore the way bruce looks ugly af and focus on the good parts okay?

and again with the colour symbolism here!

i’m either going to love this or hate this. who knows, we’ll see.

something something hearts something something pink is an evil colour something something. i need to know more about this guy but there’s definitely symbolism there. 

is it just me or does this dude look like the backstabbing traitorous absolutely motherfucking piece of shit villain that killed tadashi hamada in big hero 6?

~~

taggggg list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan  @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption​ @capricorn-stark​ @batshit-birds​ @comics-observer @buticaaba​ 

[hercleverboy]

the burden of the blame

spencer reid x reader 

based off of this request > the reader gets shot on a case while trying to protect a child. The reader gets pissed bc the child needs more help than she does and Spencer comes to her aid first. The kid dies and she thinks it’s her fault.

genre > angst/fluff

wc > 3.1k

after being shot and nearly killed on a case, the reader deals with spencers upset as well as the guilt she feels of not being able to save the victim.

Genre : Angst ending with fluff. 

Word Count : 3.1k

Based on this request from @thatsonezesty13​ : “Ok so the reader gets shot on a case while trying to protect a child. The reader gets pissed bc the child needs more help than she does and Spencer comes to her aid first. The kid dies and she thinks it’s her fault.”

A/N : I  changed the story a little from the original request, but it’s still pretty much what you asked for! I hope you like it!

The team had spent a week hunting down an unsub, who just seemed to keep slipping through their grasp. This unsub was killing young boys in horrifically gruesome ways. The team profiled that he wanted to be well known, this unsub wanted to go down in history as one of the greatest serial killers of all time. He was a narcissist, he thrived off the fact that he had successfully evaded the police, and now that the FBI couldn’t seem to get him either, it only further boosted his ego. Finally, after two more bodies of young boys turned up, they eventually got a name and an address. Y/N, Morgan and Reid were already nearer to the address, so they arrived there before the rest of the team. They pulled up outside the property, jumping out the car and making their way to the front of the house. Morgan turned to the couple, going over the plan. 

“We can’t afford to wait for the rest of the team, we’re going to have to go in, just us three.” 

Y/N nodded, grabbing her gun from her holder. Morgan and Reid were going to take the front of the house, and Y/N was going to take the back. Just before they began to get into their positions Spencer grabbed his wife by the waist and pulled her into a quick kiss. 

 “You come back to me, okay?” He murmured against her lips. 

Spencer and Y/N had been married for a year now and were even discussing having children together. He knew his wife was more than capable of protecting herself and was a downright badass in the field. However, this unsub was different. His actions were unpredictable, the profile couldn’t determine how he would react to them finding him. He couldn’t lose her. 

She gave him a small smile. “Always.” She promised, before stealthily moving behind the house with her gun drawn. 

She heard Derek break in the front door and at the same time she broke down the back door, moving quickly with her gun held up, surveying the rooms for any movement or clues as to where the unsub might be holding his most recent victim.  She heard a faint bump and moved toward the sound. She pushed open a creaky door, shining her flashlight down into what appeared to be a basement. 

 “Jack Richards? FBI!” She called as she began to descend the staircase. When she reached the bottom step, her eyes landed on the unsub, who stood with the small child he’d kidnapped, a gun pressed to the child’s forehead.

“Put the gun down, Jack.” Y/N tried, though she knew this unsub was already past being reasoned with. She knew she had to try, especially with a young boy’s life at stake. “Let’s work this out.”

“I don’t want to work this out, agent. You don’t get it, do you?” The unsub taunted her. Y/N looked the child in the eyes, giving him a reassuring nod, one that said ‘stay calm. It’ll be okay. I’ll protect you.”

“I get it. You want to be well known, right?” Y/N started. “You want kids in criminology classes learning about your cases, you want the towns children to fear your name like an overtold ghost story.”

The unsubs grip on the boy and the gun faltered as he gasped. “Yes! I want to be the one their afraid of! I want to be as well-known as Dahmer and Bundy, I want to be told in stories 50 years from now!” He exclaimed. 

“Haven’t you seen the news coverage, Jack? You’re famous.” She replied and the smile that covered the unsubs face made Y/N feel sick. But she had to keep the act up long enough to save this child.

“Why don’t you put the gun down and let the boy go, and you can go outside and see. The media are here, imagine all those cameras, all those news reporters. All calling your name, all wanting to hear your story.” Y/N emphasised, hopeful that her attempt to talk him down seemed to be getting somewhere. 

The unsub simply smiled, unnerving Y/N. “Agent, that sounds great. But wouldn’t it make for an even greater story for the press to hear that it ended in such tragedy? With the death of a child and a courageous FBI agent that got caught in the crossfire?”

Her eyes widened, and she realised all too late what his words meant. “Wait-“She shouted out as three gunshots pierced through the air.

She watched as the boy and the unsub dropped to the floor. She turned around slowly, and saw Spencer holding his gun at the bottom of the staircase. The unsub was dead, the bullet that Spencer fired had hit him square in the forehead.

Y/N didn’t even register the pain in her left side until she looked down, watching the blood that blossomed on her white shirt. She collapsed to the ground in agony, but her eyes remained on the small boy, who was laying there bleeding, barely breathing but alive.

She heard Spencer’s voice calling for medics, as he rushed to his wife’s side. She cried out in pain as she registered the feeling of his hands pressing to her side, desperately trying to slow the flow of blood leaving her body.

“S-Spencer.” She choked out, tears leaving her eyes and trembling down the side of her face. His face came into view then, and she saw that he was crying too.

“Hey baby. I’m here, you gotta stay awake for me, okay. Please, oh god, please.” Her blood caked his hands, staining his shirt as he desperately tried to slow the bleeding.

“Spencer, you have to- you have to go to him. Help him, please.” She looked over to the small boy, before looking back to her husband, pleading him with her eyes. 

“Y/N if I leave you you’re gonna bleed out, I can’t-“ He choked but she shook her head at him and let out a small whimper. 

“Spencer- Spence- please. Please help him, I’ll be fine, I can hold on.” She begged and he went to protest again but the look in his wife’s eyes made him crack. He nodded, scrambling over to the small boy and checking his pulse with his fingers. It was barley there, and Spencer knew he wouldn’t last until medics arrived. He looked towards Y/N and shook his head slowly, tears falling down his cheeks.

“Bring him here, he can’t- he can’t die alone.” She cried and Spencer lifted the small boy up, laying him down next to Y/N, who reached over with the last of her strength to grab the boys hand.

The boys drowsy eyes flicked to hers, and they were so full of fear. Y/N hissed as Spencer’s hands returned to place pressure on her wound.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know it hurts. You can go, it’s okay.” She promised the young boy as she sobbed, her chest heaving, despite how it made her side burn. The boy took his last breath as the medics stormed the room, and Y/N let out a heart-wrenching cry.

They were seconds too late. 

 Spencer cried too, as he watched his wife slip from consciousness, her body going limp.

“Baby? Baby, please! Please.” He sobbed desperately trying to cling to his wife as he was pulled away by the medics.

Spencer watched helplessly as she was placed into the ambulance. She was still alive, by some miracle, she was fighting to live.

“Are you coming with us, Sir?” The medic asked, and Spencer nodded frantically, hopping in the back of the ambulance, the team promising to meet him in the hospital.

 He held Y/N’s hand tightly in his and begged, prayed to every god that she would be okay. Once they made it to the hospital, she was rushed into emergency surgery, and Spencer was left in the waiting room, her blood caking his hands as he collapsed in on himself, the sobs wracking through him. The team rounded the corner into the waiting room at that moment, and JJ immediately rushed to her best friends’ side, taking him in a hug as Spencer sobbed into her shoulder.

JJ attempted to reassure him, but what could she say to make this better?  Eventually they managed to convince Spencer to clean himself up in the hospital toilets, JJ having to go with him to help wash his wife’s blood from his trembling hands.

They sat in the waiting room for hours. The team had given up trying to get Spencer to eat or sleep, since he just snapped at them anytime they tried to ask him to take care of himself.

“Reid, Y/N would want you to take care of yourself, okay? You gotta eat something, man.” Derek tried, only to be met with Spencer’s harsh glare.

“I’m not doing anything until I know if my wife is alive.” He seethed, before turning his gaze back to the floor.

The team shared a look, but ultimately decided that Spencer wasn’t going to budge, so they stopped trying.

Hotch on the other hand was rather persistent. He sat next to the younger boy, who sighed and leaned back as his superior sat beside him.

“Hotch, I don’t wanna hear it-“ He started but Hotch cut him off.

“She will be just fine, you know that? Your wife is many things, a quitter is not one of them. You know how stubborn she is, she won’t go down without a fight.” Spencer almost smiled at the comment.

“I just keep thinking if I’d of gotten there sooner, maybe I could’ve stopped this, or even saved that boy I-“ Spencer couldn’t explain the guilt he’d felt as he watched the young boy die before him. He couldn’t help but feel as though he should’ve done more, but he was faced with an impossible choice; the love of his life or the life of a young innocent boy?

“Reid, there is nothing you could’ve done differently.”

“You know Y/N made me pick him up and bring him over to lie next to her so she could hold his hand? She didn’t want him to die alone.” Spencer choked out. His wife’s compassion was one of the things he’d fallen in love with. “I can’t lose her, Hotch.”

“You won’t.”

No one else spoke after that.

It was a long four hours of Spencer nervously pacing the waiting room, the team sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Finally a doctor walked down the hallway, calling Y/N’s name out. Spencer sprang up from his seat.

“Yes, is she okay?” He asked desperately, his breaths coming out in soft pants. The doctor gave a small smile.

“Dr Reid, your wife is quite the fighter. She flatlined twice during surgery but she pulled through, against all odds. She is incredibly strong, we expect her to make a full recovery.”

Spencer had never felt a relief so sweet.

“She’s resting now, but as you’re her husband you’re welcome to go and sit by her, she could wake up any minute now. The rest of you will be able to see her later.”

Spencer thanked the doctor profusely before turning to face his team. He gave them a relieved smile, and they all smiled back, encouraging him to go and see his wife. He thanked them too before following the doctor towards Y/N’s room.

He pulled up a chair next to Y/N’s bed, moving to take his hand in hers, his focus on the small sparkling wedding ring that sat on her ring finger. He pressed as kiss to her hand, his eyes filling with tears as she looked at her.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Spencer recited her favourite books from memory and told her stories, anything to push away the thoughts that entered his head. 

what if she never wakes up?

It was in the middle of the night that Y/N finally twitched awake. Her eyes fluttered open, and she glanced around her, quickly registering where she was. She looked down to her left side, where her husband sat in a chair at her bedside. His hand held hers tightly, and he’d fallen asleep resting his hand on her stomach. She brought her other hand up and gently ran her hands through his hair, which woke Spencer from his slumber. She felt awful for waking him, the circles under his eyes that were darker than usual were an indication that he hadn’t had any sleep in a while. 

“Y/N?” He whispered, looking up at her with tears in his eyes. “You’re awake, you’re okay?” He was more asking himself than her, trying to assure himself that he wasn’t dreaming.

“I’m okay.” She assured him and he let a sob escape his lips as he gently brought her into a hug, being careful of her injury. He sobbed into her shoulder as she held him tightly, soothing him with gentle shushes and calming strokes on his back.

Once he’d calmed down he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “I almost lost you, baby.” He whimpered.

She shook her head. “It’ll take more than a bullet to separate me from you, Spencer Reid. I believe I promised you forever. I intend to keep that promise.” She gestured to their wedding bands and he smiled down at them. He placed his hands on either side of her face, bringing her into him for a gentle kiss, one that reassured him that she was here, alive, and that the nightmare he’d been living was over.

When they pulled back, he sighed and Y/N frowned. “Now that I know you’re okay, would you mind telling me what on earth you were thinking?” He questioned. 

Y/N wasn’t sure where this sudden change in mood had come from, and Spencer cut her off before she could answer him.

 “You’ve gotta stop being so reckless, Y/N. Morgan and I were there too, you should’ve called out to us for backup before you went down the staircase.” He sounded like he was telling her off and Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m serious, Y/N! Don’t you get it? You nearly died!”

“I told you to save him instead of me, Spence.” She spoke calmly. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, like she blamed him, nor was it cold or rude. She knew he was mad at her for putting herself in that position, but all she cared about at the time was saving that little boy. 

He looked up at her bewildered, getting up from his seat.  “Y/N, what was I supposed to do? Let you die?”

“Yes, Spencer. I would’ve happily given my life for that boy. Better me than him.” It was harsh and unfair to say, she knew that. But she was hurting and trying to make her husband understand the decisions she’d made.

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare say that, Y/N. Please, don’t ever say that.” 

“This is my job, Spence. I made a promise that I would protect those who can’t protect themselves, and I need to keep that.” She explained.

Spencer scoffed. “What about the promises you made me, Y/N?” He asked, his voice getting louder, pointing to the golden wedding band that sat on his finger. 

She sighed. “Spence its not the same-” 

“Y/N Reid, you listen to me.” His voice was stern as he came to sit next to her again. “I will never, prioritise someone’s life over yours. I don’t care if it’s selfish, if its against the morals of my job. You’re my life, Y/N. I will not lose you. Do you understand?” His eyes searched hers, and she knew she better drop the subject, at least for now. She wasn’t going to win. 

She smiled at him, which made his stern demeanour falter. He could never stay made at her. 

He pulled her back into his embrace as the doctor came in, a smile on his face at the couple. 

“Ah! Mrs Reid! Lovely to see you awake. How’s the pain?”

Y/N took a deep breath, hissing at the pain in her side. “It’s bad. Hurts like a bitch.” She joked and the doctor chuckled a little. 

“We’ll get you something for that. I just came in to tell you that your vitals look good. You’re expected to make a full recovery and we can get you out of here by tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Spencer said and Y/N smiled gratefully as he walked away. Spencer opened his mouth to speak again, grasping Y/N’s hand in his, but was interrupted by the sound of voices coming down the hall. 

Just then, the team burst into the room, all smiling happily at the sight of the couple, but also happy that Y/N was alive. 

“There’s my beautiful best friend!” Garcia chirped at Y/N, as she placed a bouquet of flowers on the table next to her bed. She turned towards Spencer. “Move over, boy wonder. It’s my turn to get some of Y/N’s love.” She grinned, pulling Y/N into a tight embrace once Spencer had moved away with a chuckle. Spencer moved to stand at the back of the room next to Hotch, watching his wife laugh and joke with the people who’d become their family. 

Hotch turned to him, smirking slightly. “See? I told you she’d be fine.” 

Derek and Rossi moved to join the guys conversation, as JJ, Emily and Garcia all sat around Y/N’s bed, gossiping with her about something or other. 

Derek chuckled lightly. “What, you think a bullet could take down the great Y/N Reid? Think again.” 

“I heard that, Morgan. You know I could kick your ass if need be.” Y/N teased, which earned a laugh from the team. 

Derek just raised his arms in mock surrender. “I know you could, doll. I know better than to underestimate you.” He teased back. 

Rossi chimed in. “Damn right. She’s kinda scary when she’s mad, wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.” 

Spencer nodded in agreement with a laugh. “Its true. You should’ve seen her last week when I ate the rest of her crisps. She wasn’t happy.” 

Spencer looked around the room and let himself bask in the warmth and happiness that filled it. Over the years he’d learned to cherish the little moments like that, where everyone was healthy, happy and together. 

The fact that moments like that were so few and far between only made them more precious. 

It was in that moment that Spencer Reid knew what  true happiness felt like. 

[cowboy-anon]

It’s a long one, lads, but here’s the ✨ super special whump ✨ I promised! The reason? It’s the amazing @unicornscotty‘s birthday!! (Make sure to wish them a happy birthday! :D ) Happy birthday to one of the first friends I made here on Tumblr. <3 What am I doing to celebrate? Posting a Pirate Whump fanfic (OG story by @unicornscotty, hence it being the present)!!!

!!! Note: You don’t need to read the story to understand this fic, but once you’re finished with this, you ought to if you like pirate whump!

Super amazing story idea courtesy of @milk-carton-whump. Then I made it an AU because rivalry, am I right? Canonically, these two get along pretty well, but a prince and a pirate on the same ship? There’s bound to be some bad blood. Then, of course, a sprinkling of enemies to lovers because why the heck not! :) 

Truth be told, I don’t know if it’s whumpy enough. That being said, I’ve been especially bloodthirsty lately, so there probably is enough whump XD. Hope you guys like it!

CW: Accidental self-harm (biting tongue), alcohol mention, bodily fluids (drool and blood), cuts, death mention (in passing), derogatory language towards the classes (monarchs and pirates), hitting, implied murder (but what do you expect with pirates, y’know?), lots of salt and sarcasm, pirate whump, stitches mention, spartan kick, swearing, swords against throats, sword fighting (!!!)

Now, without further ado:

ENEMIES TO LOVERS SLOWBURN AU - ONLY YOU NEVER GET TO SEE THE END >:)))) 

Alternatively:

Prince v. Pirate

Augustus calls them “scum” one too many times today. Luckily, Alex knows just how to push his buttons back. 

They stare into the murky bucket of mop water by the mast, full and swirling with the grayish tendrils of dirty soap and muck from the ship’s wooden floorboards. Alex can feel Augustus’ presence by the bow of the ship. He takes up far more space than Alex realized when the two of them first boarded this boat. 

But that’s... perfect, they think slyly. Someone who casts such a long shadow surely has that much more to lose. 

“When we first met,” Alex calls suddenly, fighting the amusement in their voice, “you didn’t kill me. I doubt your father will be very pleased to hear that.” They laugh and give the mop another soapy swipe across the deck. Alex looks over their shoulder with a devilish grin. “A prince saving a pirate. A prince too weak to finish them off. I may be scum, but at least I’m not a coward.”

Alex’s grin only grows when they hear the stomp of Augustus’ approaching boots coming down the stairs behind them. “Careful, Gus,” they jive. “That day was a fluke. Mind you, if we do this again, your inexperience will be your downfall.” Alex spins on their heel and laughs at what they see: The prince wielding his sword, carrying himself in a learned but clearly off-centered defensive position. “Very well. I could give you some pointers if you’d like.”

“Pointers?” Augustus scoffs and moves in closer to Alex, sword low to the ground and too tight in his grip. He crosses his feet when he moves, too, Alex notes. All classic mistakes. 

“The kingdom’s best sword fighters have been training me since I could walk,” Augustus continues lowly. “ I spar as one of the best in the kingdom. Don’t overestimate your prowess, pirate.”

Alex laughs. “You think sparring is anything like combat?”

“Sparring is combat,” Augustus spits back. “And as far as I can tell, your sword isn’t even drawn. Does that not invalidate all of the claims you’ve made so far as to your knowledge on the matter?” He gestures at Alex with his sword. “One of the first rules, be prepared.”

“Oh, not at all, Gus.” Without warning, Alex takes the mop in hand and swings it at Augustus’ exposed shoulder with a wet crack. 

Augustus’ hold on his sword falters when his right hand instantly moves for his injured shoulder. 

“First rule, gain the power in the situation.” Alex unsheathes the sword at their hip and holds it out, at the ready, gripped comfortably between their hands. The correct way, they mentally boast.

 “You know,” Alex says, motioning with their sword, “if you’d held your blade a little higher and led with your chest, you would’ve been able to block that blow with ease. But what would I know?” Alex runs their thumb over the engraved hilt of their sword, etched with tallies. Ten to be exact. Ten men. Ten dead men. “I’m certainly not a seasoned fighter, not like the beloved prince.”

Alex’s eyes fall back on the prince, still nursing his shoulder with gritted teeth—at least, that’s what he wants them to believe. Alex catches the way his fingers curl around the handle of his sword with newfound determination, the flicker of mischief that crosses his downturned face. 

If only he knew who he was dealing with.

Augustus lunges, sharp and quick, favoring his right shoulder but still far faster than Alex expects. But they are expecting it. 

Alex drives their sword forward at an angle, and Augustus misses his mark by a good three inches. It was such a simple maneuver, such a simple counter. 

“Now you’ve done it,” Augustus growls. 

Alex rolls their eyes. “Hasn’t anyone told you good sword fighting comes with a clear mind?” 

Augustus doesn’t hesitate with the overhead arc. Alex brings their sword up in a quick parry and forces Augustus’ sword to the left. “Don’t lock your elbows,” Alex quips, coming in with a left cut that Augustus barely avoids. “And never use that move unless your opponent is incredibly vulnerable.”

“Shut up!” Augustus swings his sword hard at Alex’s right side. “I don’t need advice from a pirate!” 

Alex notes his breathlessness as they match his swing from the left. The swords collide, loud and dangerous. But Augustus breaks it up before it becomes a battle of strength. 

Augustus goes for the arc again. Alex slips to the right and his sword hits the wood with a hollow thunk. 

In the time it takes Augustus to get back in position, Alex has their sword at his throat, not quite touching but threatening nonetheless. “What did I say?” Alex purrs, moving in closer. “If your opponent isn’t vulnerable, you are, plain and simple.”

Augustus’s sword crashes into Alex’s, swiping it away from his neck. The motion shocks Alex and stopping the momentum pulls at their back uncomfortably. They barely manage to get their feet underneath them in time to block yet another attack from above with their sword. 

Augustus wipes the sweat from his brow when the two part, watching Alex scramble towards the bow of the ship to compose themself. The smirk on his face is undeniable. “Vulnerable enough for you?”  

“You’re vulnerable,” Alex snaps back, chest heaving, “and predictable.”  

Augustus snarls, taking it upon himself to make the first move once again. Alex sighs but takes their sword to the ready position. 

“I’m surprised you’re fighting so fairly,” Augustus muses, advancing on the pirate. 

Alex takes a step back and startles when their boot connects with one of the stairs at the end of the deck. They need to move, that much they know, but for now they focus on the princely pain in the ass in front of them. 

“Is that so?” Alex steps back onto the staircase, one step, then another, sword extended in front of them.  “What does fair mean to you monarchs?”

Augustus’ expression sours as he begins ascending the stairs after them. “All sword, all skill. True combat. Noble combat.” 

“‘Noble combat,’ hmm?” Alex reaches the top of the stairs and stops. “You mean as noble as oppression can be, don’t you?”

Augustus smiles, taking another step. “I mean as noble as a piliger who follows it can be.”

Alex nods, feigning understanding. “If I could make one note,” they start. 

Augustus glares at them. 

“Fighting fair gets you killed.” Alex pulls their sword to the right, and with Augustus’ sword so low, Alex has a clear view of his abdomen. “And playing dirty? Well…” Alex sets their feet. “Pretty par for the course.”

The kick Alex delivers to his stomach is solid. Augustus manages to keep a hold of his sword on the way down,  but he hits the ground hard, and the moan that leaves his lips is wretched. Well-deserved but still wretched.

Alex clambers down the stairs and back onto the deck, equally impressed, amused, and horrified to see Augustus getting up so quickly. Augustus keeps one hand on his sword and the other on his stomach, and for a brief moment Alex considers kicking him until he stays down. 

By the time Alex decides that’s exactly what they’re going to do, Augustus is on his feet with more fire in his gorgeous blue eyes than Alex’s seen since they started fighting. 

This isn’t going to end well. 

Augustus straightens and rolls his shoulder with a grimace. “I did say I spar as one of the best, pirate. Part of that is being able to get back up.”

Augustus comes in strong with a ruthless swing to Alex’s right side. Alex brings their sword up and out for a block, and although they don’t end up cut in half, their shoulders ache, then burn with a deep familiar pain. Still predictable, they note, wincing. Thank goodness for that. 

Alex isn’t so lucky the next time. Another swipe, fast and aggressive, flies towards their face. Alex sidesteps but trips over their own feet. They’re quick but not quick enough. 

They feel it, the sharp sting of sweat mingling with an open wound. Alex brings their fingers to their face and prods gently at where they think the cut is. When they bring them back to look at them, they’re covered in blood, superficial but maddening all the same. 

Alex grins, glaring through rich brown curls as they click their tongue. “You’re persistent. I like that. But it does seem like someone needs to work on their timing.”

Alex lunges forward, faking with no spared conviction that they’re going in for a jab and instead plant their foot on the toe of Augustus’ boot. With a spin that’s just as practical as it is for show, they slam their elbow into his jaw. “Like so!”

On their way back to the mast, arm alight with near-paralyzing pins and needles, they catch a glimpse of the trail of blood oozing from Augustus’s lip. He bit his own tongue it seems. Poetic almost. 

“Fighting dirty, are we?” Augustus brings his hand under his chin and catches the blood and drool in his palm. “You know, any other time, your kind would be hung for this. But I must admit I’m enjoying this.”

Augustus tosses his handful of fluids across the freshly-mopped deck, more blood than anything else, and wipes his hand on his pants before returning his bloody grip to the sword’s hilt. “Now then. Let’s continue, shall we, pirate?”

Alex bristles at the way Augustus spits it this time, pirate, like it’s poison. At this point, Alex thinks skewering him might not be a bad idea. 

But no, that won’t be satisfying, not for the likes of him. Alex wants to humiliate him. They want to win. And all winning requires is submission. That and a little salt in the wound. 

“You might want to reconsider, Gus,” Alex says. Their stance is defensive but comfortable, balancing on the balls of their feet just in case Augustus tries to make a move. “It is quite cowardly to submit to a pirate, but if the king knew what I planned on doing to you, I think he’d understand.”

Augustus scoffs. “Meaning?” 

“Meaning I sincerely hope you don’t. I’m sure a missing arm would be quite the message to bring back to your fair kingdom.”

Augustus lunges in for a jab, all rage and false-assured thoughtfulness just like Alex expects him to. All it takes is a slip to the side and an outstretched leg to send them stumbling past them, fighting to regain his balance. 

“What did I say?” Alex goads at Augustus’ back. “Vulnerable and so, so predictable. Switch up your moves and it won’t be so embarrassingly easy to send you reeling.”

Alex doesn’t even see the side swipe coming, but they most certainly feel the slice across their abdomen. “Fuck!” It’s heat, raw and burning, but it’s not pain, not yet, not with the blood roaring in their ears. They swallow their blooming panic in time to meet Augustus’ next blow, weaker than the rest have been, with equal ferocity. 

There’s the shriek of metal against metal, invigorating at any other time, and the swords catch on each other at the hilt—the battle of strength and dexterity Alex was waiting for. Will Augustus break it off again?

Alex meets his eyes through their interlocked swords, brown on blue. No, he won’t break it off, not this time. The wolfish grin hiding the twisted agony behind his eyes says it all. That, and the trembling grip Alex has on their own sword. 

“You look unwell, Alex.” Augustus pushes harder against Alex’s block and laughs windedly. “You may want to consider submission.”  

Alex pants and grits their teeth. “And let you miss out on a… a valuable lesson? That’d be awfully rude of me.” They push back.  “Besides, I could ask you the same thing. How’s that shoulder of yours?”

Alex breaks away and feels the first stab of agony rip through their middle, hard enough that when they swing in retort, their sword almost flies from their unfeeling hands. 

“Keep it together,” they whisper, reclaiming their hold on the sword. Then, to Augustus, “If you’d broken the hold purposely, you could’ve reestablished your power in the situation, you know.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Augustus says lowly. Alex notes the cryptic tone in his voice but not fast enough. Without another word, he charges Alex, sword held higher, chest out strong, back straight because of it. 

Alex anticipates the collision and holds their sword at the ready, stepping back towards the mast in preparation for the inevitable block. What they don’t expect is the way Augustus’ foot hooks around their own. 

Alex’s feet fly out from under them, and this time they’re the one who’s stumbling. In their search for ground, they go blind to everything around them until their back collides with the mast of the ship. 

When the space around them registers again, Augustus is right in front of them and his blade puts a threatening pressure against their neck. His breath is hot and wet against their face. Under their chin, they feel the faintest trickle of sweat or, more likely, blood running down their Adam’s apple. 

Checkmate. 

Augustus stares into Alex’s eyes, still out of breath but gradually recovering. “How about that?” he breathes.

Alex stares back and chuckles softly, then groans at another stab of pain in their stomach as the adrenaline starts to wear off. “Not bad, Prince. Legs further apart though. You’re screwing your balance.” Alex dips their hands between themself and Augustus, careful not to nick themself with the sword at their throat, and touches at the tear in their shirt, feeling around for damage. It’s nothing rum and a few dozen stitches won’t fix. 

Augustus follows the movement with his eyes, then raises them back to Alex’s face. “Anything else you want to teach me?”

Alex grins. In one swift movement, they drop their sword, tear the arm holding the sword to their neck away from them, and pull that same arm behind Augustus’ back, shoving him hard into the mast. “Yeah,” they say above his surprised grunt. “Never lose focus.”

Alex gives Augustus’ arm a final rough pull, their chest against his back before pulling away with a huff. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”

Alex walks across the deck to the sailor’s quarters. They hope Augustus can’t see that their body is on fire.

[middleearthpixie]

In Time ~ Chapter Twenty-Three

Summary: Before they leave Rivendell, there is one last thing Amara wishes to share with Thorin, who is a little hungover and a lot grumpy and just might ruin it with his crankiness.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Amara of Rivendell (female OC)

Characters: Thorin, Amara

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,217

Tagging: @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @tschrist1

Thorin snored.

Loudly.

Amara rose onto her elbow, gazing down at him in the darkness of his chambers. He lay on his back, dark hair spread out beneath him, one hand flung over his head, the other resting on the sheet drawn over his stomach. His mouth was softly slack, and with each inhale, it opened a little wider. For one who was used to sleeping alone and in silence, this was quite the new experience, indeed. Especially since he hadn’t snored the previous evening.

Then again, he’d had more than enough mead at the party. Perhaps that played a part in his noisiness now.

It had been one of the most wonderful evenings she’d ever had. First the party, then the fountain… she smiled, her body still tingling from his attentions as he fulfilled his promise to make love to her beneath the waterfall, and then again when they returned to his chambers. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, her head snuggled in the curve of his shoulder and chest.

Only to be rudely awakened by his snores.

Still, it was difficult to be annoyed as she gazed upon him. Seeing him sleeping here was far different from keeping watch over him in the Healing Room. Although the years seemed to fall away from his face, and the traumas and tragedies melted away just as they seemed to in the Healing Room, he just seemed far more restful now. More at peace.

Finally, he went quiet finally, and she savored the sudden silence, sinking back to curve against him, and the arm that had been above his head came down about her shoulders and tightened against her. She smiled, snuggling closer to him, draping her arm over his hips.

“Why are you studying me?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

“You woke me up with your snoring.”

He cracked one eye to peer at her. “I do not snore.”

“Oh, but you most definitely do.”

“You have me confused with someone else.”

“I don’t, but I also don’t wish to fight about it. There was one last thing I wished to share with you before we leave and dawn is the best time to see it.”

“See what?”

She pressed a kiss into his beard, then slipped away to move to the edge of the bed, where she swung her legs over the side and said, “You have to come with me.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s almost dawn. Trust me.”

He let out a heavy sigh and sat ups rubbing his eyes with both hands. “When I fall from my pony later, it will be your fault.”

“You won’t fall.” She slid into the gray leggings and tunic she’d worn earlier and straightened to see him still sitting against the headboard, the sheets pooled about his hips. His dark hair lay tangled about his shoulders and he still rubbed one eye. “Thorin, please… I really would like to share this with you and I may not get the chance to do it again.”

“Very well.”

She watched with no little appreciation as he rose from the bed and strode across to where his trousers lay draped over the chair in the corner. He climbed into them, turning as he fastened them and it took every bit of will she possessed to not throw herself at him right then and there, but she truly did wish to share this with him before they left.

He paused, one brow rising as he said, “You have that look in your eye.”

“Me? What look?”

“The same one you had before you lured me into that fountain.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No look. I think the darkness is playing tricks on you, dwarf.”

He tugged his discarded henley over his head, his, “I don’t think so,” somewhat muffled by the fabric.

She caught him by the hand. “Hush and come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“You will see.”

He let out a husky sigh. “Why can you not just tell me?”

“Because even if I did, it would mean nothing to you.” She rolled her eyes as she led him out of his chambers and along the colonnade toward the western lawn. The canopy was still up, the tables beneath it still there, but completely cleared, and Amara did a double take when she saw feet poking out along the northern side. “Is that—?”

“Bofur.” Thorin finished grimly. “He’s good for this. He came to Erebor late because he’d gotten so far into his cups the night before we left and wound up missing the boat. Spent the night under the Lake-town master’s kitchen table. Let’s pay him no mind, the fool. Someone will come along and knock him awake.”

“I hope Elrond doesn’t get upset.”

“It would serve him right if he did.”

She glanced over at him. “You are grouchier than usual, Mr. Oakenshield.”

“I’ve a headache. And I did not plan on being up at dawn.” He squinted up at the sky which was still mostly midnight blue, with only hints of the first pinkish-gold light of dawn. “And it isn’t even actually dawn yet.”

She didn’t answer right away, as she certainly did not wish to start the day off with a fight. Carefully, she said, “Perhaps you had one too many tankards last eve.”

“As if that was even possible,” he scoffed. “A short night’s sleep doesn’t help, either.”

“Oh, are you actually complaining about having to sleep with me?”

“What?” He rubbed his forehead with his free hand, then shook his head. “No. No, of course not. It’s simply I am tired. With a headache.”

“Grump.” She led him away from the colonnade, and toward the southwestern corner, where there was a break in the low marble wall. “When we return, I will make you a headache powder and you will feel good as new.”

“Can we just go back now then?”

She stopped and with a sigh of exasperation, said, “Fine.”

With that, she spun about and started back toward the palace when he caught her by the wrist. “I’m sorry, amrâlimê,” he murmured, tugging her back toward him. “You’re right, I am grumpy and I probably did have too much to drink last eve. Come, show me what you wished me to see. No more complaints, I promise.”

She glared at him, but then relented. “Fair enough. Now, come along.”

He slipped his hand down to lace his fingers with hers and brought her hand up to his lips. “Show me.”

Her irritation faded and she resumed her stride toward the break in the wall. A narrow path began at that break and he paused. “This isn’t like the Northern Pathway, is it?”

“No. It’s far better. Trust me. No orcs.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but to her relief, he held his tongue and let her lead him along the narrow dirt trail that wound through leafy oak trees and rose bushes that had just begun budding. It was still dark, but that didn’t matter, for she knew it like the back of her hand.

“When I was still training,” she said, her voice low to keep from spoiling the magic of the woods, “I would come here when things grew too hectic, or if I’d had a terrible day. It’s so peaceful and was a wonderful place to come and think or just get away from everyone else. I tend not to come here so often now, as I need to stay closer to the Healing Room, but that hasn’t dimmed my love for it.”

He looked around, gazing up at the trees that seemed to go on forever. “What is this place?”

“It’s just a wood, Thorin. A place to come and think, or just let your mind wander wherever it might go. I come here now when I have trouble sleeping and need to put as much distance between myself and everyone else as possible.”

“You have trouble sleeping?”

She nodded, looking over at him. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because you are the most serene person I have ever met,” he told her, drawing her up against him. “Nothing seems to trouble you.”

“Plenty troubles me,” she said, slipping her free arm about his waist. “I came up here quite a bit when you and your nephews first arrived.”

“Did they give you a hard time?”

“No. Only you did.” She held his gaze. “You were a difficult patient in the beginning, you know. Very angry and very frustrated and while I understood, it didn’t necessarily make it any easier to hear.”

His eyes softened. “I am so sorry for anything I said then, Amara,” he murmured. “I was not in my right mind.”

“I know. And you are absolutely forgiven. You were in terrible pain, engulfed in guilt, and angry at everyone and everything around you. And that’s not why I brought you here at all.” She slipped her hands free to catch his face between them. “So, I do not want you feeling guilty about what you said or did in those first few weeks, because I, of all people, understand where those words came from.”

“I will always feel the guilt I carry over what I have said and done,” he told her softly. “How can I not?”

She bit back a sigh and shook her head. How did she convince him that it would be all right for him to forgive himself, when everyone else around him already had? His people, his nephews all made that very clear to her. They loved him, respected him, would still do whatever he asked of them, and yet…

“Come. We’re almost there.” She pulled away to lead him once more. The path rose and wound about until they were up on a high promontory. “This is what I wanted to share with you, Thorin.”

As she spoke, she led him to the edge, were rocks ringed the edge like a natural barrier. In the distance, Rivendell’s main waterfall spilled from high above, into a large pool that glimmered like a polished opal set into the earth. To the east, the sun’s rays had just begun to stretch like golden fingers across the paling sky. As those rays touched the earth, Thorin came up behind her, easing his arms about her waist to pull her against his chest. He said not a word, his thumbs brushing lightly against her stomach. She leaned against him, smiling as he pressed his cheek against hers and murmured, “Abnâmul…”

“Isn’t it? I love the sunrise.”

“I meant you, amrâlimê.”

Her eyes stung at his whispered words, her hands coming down to cover his. His arms tightened about her as the sun broke over the horizon to streak the sky coral and gold. The golden fingers reached to the ends of Middle Earth, or so it seemed, and somewhere, in that distance, stood the Lonely Mountain. Thorin’s home. Soon to be her home.

Dawn broke, the light bringing the world to life as birds began their morning songs. She leaned her head into Thorin’s cheek and said, “My mother once told me that the birds sing in the morning because it is their way of letting their partners know they survived the night. It’s a song of hope, of a fresh start to a new day. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I’ve always rather liked the idea that it might be.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I thank you for sharing this, Amara.”

“It’s always been my favorite spot in Rivendell,” she said, her throat tightening as tears stung her eyes, “and I will miss it.”

“We have sunrises in Erebor, you know. And I will gladly watch one with you any morning.”

She turned toward him. “Even if it means a short night’s sleep? When you’ve had too much to drink?”

“Even then.” He nodded. “Not that I had too much to drink, mind you.”

“Of course you didn’t.” She smiled as she met his gaze. Even a short night’s sleep and too much mead the night before couldn’t make him look bad. He was simply too handsome. The morning light caught the amethyst in his hair, the smoke inside it swirling slowly. “I love you.”

His eyes softened once more and he leaned in to brush her lips with his as he whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Amara hated to break that soft, teasing kiss, but she knew he wished to depart Rivendell in only a few hours, and so she pulled back. “We should make our way back. I still have a few things I need to pack.”

“We can come back, you know,” he told her as they made their way along the path toward the palace once more.

“Oh, I know. But it is such a long journey, I doubt we will do so often. Especially once we have children.”

“I say we come back more often then and let them splash in the fountains as well.”

“You just want to see Elrond crack, don’t you?”

“It might be a sight to see.”

“You are evil, Thorin Oakenshield, do you know that?”

“Tell me I am wrong, though.”

“If only I could.”

[darkhymns-fic]

The Heart Asks

Incredible danger. A vicious hunger. She opened her eyes and was greeted to the sight of that oh-so-fascinating daemon arm hovering just over her face.

Claws so pointed and sharp, they could slice her into ribbons. And if that palm lowered anymore, it would touch her skin, eat her up until there was nothing left within her at all. Gone, completely erased. 

“What is with that creepy smile of yours?”

Ah, and just like that, the illusion was broken.

Fandom: Tales of Berseria Characters/Pairing: Magilou/Velvet Crowe Rating: T Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: A really late fic for @talesfemslashweek​ !​ I wanted to at least have one thing for it this year, even if it's a bit after the event. For Day 2: Brutal heat wave, or "don't push yourself!"

--

The truth was, she didn’t care about life all that much.

Magilou had always been the definition of careless, ever since her troupe days. Small and weak, exploited beyond her understanding, it was always said that a witch such as her couldn’t die. Not really. Wicked things like them always could brave through fires or hold their breath infinitely underneath deep waters.

So, when nothing could fatally harm them, it did not matter what they went through. Her burned palms, her filled lungs, the ache that hands left on her skin – these were all things that a witch could endure. She believed so, too.

Melchior had proved it. She could not die so easily, not even with what he had put her through in all those years. Not even if, at times, she wished it could be just a bit easier.

Yet when she found herself waking from such a heavy sleep, her limbs feeling like weights, her head completely aching, as if she had just been slammed into concrete over and over – she had to wonder.

Incredible danger. A vicious hunger. She opened her eyes and was greeted to the sight of that oh-so-fascinating daemon arm hovering just over her face.

The first thing she did was smile. Oh, this certainly was a sight indeed.

Admitting she was frightened was a bit of an understatement. But besides the terror running through her limbs, she also felt a certain sense of appreciation. After all, couldn’t one such as herself admire the river of power that coursed through that arm, its surface like that of volcanic rock, with magma brimming just underneath?

Claws so pointed and sharp, they could slice her into ribbons. And if that palm lowered anymore, it would touch her skin, eat her up until there was nothing left within her at all. Gone, completely erased.

She had seen it done before – to daemons, the way such a great threat could squeeze the very life out of them and absorb their very essence. And Magilou had always been so eternally curious, forever drawn to this evil entity, to this promise of destruction-

“What is with that creepy smile of yours?”

Ah, and just like that, the illusion was broken.

That hand full of power, with its promise of wreaking chaos, soon reverted to a normal size, the white bindings fluttering in the air, tickling her nose before they were pulled away. Charred black winked out of existence, the painting of blood red through the cracks gone from her vision.

With the hand gone, she could then see Velvet seated just next to her, eyes narrowed.

“Oops,” Magilou whispered with a smirk. Her breath was weak, her arms still so heavy, but she paid it little mind. “Think you caught me at a… private moment.”

Velvet scowled as she wrapped the bandages around her arm. “The hell is the matter with you?”

“Oh, quite a lot actually. Thought you already knew this.”

Even as she tried to joke, she still winced, feeling a sharp sting at her side. It took her a few seconds more to understand that she was laid out on a bed, tucked in heavy covers, and was in an inn room that… well, had seen better days with the peeling wallpaper, and the cramped space. Certainly not her first choice in lodgings.

“I’m assuming you don’t remember what happened.” Velvet tied up the last of her bandages tightly, clenching her fist. She was seated on the bed with Magilou – which was also a bit on the small side – laying her head against the nearby wall it was shoved against.

“Let’s see…I was having a nice nap all by my innocent lonesome before you decided you needed a little midnight snack?” The witch was patting herself on the back for that one, except even her own laughter felt like it was stabbing tiny knives into her stomach. “Ow…” Still, she tried to sit up, the action proving harder to do than she would think…

“Not even if I was dying of starvation. And enough with hurting yourself.” Velvet turned to Magilou, the moonlight from the window nearby catching her eyes, like amber encased within. The woman was never a fan of being too close to people, so Magilou counted herself to be quite lucky to see a feature of hers so near, with little interruption.

“Oh, then what was that you were doing just now? Don’t tell me you weren’t tempted.”

“Doing what I could to finally wake you up!” Velvet hissed, the force of her words making her lean in, just a bit. It was enough to make Magilou flinch, which she immediately regretted. It was no fun if she revealed her fear right away like that.

However, she felt dim understanding just then. Her skirt of magical books no longer tied around her waist, noticing the tear in her outfit and the… oh, was that linen wrapped around her stomach. “Huh. Totally missed that somehow…”

“You idiot.” Velvet placed her head in her (non-daemon) hand, sighing deeply. “You go and get yourself a life-threatening injury from a therion and don’t even remember it. Why should I even be surprised at this.”

Magilou’s pointed ears perked at those words, blinking as she faced Velvet once more. “I’m sorry, what was that about life-threatening?” It seemed almost too surreal. Also, if I was in any real danger, I’d just get Bienfu to take the hit for me…

“It was worse than usual, but Laphicet did what he could and we were able to find a town nearby. Even Eizen, for all his blabbing, actually had some good information on how to keep you rested properly.”

Magilou traced the linen cloth on her with her right hand, pressing just against the tender area of her wound, making her shudder. She felt Velvet slap her hand away from the spot.

“Don’t poke it,” she said. “You’ll make it worse.”

“Fine, fine…” Magilou pouted. 

She felt strangely vulnerable right now, bereft of even her hat. Without the rest of her outfit, she knew she just appeared like some eccentric woman with strange ears instead of a mysterious magician. She looked again at herself, clutched her hand over the blankets, then furrowed her brow. “But that doesn’t really explain why you were here and doing your whole devouring shindig.” Another smirk. “I always knew you had a taste for little old me.”

Velvet didn’t say anything at first. She was back to leaning against the wall, eyes directed to the window, pulling off her nonchalant look like it was nothing. Sometimes the ease of it made Magilou a bit jealous.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t explain much,” she finally answered, completely ignoring the rest of Magilou’s words. She was good at being frustrating herself, which made Magilou pout even further.

“Oh, come on. Just admit you wanted to eat me up already! Not like I’d be offended!” In fact, she’d be much more offended if Velvet didn’t want to eat her at all!

Then a harsh sound – Velvet’s hand slamming the wall, enough to make the wood shudder. “Urgh, you’re so annoying!”

Magilou blinked. She knew she had a habit of pissing Velvet off but, this was different.

“We were waiting around for days and you were still asleep! We have things to do and you wouldn’t wake up, so I…” Oh, was that a blush on her cheeks? But Magilou could barely enjoy Velvet’s embarrassment before the other woman turned away. “I thought threatening you would do the trick.”

“…While I was asleep?” Even Magilou was wondering about that one.

“I didn’t have many other options.”

Oh, wait. Now she remembered.

Something that should have been a routine fight had caught her off guard. It was said that overconfidence led to one’s downfall, but Magilou always had the wit to outlast any real tragedy, for certainly she had more intelligence than most.

But a miscalculation of a daemon’s fangs, sinking into flesh, seemed to have proven her quite wrong.

Even Rokurou had looked surprised, from what little memory she could recall, how he was momentarily taken out of his bloodlust, hands gripping tight to his daggers in the middle of their violent dance. She had heard a gasp from Eleanor, that poor little exorcist who didn’t even understand the breadth of her vocation, along with a hasty chant from Laphicet to her side. What a sweet boy he was. She only regretted not teasing him even more often than she did.

She hadn’t been able to see Eizen before blacking out, and remembered an amusing thought she had at that moment. Found a way to transfer his curse to me? Anything was possible. And if that were true, she couldn’t blame him in the slightest. At least he had someone to go home to.

And so, just before, just until she fell completely, she turned and hoped to see, hoped to see her and-

Well, that’s how she ended up here. In this bed, with Velvet still doing her usual glaring.

“So you were worried about me?” she hedged. It was always dangerous territory to ask Velvet such blunt questions, like walking up to a feral cat. But, one had to take a chance for maybe that same cat to start liking you, didn't it?

And it almost worked, Velvet shifting her eyes to gaze at her, for a moment. “I’m allowed to.”

“Oh, I’m not saying you shouldn’t.” Magilou grinned, happy to have found that little nick in her armor. Of course she would do all she could to examine it, to find the snatch that would let her see even more. “But you were by my side this whole time. You might as well have tried giving me a kiss of true love to wake me up.”

And strangely, Velvet didn’t scoff at the notion, or made a motion to leave. She looked at Magilou for a half-second longer, a lock of her hair tumbling over her ear, then turned away. “Idiot.”

“…Did you actually try to kiss me?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not hearing a no~!”

While Magilou thought about all sorts of devious things that a deamon such as Velvet could have done to her, she only wanted to know more. More teasing was always too addictive, always too fun to see the results of.

“Maybe you wanted to but were too shy, huh? Or…maybe you didn’t know how?” She grinned wickedly. “Is that why you used your scary daemon arm? I guess devouring and kissing are the same to you then.”

“Just stop talking already. I already told you why I did that!” Velvet sighed, the moonlight falling across her hair in silver streaks. “No one in their right mind would kiss you.”

“Hm, you have a point there.” Magilou nodded to that assessment. Then she cackled. “But I don’t think anyone in this room has a right mind to begin with.”

Another tease, and another moment where Velvet didn’t outright deny things. Instead, she growled out in an exasperated voice, as if she had been holding in the words for hours.

“If you want a kiss so badly, then why don’t you just take it?”

And so, in one of those rare moments, Magilou was rendered speechless.

Velvet was never as straightforward with things as she liked to believe about herself. Even when Magilou spoke in annoying rhymes or riddles, they both liked to dance around the subject.

Maybe for once, she could change that.

Holding the blanket in both hands, she finally let it go, then carefully shifted on the mattress to move closer to the dreaded Lord of Calamity, a title that would send excited shivers down anyone’s spine. And if it didn’t, such a person did not know much of anything, did they?

“Tell me, Velvet,” Magilou coaxed, leaning just a bit closer, enough to feel herself trapped in those eyes of hers. Amber that swallowed her whole and wouldn’t let go. “Why did you really come here and stay with me?”

A grimace, but Velvet didn’t move away. In fact, she moved closer in turn. “When you fell in battle, you called out my name.” A hand reached out, placed itself against the back of Magilou’s head, fingers threading through her hair. It was surprisingly gentle, but always that hint of strength beneath.  “I didn’t like it.”

Ah yes, she did do that, didn’t she? Magilou remembered the way she said the name, like something precious, something that she could lose so easily.

She had always been so reckless, as witches often were. But perhaps now, she could try to be a little more cautious.

“Maybe I can say it in a way that you do like then…” she said, reaching for that hand of hers, wrapped in bandages. What will she find underneath all of that?

She couldn’t wait to see.

[dinthehottotty]

Catch Me If You Can

Summary: Din finds new meaning to old words.

Warnings: Straight, unadulterated, violently disgusting fluff. It's gross.

A/N: translations at the bottom. No editting.

Those five stupid words got him everytime. They always stirred a childish rivalry between the two of you and he hated it. He was well and grown, those insignificant words should have no effect on him.

But they did.

From the time you were both foundlings it burned him. Not because you were faster than him, because he managed to grab you everytime, but the fact that it always worked on him. He idly wondered if that's why he was so drawn to bounty hunting. Had you trained him to chase?

Often times, when he's flying through the endless streaking that is hyperspace he thinks about you. Hyperspace is to you as visiting the armorer is to his parents. The whirring of hyperspace makes him dream of you saying that like some sick nightmare.

He remembers the first time it's said to him, a couple weeks after he was rescued. He'd seen you, both of you young enough that you hadn't sworn the creed. He remembers you watching him with excited eyes and sneaking over to him when all he wanted was to cry again over the loss of his parents.

"It's easier not to think about it," you'd told him, "and when you do, think about the good things." It had surprised him. He'd never spoken a word, he quickly discovered you were a foundling yourself, rescued only a short time prior. You'd eased him a bit, accepting his quiet nature with your chatty one. He thinks often of your cheeky smile from youth. It's hard to imagine what it looks like now, all he sees when you laugh is just the endless times as children he saw your grin. How you stayed so upbeat he didn't know.

But when he'd dried his tears you begged him to play and he had. "Catch me if you can!" Was shouted and so began his rage because you flashed a devious look over your shoulder as you ran.

You dared him to try.

Then it continued.

Catch me if you can, as you were trained to fight and he'd chase you across the training fields. In the middle of brawls, you'd call it out and he'd immediately turn to chase. It was purely instinctual. How you found him that one time on some outer rim planet, magnitizing trouble his direction, he decided you were bad luck. You'd weezed it as you both sprinted from an unidentifiable creature that was ready to tear you both limb from limb. He'd punched the back of your helmet for it when you were both in private (and you found it hilarious as he shook his knuckles free from pain).

It turned into a joke you'd say. Because he might be faster than you but he always have to push himself to keep up with you. It was competitive but effortless on your part and that brought out the childlike indignation he buried down. You pushed all the buttons in the perfect sequence to rile him up. He hated it. He dreaded it.

You'd appear in the furthest reaches and the most annoying manner, sneaking up on him to whisper it like it was the funniest thing. Swooping in to steal his bounties at the most inconvenient times. He never understood it. You'd catch them just before him and dump them at his feet like a lothcat dropping a womp rat on its owners doorstep. Smug and proud.

You'd jibe him with those five words whenever you could. Some of the most difficult, dangerous bounties that could yield a mighty reward and you'd just... hand them over like it was nothing.

It frustrated him to no end. But there was nothing in the world that felt better than sacking you to the ground, he swears. He loved to win against you, even if it felt like you let him. He always second guesses himself when it happens because you laugh! Like it's all in the fun.

You snare him everytime with that line and he knows he's lost. You were a fierce warrior and honestly he was glad you didn't bounty hunt often. If you did he wouldn't have even half the credits.

You swore the creed before he did. Earned your signet before him. Won a blaster before he did. It was endless chasing and even when you lost he could never understand just why you seemed to enjoy yourself so much. He could never tell if you were a rival or a friend but deep down he always hoped it was just an annoying friend.

He felt like it was a waste of your talents for you to transfer to the covert under medicine instead of mercenary work. To be honest, though he had seen you work, fingers flying effortlessly. They were steady, even when covered in blood.

He tried to tell himself that he was just too exhausted from the last bounty to not clean up his newest wound. A few shallow stabs that he'd acquired in the scuffle of a twi'lek that refused to give in. Din had closed it with an emergency cauterizer but it was mess and awkward, especially the one on his hip.

The excuses kept rolling in his head of what he'd tell you on why he didn't just clean it up himself before he realized he couldn't stop thinking about your modulated laugh or the lightness of your gloved touch compared to his. (He was fully aware of how hard you could hit and was always amazed by the delicacy of your gentle touches.)

It was after he left the Cantina, delivering bounties, collecting rewards, internally punching Kreef, that he finally just admitted he missed you. He missed the only person he might call his friend.

Din is aware that this will be the third time in the last two months that he's sought you out in this manner. That it's becoming a habit instead.

So he tries not to limp to badly to the convert. When he reaches the medical room he feels disappointed that your armor doesn't catch his eye at first. You'd probably been requested on a mission, somewhere important.

That is until he spots you half hidden behind a curtain, hunched over another mandalorian and focused intensely on whatever was under the bandage you were staring at.

He'd seen you do that. You were evaluating. You'd stand still as a droid, thinking about whatever wild random thoughts came out of your head. Another thing that marveled him. You were so creative, always looking for a different way to do things, just for the fun of it. It frustratingly worked in your favor but he thinks it's got more to do with stubbornness than good logistics.

He shuffles that way, and if you notice, you don't acknowledge him as he sinks awkwardly into one of the chairs. He keeps his weight off his hip.

"There is an avaliable baar'ur on the otherside, vod." You murmur without looking up. You'd noticed him, however not noticed it was him.

"I'll wait," he rumbles and your head jerks up in response. He likes it more than he cares to admit because your straightening and evaluating him instead of the man on the table who is no doubt glaring at him. Din thinks it's one of the many that float around and boast for your attention.

"Did you get stabbed again?" You demand.

"Not deep." Your laugh flutters about and then your turning back to your current patient who relaxes as your finally return your attention on him.

"If you want an excuse to see me just ask, you don't have to hurt yourself to do it. Just stop by, bring me some shig." You say and begin to pick up tools. When you remove the bandage Din sees a healing wound. You were checking up on him.

"I'll remember that." He can feel your grin through your helmet.

By the time he was settled on the table for examination, you were already hovering over him. He shifted onto his good side, rolling toward you as he jerked his tunic up. He had to unclip his belt to lower his pants enough for the wound on his hip to show.

You were forced to ignore the glorious dark trail of hair beginning to peak out from the top of them.

He very nearly sighed in relief as your hands carefully braced over either wound and prodded gently. It makes his heart race. "Maker, Din," he could hear you hiss minutely. "Do I have to board your damn trash ship in order to keep you from doing this shit to yourself? I'm giving you bacta."

"Don't need it. And my ship is not trash." He grunts, making you twist your helmet toward his.

"Or'dinii," you grunt lowly. Maybe he was a bit of a moron. "I'm taking your cauterizer away." Finally, you draw away and begin to pull out supplies to clean and dress his wound.

"So I'll just bleed out next time?"

"It'd be a mercy." Din smiles under his helmet as you begin gently cleaning his gashes. You knew by this point that he also refused the local anesthetics by now. He couldnt feel your hands the last time.

Din relaxes against the table, calmed by your presence. "Do you want to stop by for dinner tonight?" You prompt him.

"I have bounties to hunt."

"Tell you what, have dinner with me tonight and I'll help you catch your next few."

"I don't need your help."

"Sure. Sure. I mean, you're totally up to catching me right now." Din feels the spike of emotion in his chest and groans in annoyance.

"I have caught you everytime, wounded or not," he growls. "Were not children anymore." He doesn't expect you to lean down to his helmet. It startles his heart into a sprint as you rub your thumb affectionately over his hip bone. What game was this? All he can see is his helmet reflecting in yours.

"If you haven't realized that I enjoy you chasing me at this point, I may have to spell it out for you, Din." Your threat has a mocking to it that pisses him off more, but he's tense under your thumb stretching to the inside of his pelvic bone. It's taunting, teasing.

"What's the point?"

"Maybe you'll have to try again and find out."

And you rose back to work silently on his wound, letting him mull over your words and over think the tension.

Finally, he's patched up properly and sits up on the table. "What time are you done here?" He asks.

"Twenty minutes ago."

"Why didn't you say anything."

"Doesn't matter, does it?" You make quick work of cleaning up your supplies. "So dinner?" You demand. Din grins under his helmet.

"Fine." He relents, climbing to his feet.

"Good. Oh, and Din," you lean close, backing him into the edge of the stone table your hand presses into his chest plate. "Catch me if you can." Before you take off like there's blaster fire.

You let him catch you this time, right in the entrance to your quarters. He tackles you through the curtain and you roll across the floor, laughing all the way. Clearly, you're enjoying as much as you did playing tag or hide and seek as kids. Despite the bite of pain in his wounds he wrestles your arms to the ground on top of you.

"You like this?" He demands, half amused.

"Yeah, you were the best part of my life when we were growing up, it brings me back, you know?" He tenses when you casually admit that. And the silence hangs heavy, only heavy breathing and the tap of beskar chests heaving against each other.

Then he headbutts the helmet to yours. "I... I think about your smile a lot... from when we were kids." You shift slowly under him, legs framing his hips.

"It's strange isn't it? That we've known each other so long and we don't look anything like we did the last time we saw one another." Your voices lowered.

"We... we could see each other again," he finds himself suggesting. You gasp quietly underneath him.

"Like... like leaving the covert?"

"If you... if you wanted. But..." he hesitates, trying to remember how annoying you were supposed to be. "What if we got married?" He feels more nervous than he ever remembers feeling.

"Okay," you whimper, sounding as breathless as you feel.

"Okay?" He finds himself repeating. Your helmet nods frantically against his.

"Yes, okay!" And he's letting you go of your arms when you sound like your ready to sob. He kind of likes the sound of the beskar armor sliding against more beskar, but suddenly he's exhausted and all he wants is to sink into your warm embrace unhindered. Only rumbling bellies reminding the both of you to detangle.

...

His jump to hyperspace was welcomed this time. His brain swimming around you, his Riduur. His love. His best friend. He could embrace the thoughts of you in hyperspace.

Navarro darts out of view and he settles back in his seat, a pleasant sort of soreness filling his body from his eager activities you'd both participated in. He just wished he could have seen your face after the ceremony, but there wasn't enough time.

"Hey, Din," he hears you call from the doorway of the cockpit. But it sounds different, lighter. You weren't wearing your helmet. A thrill of excitement filled him for a split second. He soaked up a moment before he slowly pilots his chair about.

You weren't just not wearing your helmet, you weren't wearing anything. It stalled his brain to see the shy but mischievous smile as you casually lean against the doorframe. He knows the tightened nipples are due to the cool air of his ship and he takes in the face he's been imagining for nearly three decades.

You smile up at him, mocking him. "Catch me if you can," you murmur softly, but there's no motion to run. Din smiles behind his helmet.

There's no rage this time. Only thrill and awe at the face he's imagined a billion times and how he still couldn't have gotten it right. He reaches for his own helmet lifting it off his head to see his spouse for the first time since they were kids.

....

Baar'ur - Medic

Vod - Brother, sister, comrade

Shig - a hot, tea like beverage

Or'dinii - Moron or fool

Taglist:

@lxdyred

[skylarmoon71]

Hero Killer (Stain) Oneshot

"How about we have some fun." 

You glared at the drunk male standing in front of you. You just finished a shift from your job. All you really wanted was a bath and some food. That was until this drunk got in your way. With all the heroes running around the city you would think one of them would have the decency to be present when it really counted. You didn't have time for this and you really didn't feel like getting your hands dirty.

"Beat it." 

You barked not even glancing up at him as you walked past the intoxicated idiot. He yelled after you, clearly not taking your words seriously. Before you could react he was floored. In front of you was a man in a spandex suit. He wasn't a well known hero, but you could tell from the arrogant look on his face he was probably one of those cocky types. "You're safe now." He assured. You didn't really need it, but decided not to be rude. "Thanks." you mumbled turning to leave. He grabbed your hand.

"Come on, I just saved your life, surely you can do something for me to return the favor." Your gaze hardened at what he was suggesting. He licked his lips moving closer. You were completely oblivious to the villain above you on the building, watching the scene unravel. Maybe if you'd known he was there you would have not acted because the notorious villain stopped when you spun around delivering a vicious punch to the hero's jaw. Said hero catapulted into a nearby building, going right through the wall. You rubbed your wrist where he held you with a grumble. "Dumbass."

Stain could hardly believe what he saw, he was so sure you'd been a normal civilian. It was clear that wasn't the case. "Then she must be a hero."

The thought irked him. He was about to deal with the one that obviously had less than pure intentions with you, but you'd handled it quite well. He settled for following you down the road. When you turned, he made himself known. "You're strong." your eyes lifted at the voice. There was a  man you perched up on the building. The torn red cloth he had around his neck was blowing with the wind, along with the bandages on various areas of his body.

Your eyes opened a little wider. Now you were on guard. You knew exactly who this was.

"What do you want!" you demanded clenching your fist. "Damn it, all I wanted was a nice bath and some food. Is that too much to ask for." Your perfectly planned night was slowly going down the drain. He jumped down, standing before you with his katana drawn. He was crouched slightly, marking you like an animal.

From all the rumors you heard, you had to admit he was different from what you imagined.

Some said he had sharp razor teeth, others commented he had a morphed face. It was weird, he looked so...human. Not the monster your mind conjured. Then again, was he really a monster? He took out corrupted heroes. Ones who used their powers to exploit others. So who was the real the villain in this scenario.

Right now you really didn't give a shit, you just hoped he didn't think you were his next target.

"You're not a hero." it didn't sound like a question. His red eyes were moving as if trying to place you.

You gave a dry laugh. "I don't give a crap about that shit. Like hell am I a hero. In this corrupted society the name doesn't have any appeal to me." you commented.

You didn't really care what was going on, the battle between heroes and villains wasn't a concern to you. You just wanted to be left alone. "That being said, I have no problem beating any worthless piece of scum that tries anything." you lifted your hands, preparing for a fight.

His gait changed completely, he raised, sheathing his weapon.

"Then I have no business with you." And just like that he turned, walking off. You stood there for a while, wondering if this was some trick he was using to make you lower your guard. It wasn't, in a matter of seconds he was gone, disappearing into the night.

"That was...strange.." you thought for sure he would attack. Despite your very short meeting, you sort of wanted to see him again. Something about him had you intrigued, especially since he was nothing like the stories circulating around the city.

~~~~

The next time you met, he was bleeding out in the back off an alley. At first you didn't know it was him. You were taking a shortcut to get to your apartment. When you got to the corner you saw him, leaned against the wall clutching his stomach. He probably assumed he could move around freely since it was so late. He'd never move so freely around the city otherwise, especially with the bounty out on him. Hundreds of heroes wanted his head on a pike.

"It's you again, Stain." you called. His head turned sharply and he flung a smaller blade in your direction. You moved to the side easily, causing it to dig into the wall behind.

His eyes narrowed. "What do you want, woman." You stepped closer. You knew it wasn't exactly a smart idea. Even injured you were positive he could win a battle. He wouldn't have survived so long if one wound was all it took to incapacitate him.

"Looks like you're in a bit of a bind. " he straightened his form, hand going back to his blade that hung off his waist. "Calm down there, I'm not looking for a fight. " He didn't draw his sword, but his eyes were still fixed on you. "That doesn't look very good, maybe I can help." you were startled by your own words.

Why the hell you were assisting a killer, you had no idea. Yet, you'd never been someone to walk away from a person in need of help. Even though you resented the thought of being a hero, you knew when the moment called for it you'd never just leave if someone was in danger. Of course that logic didn't apply to villains, but Stain wasn't like any of the villains you met. Not that you made a habit of encountering dangerous people.

He didn't speak, so you weren't sure if that was an invitation to help or not. Since he didn't look like he was going to skewer you with his sword, you just took it as a yes. You were just a few feet away from him now. You could clearly see the gaping hole in his abdomen. You were surprised he was still standing. Through the entire ordeal his eyes never left you. You could see the blood running down his body, staining his outfit.

You looked down at your hand, raising your finger to your mouth. You bit your thumb, drawing blood. "What are you doing." came his gruff voice. The sound made you flinch. "U-Uhh.. It's a bit hard to explain. Just bare with me." You opened your other hand, smearing the blood into your palm.

When it was covered in a thin layer of blood you turned to him. You gestured to him, indicating that you needed to make contact. If he thought for a second you were trying to harm him he would kill you in an instant, so all your movements were slow. You stepped closer and against your will your hand shook as you pressed it to his stomach. You held it there for a few seconds. For a while nothing happened, then he felt a burn. He pulled back, clenching his teeth.

His hand moved back to its spot to pull out his sword. Before he could, he looked down when he felt the pain in his stomach subsiding. The injury was closing all on its own. He was stunned.

"My blood doesn't just give me strength, I can transfer that strength to anyone I choose. "

You informed. It didn't take long for the wound to heal itself. When it did you stepped back.

"Well, that's it. Good luck with your future endeavours." you called turning your back as you waved at him like nothing happened. He sweatdropped. "This woman.." he couldn't for the life of him understand you. This never happened before. People always ran from him in fear, for good reason of course. But you just helped him, as if he were a neighbor or a friend. He needed answers.

"Wait." the firm tone caused you to halt. "Why help me, what do you get out of it?" You placed your finger under your chin thinking.

"Umm, well just think of it as a thank you for not killing me last time." you spoke nonchalantly. You gave him a small smile. "See ya later Stain." he watched you wearily, taking a step back as he jumped into the sky, scaling up the nearest building.

"It makes no sense." Stain was left with nothing but his jumbling thoughts. He didn't like the feeling that rose in his chest when you smiled. He was a killer for goodness sake. Whatever it was he wanted it to pass, quickly. If only it was that simple.

~~~

"You really shouldn't be on the streets all hours of the night (Y/N)-chan!" your friend lectured from the other side of the phone. You whined. "But I'm hungry!" you complained. You knew you shouldn't be out 3am in the morning but you were starving, and there wasn't any food in your apartment. You still hadn't made groceries for the month, so you were left with nothing but your growling stomach. 

So you left to get something to help your hunger. After furiously assuring her that you were okay, you kept on your journey. You went into a store just grabbing as many snacks as you could, and a couple packets of ramen noodles. "This should do it." you paid at the counter, walking out with a huge smile. You walked through the streets, munching on a pocky stick.

"Yummy, yummy yum~" you sang taking stick after stick. You froze when a shadow casted over you. Your head lifted at the man standing on the building just above. "Ah, Stain. You're alright." although you knew your quirk healed his wound last time, he left in such a hurry you couldn't tell if he'd fully recovered. "Why do you look so relieved, are you that naive." you frowned at his statement.

"I just wasn't sure if it worked all the way since you ran off like a scared little kitten last time. " you snapped. You knew what you said would tick him off. What you didn't anticipate was his reaction to said words. In a matter of seconds you were pressed to the wall, your bag of treats forgotten on the floor. He'd lifted one of his blades, pressing it into the side of the wall, right next to your face. His free arm formed a barrier on the other side.

Your eyes widened when he leaned in, a scowl on his lips. "What are your intentions, you said you hated heroes, yet you do an awful lot of heroic deeds." you stiffened when you realized he had to have been following for a while you to know that. Yes, you did hate heroes, but only the corrupted ones. That didn't mean you'd just let bad things happen to innocent people. "Maybe you're just another one of those false heroes, hiding in this broken society." You gritted your teeth, getting into his face.

"I'm not!" you were fuming, and it took you awhile to realize just how close you were to him. You blushed, trying but failing to control it. The close proximity was doing unusual things to your body. If you were honest, since the first time you meant you couldn't stop thinking about him. If you told any of your friends that they would have looked at you like you were a crazy person.

"W-What the hell is wrong with me he's a villain I can't be attracted to him, stop hammering stupid heart!" Something changed in his eyes. His blade faltered and he was staring at you in what appeared to be shock. The weapon clattered to the floor, and something seemed to dawn on you. "Did I...say that out loud.." he didn't answer, just stepped back.

You stayed pressed to the wall, unsure what to say or do.

It couldn't be, this was a trick, it had to be, an illusion. Maybe a side effect of metabolizing your blood. The flustered look on your face assured him that it was reality, not some delusion.

"Fuck." he thought bringing a hand up to the side of his face. The way you were staring at him now made him uneasy. There was too much fondness in your gaze, he couldn't understand it. Couldn't process it. So he did the only logical thing, he took off. You were rooted in your spot. You could have been wrong, but maybe just maybe, he felt just a little of what you did for him. You sighed. Now you would never know, because he'd probably never appear in front of you again.

~~

You busied yourself with chores around the house. You'd finally made your monthly groceries. You were packing your foods and drinks away happily. Relieved that you now had food to get you through the days to come. You pulled out a box, and your eyes lingered on the snack for a while.

"Pocky sticks.." the little treat brought back memories of that night. You hadn't seen him since then. You should have been ecstatic, nothing good could come of getting involved with him. If only you could convince your heart of that. "G-Gyah! What the hell am I moping about? He isn't even that cute! T-Those dumb ruby eyes, and stupid muscled biceps, soft looking lips.." Somehow your cons list turned into a pros list. You face palmed.

"Who am I kidding, the guy is a freaking god in my eyes." you sulked, pissed at your contradicting brain. A knock at your window brought you out of your inner turmoil. You tilted your head, assuming maybe some small animal just accidentally knocked into it. You pulled the curtain aside to investigate, not expecting the man who was on the other side of your window.

"Y-You came back.." well, this was a surprise. You lifted it, cold air greeting you. Your curtains swayed with the blow of the wind, and Stain entered, eyes still studying you. You turned as he now stood in your kitchen. You shifted on your feet. If someone told you before you'd be in such a situation you would have laughed in their face.

"Listen I-" he stopped you, moving into your personal space. Your back ended up hitting the fridge.

He pressed himself to your body and you shivered, not predicting this at all. Both hands had you trapped to the appliance. You closed your eyes. As strong as you were, that one action of his turned your body into putty. You let out a staggering breath. "Go on, scream." Your eyes sprung open and you could see the conflict in his eyes.

He was thoroughly convinced that you felt nothing for him, so he came to prove it. He was..testing you. "He doesn't think that he..deserves it.." maybe he was right. He killed for a living. In no world could that have been okay. But maybe, maybe you could change that. Maybe he just needed someone to guide him down the right track. Someone to let him know that he was more than a ruthless murderer, because when you looked at him that wasn't what you saw.

Your body moved on instinct, leaning into him. In a matter of seconds your lips were firmly pressed to his. Stain all but shut down. For the first time in his life he was paralyzed. His lack of response didn't even phase you. You leaned on your toes, gripping into the clothing on his chest as you kissed him insistently.

He backpedaled, almost crashing into your table. When he regained his footing he groaned. You were still kissing him as if it were the very air you needed to breathe. When he could no longer fight against your advances he returned the kiss. You moaned in the back of your throat, begging for entrance into his mouth. He complied, his tongue meeting your own. You whimpered when he took control of your mouth easily. His tongue rivaling yours. You pulled back, sucking in mouthfuls of air.

A small trail of saliva ran down your chin, and the desperate look on your face to taste him again must have been obvious. He was still catching his breath. "M-More please.." you couldn't believe this. You were begging him. You didn't recognize your own voice. Your hands reached up and instead of asking you just took what you needed the most. Your lips rejoined, groping at his muscled body. All his weapons were in the way. You reached around, unlatching the strap that kept them up.

They fell to the ground with a thud and you were grateful, now you could feel him. He growled at you probing fingers, he pushed you unto the table, luckily there was nothing on it. You stared up, his body hovering over you. Neither of you spoke, just gazed at each other. For a full minute it was like that. You couldn't take it, his stare, it was making heat gather between your legs. You pressed them together, hoping he didn't figure out what just his eyes were doing to you.

"You're mine now, there's no escaping." 

You should have been terrified that he was making a claim on you. This entire situation was crazy if you thought about it. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to be afraid. How could you when he was looking at you with so much longing in his eyes. He wasn't the heartless killer everyone thought, and you would make everyone see that.

Right after you kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

[mascwhump]

Chapter 10 - Trained Professionals

TW: guns, bullet wounds, blood

Tag list: @whatwasmyprevioususername @milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @whatwhumpcomments @mnmlover2002 @ashintheairlikesnow

-

Charlie was woken up the next morning by a tray being tossed next to his mat. He looked up to see a solider, looking extremely annoyed.

"Eat quickly," he ordered.

Charlie glared at him as he slowly rose to a sit. He slid the tray closer and ate the meager portion of toast and grapes. As soon as he picked up the last grape, the solider ripped the tray from his hands and left the room.

"God," Charlie mumbled to himself.

He forced his aching body to stand. He walked to the bathroom and splashed water on his face and into his mouth before deciding to take a bath. He ran the water and slipped into its warmth, the heat soothing his body. He leaned his head back against the wall, and accidentally drifted off.

Water entering his nose caused him to jerk awake. He began splashing violently, only stopping when he realized he was alone. He held his face in his hands as he tried to calm down.

Once he had control of his breathing, he got out of the tub. It was then he noticed a towel and a fresh set of clothes were on the shelf above the toilet. He didn't remember anyone coming in, and he wondered how they got there. Nonetheless, he was grateful. He dried off and swiped on cheap deodorant before he got dressed.

He sat on his mat with the blanket draped over his legs. His head was doing better than last night, but a dull throbbing still remained. The bruises on his skin had darkened into a deep purple. He avoided looking in the mirror, especially at his face. He remembered last night and his stomach tightened. Before, he hoped Mallory would remember it, but now, he wasn't so sure.

A few hours passed and lunch was brought to him. This time, when the solider entered with his tray, he stopped just after entering the room. Charlie looked at him quizzically, but upon closer inspection, he realized that he looked familiar.

"Charlie," he breathed.

He sprinted toward him, dropping the tray just before picking Charlie up and pulling him into a tight hug. Charlie whimpered, his bruises getting pressed on, but he returned the hug.

"Deke," Charlie said, "I'm so happy to see you, but-"

"I'm getting you out of here," Deke said, pulling his mask down to his chin.

"They know what you look like," Charlie said.

"How?"

"They have you on camera taking some file."

"Oh... shit."

Deke rubbed his hand over his mouth as he thought.

"You need to leave. Please, before they find out you're here," Charlie said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You kidding me? I'm not leaving without you guys," Deke said.

"Do you have a plan?" Charlie asked.

"I've been working on a plan since day one. Look, I have access to the gun locker. It's not far from where the others are. I'm going to grab some guns, then bust into the room. The hallway leads us straight out to the helipad."

"That... could work," Charlie said.

"I know it's risky, but I've been weighing the options and it looks like our only chance."

"When do you plan to do this?"

"Now."

Charlie's eyes went wide.

"Now?"

"Yes, it's meal time and most of them are in the chow hall. There's no traffic in the hallway. We can do this, Charlie."

Charlie looked around the room for a moment before nodding.

"Okay. Let's do it."

They walked toward the door. Deke handed Charlie a pistol and stuck his head outside. He made the hand signal for "clear", and they began making their way toward the gun locker. He was right, the hall was empty. They made it to the locker and slipped inside unnoticed. Deke grabbed two M16s and a few extra magazines. Charlie grabbed his own M16 and shoved two magazines into his sweat pockets. Once they were set, Deke peaked out the door again. They made it to the room without incident.

"Ready?" Deke asked.

Charlie nodded.

He kicked in the door and quickly stabbed the guarding solider in the throat before he could make a sound.

“Deke?" Adrian said.

"Come on," Deke said as he took the keys from the soldier's vest pocket, "we don't have much time."

He quickly unlocked everyone's handcuffs. He handed a gun to Crow and Adrian, and Charlie handed the pistol to Ethan. They filed out of the room, guns at the ready, and followed Deke down the hall.

"There's the door," Deke said, motioning straight ahead.

A shot was fired. Adrian fell. He stumbled back to his feet, limping.

"Keep going," he said.

Another shot was fired and screamed past Charlie's head.

"Stop!" Someone yelled from behind.

Crow turned around and walked backwards as he fired off a couple rounds. Charlie did the same, managing to hit someone. He saw the trail of blood that Adrian was leaving behind, but kept his focus. They made it out the door. A helicopter was waiting less than 50 yards away.

Deke switched to a sprint, making it to the helicopter before the rest of the team so he could start up the engine. It roared to life and the blades began to spin. Bullets flew past and hit the helicopter with a "tink".

Charlie lagged behind, his energy sparse to begin with. He stopped behind some barrels for cover as he fired back.

"Charlie, let's go!" Crow yelled.

The rest of the team was on the helicopter. Charlie inched back, still firing. He turned back toward the team and waved them off.

"Go!" He yelled.

"No, get your ass on here, now!" Crow yelled back.

"There's too many of them. You'll get shot down!"

A bullet just barely missed Charlie's arm, forcing him to sink down to a crouch. Bullets rained upon the side of the helicopter. Deke lifted it into the air slightly.

"Last chance! Get the FUCK over here, that is an order!"

Charlie looked back and waved them off again. Deke pulled up, about ten feet off the ground. Crow jumped out and landed with a roll. He sprinted over to Charlie and took cover behind some stacked crates. He waved off the helicopter.

"Charlie, I'm going to fucking kill you," he said, barely heard over the gunfire.

Charlie ignored him and continued to fire back. More soldiers pooled from inside, firing at the helicopter as it left. Charlie shot his last bullet and dropped the gun. Crow continued to fire, picking off a few more of the men before running out of ammo. The helicopter was at a safe enough distance to escape.

The gunfire stopped. Charlie put his hands into the air and slowly rose up. Crow walked out from behind the crates with his arms in the air. A few soldiers approached, guns ready. They kicked Charlie down to his knees and roughly put his arms together with zip ties. They forced him to his feet again, shoving him and Crow back into the building. They passed numerous bodies, blood pooling out of them onto the floor.

They then entered an elevator.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Crow spat.

"You know damn well that we would've been shot down if I hadn't drawn their fire," Charlie shot back.

"Shut up," a soldier hissed, hitting Charlie in the back with his rifle.

The elevator doors opened and they were marched down a hallway. They entered a room labeled "CONFERENCE" and inside was a long table. Mallory was sitting on the end of it, facing away from the door.

Charlie and Crow were thrown to their knees at the other end of the room. The air was thick with tension as Mallory slowly stood from the table and turned around. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"Really?"

Charlie and Crow looked at each other.

"You really thought that would work?"

"It did," Charlie said, "three of us got out."

Mallory rubbed his temples.

"If that's what you consider a success, then I'll let you have that one," he said, "because they don't matter. You two, on the other hand, are much more of my concern. I'll tell you what- I'm not even mad. In fact, I'm more upset with the complete lack of competence within my own ranks."

The soldiers in the room shifted uncomfortably.

"There's going to be some changes around here," Mallory said, "but for now, return them to where they belong. My head hurts far to much to deal with them right now."

Crow and Charlie were walked out of the room. They went back down the elevator, and were separated at a fork in the hallway. Charlie was lead back to his room. The zip ties were cut off and he was left alone again.

He collapsed onto his mat, breathing heavily. The adrenaline began to wear off and the aching in his muscles returned. He couldn’t stay still; he was determined to find a position that didn’t hurt to lie in. Eventually, frustration got the best of him and he settled on his back. Tears of defeat formed in his eyes and he did his best to fight them back.

Adrian, Ethan, and Deke are safe. That’s what matters.

Adrian was hit in the lower part of his leg. Ethan would easily manage to take care of it. He would be fine. Hopefully, they would make it home, or at least somewhere safe soon. He wished Crow would have stayed on the helicopter, so that he would be safe, too.

Exhaustion took over and he fell asleep again. He wasn’t brought dinner, which meant he was able to sleep for a longer period. He wasn’t really hungry, anyway. He spent the rest of the night curled up on his mat.

Morning came, and he woke up just before breakfast. He dragged himself into the bathroom and drank water from the faucet. Soon after, breakfast arrived. He held his arms out to grab the tray from the solider, but the solider hesitated.

“Don’t know if I want to give this to you,” he said.

Charlie stared at him.

“You killed my friend, you know.”

“That’s the risk you take when you sign up for this shit,” Charlie snapped.

The solider threw the tray at him, then splashed the glass of water in his face. He picked up the tray and acted like he was going to hit Charlie with it, before deciding against it and leaving the room.

Charlie sighed and wiped his face with the blanket. He picked the blueberries off the floor and ate them, then the toast which had landed in his lap. After he ate, he grabbed a towel from the bathroom to soak up the water on his mat. He tossed the towel across the room after he finished and sat on the mat.

A few minutes went by and the door opened again. In walked two soldiers. They approached Charlie and ordered him to stand up before handcuffing him. It was an all too familiar feeling.

They took him down the hall and up the same elevator as yesterday. This time, instead of stopping on the second floor, they went to the top. The hallway was much shorter, and they were soon at a door. One of them knocked, and Mallory opened it. Inside appeared to be a small apartment. It barely looked lived in with how tidy it was. The soldiers took Charlie inside, then left, leaving him alone with Mallory.

“This your space?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah. Sit,” Mallory said, pulling out a chair from the table.

Charlie took a seat as he looked around. The smell of bergamot filled the air; a candle was lit on the counter in the kitchenette. Mallory sat in a chair across from Charlie. He leaned back and folded his arms.

“I’m sick of being here,” he said.

“You’re sick of being here?” Charlie scoffed.

“Yes. I’m going back home for a few days,” Mallory said.

“Oh no, I’m so sad,” Charlie replied sarcastically.

“Well, don’t be, because you’re coming with.”

[akumastrife]

strike the match // dream pack (trc)

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: just slutty business, swearing, dubious consent bc canon appropriate drugs Fandom: Raven Cycle

Relationships: the dream pack but everyone’s sharing Proko as K watches, as things should be

Back!! on my bullshit!!!! 

{Also on AO3}

The rowing team shirt was faded and ragged, tiny cigarette burns in one shoulder, and stretched entirely ill-fitting across Prokopenko’s broad chest.

It was never meant to fit. It wasn’t his.

The sleeves had been carefully cut off—speaking to Lynch’s theft of it from Gansey—and then the bottom half ripped off in a show of violence that could only hint at Proko’s subsequent theft of it when Lynch had left it last.

Three power play tug-o-wars to upset Kavinsky most.

By the way Proko’s lip was puffy and bleeding—wrapped slack around Kavinsky’s dick, relaxed between his knees, just breathing, jesus fucking christ—Swan thought maybe Proko was winning.

It was easier to stare too long at the disaster of a shirt, than at Proko himself with his busted mouth, wondering how good it’d feel.

Kavinsky scraped his thumb nail over the head of the match, already blackened and used up. It flared up again anyway, and he put it out against Proko’s shoulder. Another singed hole in the shirt. Swan had watched the cycle four times over already, primed for each spark.

“You just gonna gloat?” Jiang asked, accusation cutting quick through the heady lack of talking over the music, and the headier smoke filling the basement. It wasn’t quite pot. Too white, too fragrant, like a building smoldering in its own embers. Close enough for Skov, so it was good enough for Swan.

“Yeah, K, you got him looking so pretty,” Skov jeered. “How long it’d take you to train him like that?”

“Probably got him all doped up,” Jiang said.

Kavinsky said nothing; eyes saying nothing from behind those stupid white sunglasses. He took another drag on his joint, and then shifted his feet—the scrape of soles too loud for how the music rattled Swan’s bones—as he dragged Proko’s mouth off his dick by a hand in his hair.

Swan felt Skov wince in sympathy from beside him on the couch.

Proko gasped like he hadn’t breathed in hours, eyes fluttering and lips parted slack. It was such a damn shame he was so pretty. “Can I?” Proko asked, voice ragged and ruined already.

Kavinsky tugged him up to claim his mouth in a painful kiss, his own lips stained red when he pulled back. There was something… tender, in the soothing of his tongue along the cut in Proko’s lip. But that was all before he was releasing Proko and pushing him towards the two of them on the couch.

Jiang whined in disappointment.

“Fuck yeah,” Swan breathed and got up immediately to make room. His fingers twitched against his own thighs, wanting, eager, knowing to wait. He really wasn’t any better than Proko.

Were any of them?

He watched—eyes feeling too wide to match how his ribs cracked in expanding to make room for his lungs—as Proko slid over Skov’s sprawled thighs, folding himself down to let Skov have his mouth in a desperate kiss.

“Fuck,” slipped out on a groan. He adjusted himself through his sweats, glancing over at Jiang doing the same. “I wanna try his mouth.”

Skov glanced over Proko’s shoulder, pupils blown dark, stupid long lashes fluttering in that look of want Swan knew all too well. “What do you think, Proko?”

Proko moaned, high and breathy and utterly domesticated, what the fuck. Proko used to put up more of a fight, used to grin razor sharp and delight in tussling until he was put on his stomach and made to enjoy the surrender of it.

What the fuck had Kavinsky done to him?

He’d think about it later. Much later, he decided, as Proko staggered up and turned in Skov’s hands. He slid back, pupils and lips both parted around darkness and wanting, letting Skov handle him however he wanted. Gave into Skov’s spider-like fingers running eager up his ribs, down around his stomach and hips, like he was warming him up. Proko’s stomach tightened and flexed—eager.

Proko reached forward, hands clamping painfully tight around Swan’s hips to drag him forward, eyes trained on him with a single-minded focus that made Swan’s mouth bone-fucking-dry.

He groaned, knowing already he was doomed, and stepped up between both of their parted knees—Skov’s tilting out to push Proko’s more obscene—and fumbled at the worn knot of drawstrings, only looking at Proko, at Skov’s eyes flashing dark and hungry over Proko’s shoulder, at Jiang’s desperate reflection in the cracked mirror behind the sagging couch.

It was a fast and heady race between them to see who could get Proko first. Skov laughed brightly as he tugged at Proko’s cut offs, reaching under him to pinch Swan’s thigh as he pushed his sweats down. Swan swatted his clever hand away and then lost everything in a gut-punched curse, bowing over Proko’s mouth immediately around his dick.

“Jesus,” he hissed, nails biting into Proko’s shoulders. “Lemme fucking prepare myself, dude, fuck.” He hadn’t been ready; ready, yes, but it was fast and a shock and he was sensitive and Proko’d forgotten to not use his fucking teeth. He wasn’t like Jiang. He didn’t play like that. He preferred teeth in other parts of him, not his fucking cock, christ.

“Hurry up, then, and catch up,” Skov mumbled, rolling his eyes. He did something with his hands that had Proko whining and buckling at all his joints like a broken doll.

He had to stop thinking about Proko that way.

“How the fuck are you already—still?—slick, dude?” Skov said, split between awed and alarmed. He glanced up at Swan (looked up up up, eyes dark, teeth catching his bottom lip and farther to grab his snake bites—Swan wanted to fuck that mouth too. He would. After.) “I got four fingers in ‘im already, can you fucking believe?”

“What?” Jiang snapped. He struggled up and careened across the basement, crashing into the couch beside Skov and craning in to look. He inhaled fast and stuttering, tongue flicking out like he wanted a taste, tongue stud flashing in the low lighting, and Swan wanted to let him just so he could watch.

He fisted a hand in Proko’s hair, humming pleased at how Proko whined immediately at the pull, sinking farther down, taking all of him, and swallowed several times until Swan was seeing stars.

“Fuck, K, does he not have a gag thing anymore?” Swan asked. He locked his knees, hitching his hips forward, and rolled his head on his neck to look over at Kavinsky. At their king. But in the way a monster might sit above a fae court, volatile and untouchable.

He had to stop listening to Jiang ramble about his fantasy books.  

He couldn’t see Kavinsky’s eyes, but he felt him looking back all the same. “You must’ve really worked on him.”

Kavinsky said nothing; chapped lips curling around the joint again and face turning to fix on Proko rocking back on Skov’s fingers, the sharp arch of his back

Judging, maybe.

Measuring his form to some standard Swan never wanted to know. K’s brows furrowed slightly. Dragged his thumb over the spent match head (Proko’s tongue dragged devastatingly over his slit.) His thumb was nearly as black.

“I’ll have him gagging,” Skov warned, and snapped Proko back by the hips, pulling him down onto his dick. Proko flinched and slid off Swan’s dick with a gut-punched sound so wounded that Swan almost came on the spot with nothing more than the flat of Proko’s tongue.

Skov swore low and drawn out, eyelashes fluttering. And then sunk his teeth into the back of Proko’s shoulder.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jiang whispered, fumbling his pants off and peeled one of Proko’s hands off Swan’s hips to put it in his own lap, groaning loud and obscene. Not even the thumping music could cover it.

“Loud bitch,” Swan muttered, meeting Skov’s eyes and jerking his chin at him. Skov grinned, glittering sharp like a viper, and stuffed his fingers into Jiang’s mouth.

“Don’t be a bitch and bite,” Skov snapped. He didn’t have to. Jiang probably wasn’t even listening anymore.

Swan snorted. He pulled Proko back onto his dick, watching Skov more than anything. “How’s he?”

“Like a fuckin’ dream,” Skov groaned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Swan saw K smile. Just a flicker. Maybe that was just the hazy air.

Swan rocked his hips faster, bending over Proko to catch Skov’s mouth in a slick kiss. He felt Skov starting to smile, taunting, that asshole, and bit his lip to head that shit right off. He liked kissing Skov, fucking sue him, and he tasted better when he was getting his dick wet.

Thick smoke rolled over them, snaking into nose and mouth, and Swan nearly choked on it. Kissed Skov to keep from coughing: harder, meaner, greedier. Tried to forget about Kavinsky watching and couldn’t; felt his eyes on them like claws into flesh. The smoke was sweeter, musky. Rotting wood, maybe, or something that smelled like desperation and hunger.

He bit into Skov—

He was so hungry. For Proko’s tight throat and Skov’s pierced mouth. For violence and the simmering heat that bloomed whenever he put someone on their back. Arousal built on itself, climbing up his spine and pulling taut as wire.

“You just gonna sit there?” Swan asked, harsh and breathless. He glared over at Kavinsky. Hitched his hips to push harder at Proko to make him choke, relishing in the wet, gasping noises and how it made Skov breath harder, tone edged higher.

Kavinsky smiled. He had too many teeth—

Swan blinked—

Kavinsky wasn’t smiling at all. He shifted, slow and like his body was made of shifting and crumbling branches, and turned the music up higher. Louder and grating. He stood, taking another drag, holding it until he’d stepped over and blew the smoke into Swan’s face.

Swan blinked fast, inhaling against his better judgment and shuddering at the acrid tang of the smoke curling in his lungs, fucking Proko’s mouth a little faster.

“Fuck yes, baby boy,” Skov groaned, strained and right on that fucking edge. Swan knew it too well, knew exactly what he sounded like, tasted like, felt like inside and out when he was hanging on the precipice of losing it. Proko keened, moving faster; Jiang inhaled fast and sharp, chewing on Skov’s fingers and hitching his hips up into Proko’s fist, tight and wet.

Swan wanted to do something very stupid.

Something scraped sharply right in his ear, making him twitch (making his dick jump) and he turned his head to see Kavinsky still standing there, bright match in his hand. The flame flickered hungrily, licking charred wood and charred flesh.

Kavinsky’s sunglasses stared at him, unreadable and expectant. Held out the match. An offer or a demand, it was all the same.

Swan opened his mouth.

The world went up in flames.

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : The City Of Fey Chapter 1

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Notes: ^ my gif. Here it is, the first chapter. I am not truly happy with it and I promise the next chapters are better. This is a slow burn story.

Summary:   As a fey queen you are by now used to it that fey come into your woods seeking refugee or a place to hide. Things get complicated however when your knights have not just brought a fey boy but also the red paladins' fiercest warrior into your city.  

Chapters:   1/ ?

Word count:  3581 (in this chapter)

Warnings: None yet it think. But there will be in other chapters.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It had been more then a day since he had saved the boy who was sleeping between his arms as he held the reins. Wanting to create as much distance between him and the camp, he had only stopped when it was necessary.

He knew they would come for him after what he had done, the Trinity guards would not rest until he was dead.

Him as well as the boy.

He felt himself get weaker. His wounds were starting to burn more and soon he stopped and woke the boy.

The boy opened his eyes, still drowsy he asked "Where are we ?"

In truth, he had no idea. At some point he had took a turn and now he was in a forest he didn't recognise.

It was no use to hide the fact from the boy "I am not sure. I don't recognise these woods. Do you ?"

The boy focused his eyes on the trees as he looked around before shaking his head "No."

He helped the boy off of the horse before he descended from Goliath as well.

The moment his feet hit the ground he felt a sharp pain going through the wound on his head. He had to hold on to Goliath to keep his balance.

The boy looked around, touching the trees, looking for signs of other feys nearby but he could find none.

"We'll rest here for now. Keep an eye on our surroundings. We don't know what's in these woods." he told the boy as he tied the reins to a nearby branch.

After gathering some firewood the boy seemed to be quite good at making a fire. They kept it small so it wouldn't be too visible to unwanted visitors.

As they sat by the fire he was aware of his surroundings, he always was, but his mind wandered back to the moment he betrayed those who had raised him.

The realisation hit him that he felt just as lost as he felt when he was with the red paladins, with Father Carden. There was little difference there, the only thing being the boy who was now sleeping on the ground at the other side of the fire. The orphaned fey, a mirror of his own past.

The words of The Green Knight repeating itself in his mind

If this is where you belong, then tell them what you are.

In that moment he knew The Green Knight was right. He would never be accepted for what he was. It became clear as day when Father Carden reminded him of his 'demonic' heritage, and how he told him that his path would only lead to salvation if he would do what was necessary when the time came. The Green Knight could have told them what he was but didn't, because 'All fey are brothers'.

Father Carden on the other hand had reminded him that if he were to burn, so would he.

After all these years of serving him loyally, Father Carden truly only saw him as a weapon to wield.

He was fey. A traitor to not only his own kind but now to where he was raised as well.

But as he watched the boy sleep he felt no regret in his decission to save him. He was prepared to die, accepted his faith if that was what it took to save the boy.

He had refused to stand by and watch a child be tortured.

When the boy, Percival, was prepared to fight against the Trinity guards he almost couldn't believe it.

A child, a fey boy, was risking his own life to save him.

Someone was willing to fight for him.

To die, for him.

The Green Knight's words rang through his head as he had picked up a sword and fought the Trinity guards and escaped the camp with the boy.

He didn't know where to go now, only that he would protect the boy with his life.

As the brave boy had done for him.

After being somewhere between asleep and awake, he heard a branch snap. The sound wasn't loud but he was alert immediately.

He stood up with caution and then he noticed the scent.

Fey.

He felt eyes on him, and he slowly went to wake the boy.

"What-" Percival protested but he quickly covered the boy's mouth and hushed him.

The boy understood what was happening and he stood up from the ground.

He pulled the boy to stand behind him, but he felt eyes on him from every angle.

"Born in the dawn..." he spoke the words and waited for a reply.

The forest remained silent for another moment.

Then archers stepped out from behind the trees, bows drawn and aimed at him.

“We don't say it here anymore. Not when we realised you could use it against us.” a man with blonde hair, clearly one of those in charge approached. His sword wasn't drawn, but with the amount of archers it didn't seem necessarry.

He tried to cover the boy as much as he could while he watched the archers like a hawk “I have no intentions to fight you. Or to harm you.”

“I don't believe you. I wonder why that is ?” the man replied, venom dripping from his words.

He knew they didn't have any reason to believe him, not with his reputation. Not after what he had done.

Another man approached on horse back, wearing impressive armor, he swiftly got off of his horse and came towards him and the boy as well. He guessed this man was a knight and most likely outranked the other one.

He stopped next to the blonde man, his eyes landing on the boy right away as he tried to look past him “Born in the dawn ?”

The Weeping Monk noticed how this man didn't come of as aggressive compared to the other one.

“To pass in the twilight.” Percival replied quietly from behind the Weeping Monk.

The man raised a hand and the archers lowered their bows, earning an angry glare from the blonde man.

“What are you doing ?!” he seethed at him “That's the Weeping Monk !”

The man remained composed as he spoke “And behind him is a fey boy. You shoot arrows at him, you'll hit the boy as well.”

The blonde drew his sword and the Weeping Monk saw the other feys do the same, all except the man in the armor decorated with silver.

He noticed how none of them attacked, they all appeared to wait for a signal from the man in the armor.

Percival now moved from behind him, looking at the man in armor “No ! Wait !”

He tried to grab Percival put his grip faltered and the boy walked up to the man in armor.

The tension increased between him and the men.

“Why are you here with him, boy ?” the man in the armor asked him.

The Weeping Monk wanted nothing more then to grab the boy and pull him away from the men, but any sudden movement would escalate the situation.

“He saved me ! Please don't kill him !” Percival pleaded as he stood between him and the men.

The man in the armor frowned and looked at the Weeping Monk in disbelief “What do you mean ?”

“I was captured, he fought the trinity guard to save me ! Please !” the boy pleaded.

The man now looked at him “Is this true ? Did you save this fey boy ?”

“YES!” Percival shouted in frustration.

The Weeping Monk gave a short nod, still not feeling like he deserved the praise for his act “Yes.”

“He's tricking us, Raphael! He'll kill us the second we turn our backs on him.” the blond one interupted.

The man, Raphael, contemplated his next course of action “Silence, Crillan.” he commanded.

He stepped closer to the boy, examining him before looking at the Weeping Monk.

“It's not our decission. She'll decide his faith.” he nodded for the other fey to come closer “If what you say is true, then you and the boy won't mind coming with us. The boy belongs with his kind.”

He knew the man was right, Percival belonged with his kind, not with the one responsible for killing so many fey. But he wasn't just going to abandon the boy so he agreed and let them bind his hands together with ropes. Percival walked beside Raphael with Goliath.

He tried to remember as much of the path they were taking as he could, all while keeping an eye on the boy. However after a while it got hard to do so as the forest almost felt endless.

There were no fey signs anywhere either.

After a while he spotted tall walls in the distance.

It can't be...

He was leaded right to them and when he got closer he realised the walls held a small city within them. There were archers all over the wall looking out over the forest.

Raphael raised his hand and moments later, the gates were opened.

The Weeping Monk followed the fey inside, but stopped to look around for a second.

Frightful looks were aimed at him from all over. Small fey children who had been playing on the ground closeby now ran away. Percival's eyes went wide, he can't remember the last time he had seen so many of his kind all together like this.

Crillan pushed the Weeping Monk forward, still annoyed that he couldn't just kill him in the woods “Move.”

He glared at him before obliging.

Raphael stopped Percival “Leave the horse here, he'll be taken good care off.”

Percival looked at the Weeping Monk, looking for confirmation and he nodded.

Raphael took the reins from him and tied the reins next to a few others horses.

The man in the armor knocked loudly on the door of a larger building, it was opened right away and he moved aside, gesturing for them to walk inside.

The boy now stayed close to him as they followed the fey soldiers inside.

Raphael walked up to some of the fey soldiers who were inside “Has she returned yet ?”

The fey shook their head, the knight wasn't pleased to hear it.

“She's not here yet ?” Crillan asked him before looking at the Weeping Monk in disgust “Who says this bastard doesn't have anything to do with that ?!”

“I saw no one else in the forest but you.” the Weeping Monk quickly denied the accusation.

“Crillan !” the knight tried to silence him.

Crillan drew his sword and pointed it at the weeping monk, the boy moved to get between him and Crillan but he pulled the boy back to stand behind him.

“Stay.” the tone of his voice leaving no room for protest.

The boy reluctantly listened and stood a few steps behind him.

He didn't know how he should react, his hands were tied but he could easily break free if it was necessary. But then they would undoubtedly attack him, and the last thing he wanted now was to kill another of his kind. Not again, not after the damage he had already caused.

So he showed no intention to move.

The blonde knight scoffed at him “I don't believe a word you say you murdering bastard !” he turned to Raphael “We brought the Red Paladins weapon into our city ! I say we kill him now before he kills us all !”

“No !” the boy shouted at the knight.

Raphael moved but was not fast enough “Stop !”

The fey knight swung his sword, aiming at him.

He found himself unwilling to move out of the way to dodge the sword.

After everything he had done, perhaps this was what he deserved.

They wouldn't harm the boy, why should he continue to fight ?

“STOP !” another voice commanded loudly.

The sword stopped a mere inch away from his neck.

The knight, Raphael, grabbed the sword out of the other's hand angrily “Fool !”

"Is this how we treat our guests now ? And in front of a boy ?!" the voice got closer.

Both Percival and him looked behind them to see a woman approach.

Some of her bloodied (h/c) hair sticking to the side of her head.

The other fey moved aside immediately as she entered the large room.

The blonde bowed his head in shame as she scolded him. It was evident by the reactions of the other fey that whoever this woman was, they respected her.

“Can I not trust you when I leave, Crillan ?” She approached the knight in anger.

He didn't meet her eyes when he answered “Forgive me. But the risk is too high for him to live.”

“That is not for you to decide !” Raphael reminded him once more.

“If you wish to use your sword then go and teach the children how to protect themselves. Get out of my sight.” you walked past him and towards the young fey boy.

The blonde knight was given back his sword and left the room in silence.

You could see the boy was frightened after that display of unnecesarry voilence, only looking at the hooded man for a second before speaking to the boy.

“Don't be frightened, boy. Crillan would not have harmed you.” you tried to comfort him.

The frightened looks in his eyes disappeared “I'm not afraid of that scum !”

As much as he admired the brave side of the boy, the Weeping Monk knew that his use of language would continue to get him into trouble.

A smile played on your lips and you shot a glance at Raphael who looked at the boy in suprise.

It took a lot for you not to laugh at the boy's outburst.

"Even though I find you quite amusing, others might not take kindly to the way you curse them out."

You carefully used your fingers to tilt his chin up to look at the wounds on his face "Looks like you were unfortunated enough to find out." The Weeping Monk watched as you studied the boy's face, he couldn't remember if someone had ever shown such care to him when he was a child. "It's just a scratch." the boy took a small step back as if he didn't want to look weak. You smiled at him before kneeling before him "You're brave, boy. I can see why you were made a knight." The boy looked suprised and wondered how you knew this. Then his gaze fell to his feet at the memory of Gawain. You cupped his cheek with one hand, making him look at you again "And as a queen.." This made the Weeping Monk look at you, he had no idea who or what you were until now. You continued and winked at the boy "..I always command my knights to act carefully." Before the boy could speak you focused on his face and felt your magic glide through your fingers into his skin. Causing the wounds to disappear before everyone's eyes. The Weeping Monk couldn't believe his eyes when he saw it happen, he knew feys could use their skills to make potions and salves to heal others but never saw it being done with nothing but their own magic. He stared at Percival's now healed face, there wasn't a scratch on him anymore. He looked at you, trying to mask how much in awe he truly was of what you had just done. That's when he saw the blood running from your nose and the worried looks of the other feys when they saw it too. The moment the boy's wounds disappeared, your nose had started bleeding. The fight you were in before returning to the city had exhausted you. Using your magic took a toll on you and using healing powers was something that was costly so you used it sparingly. But you didn't want this brave fey boy to be left with scars if you could prevent it. "Welcome home, Percival." you said with a smile before standing up. "How do you know my name ?" The boy asked, shocked. You took a few steps back and wiped the blood from your nose with your sleeve. "My magic allows me to sense certain things." You answered his question with honesty. "He doesn't like his name." The Weeping Monk finally spoke. You looked at him but weren't suprised "Seems like you two have more in common then I initially expected." The way you said it left little doubt that you could sense something about him too. It caught him a little off guard and he narrowed his eyes, curious about just how much you could actually sense.

“My name is y/n.” you told them “There's no need for you to introduce yourself though. Your reputation precedes you.” now directing your attention to him.

His gaze fell to the floor as he remained silent again.

You went to stand opposite of him but kept a safe distance “Tell me, why are you in our woods ? I can make a guess based on that reputation but it doesn't explain why the boy is with you.”

Raphael cleared his throat before coming closer “The boy says he saved his life. Fought the trinity guards to do so.”

You looked at the Weeping Monk, processing the information “Is this true ?”

“YES ! The red paladins were going to torture me !” the boy shouted before he could answer.

“We were trying to get as far away as we could to prevent them from finding us.” the Weeping Monk admits “It wasn't my intention to come here.”

“You ? You saved a fey ?” you stammered the words in disbelief. Your eyes darting between the boy and him.

Why ? Why would he save a fey ? The question repeated itself over and over again in your head.

“I understand now why my knights took a risk bringing you here to see me. You understand that I must protect my people ? I do not know what your intentions are.”

The Weeping Monk nodded in understanding “What happens to me is not important. I only wish for the boy to be safe. Do what you must to protect your people.”

A frow formed on your face at his words, you fell silent upon hearing it. You looked over at Raphael who waited for your instructions.

“You saved the boy's life. And it looks like you barely managed to survive yourself.” gesturing to his bloodied state.

This city was your responsibility and this was no easy decission. But if what you had sensed through the boy was true then you were willing to give the Weeping Monk a chance.

You stepped forward and pulled out your dagger, his eyes were on it immediately and he swallowed but still didn't move.

“Hold out your hands.” you tell him and he looks at you quizzical.

He slowly raised his tied hands.

You held your hand above his for a moment, feeling the magic through your fingers again “Don't move, please.”

What you sensed was what helped you made your decission.

He looked utterly puzzled until you cut the ropes from his wrists in a swift move.

He rubbed his left wrist once the ropes were removed and you took a few steps back again.

"You may stay here as our guest until your wounds are healed. Consider it my way to thank you for protecting the boy."

He noticed how you seemed more determined now. He had seen a hint of fear on your face before but it was gone now, it made him think that you might have used your magic on him just now. “Thank you... I swear I will not bring harm to your people.”

You gave a short nod “Good. Otherwise I'll have to kill you.” then you pointed at the sword he was carrying with him “And I'll take that sword you're carrying and any other weapon for that matter. You will get them back once you leave.”

He blinked a few times but nodded in understanding before he started to throw his weapons on the ground.

“What happened to your head ?” the boy suddenly inquired.

You quirked a brow, shooting a glance at the Weeping Monk who seemed occupied with removing all the hidden daggers he was carrying on him “Ran into some red paladins while retrieving a fey girl.”

“Is she safe ?” he quickly added and you nodded.

“She'll live. Don't worry.” you assured the boy and quickly moved your hand through his hair, rummaging it even more.

He stepped away from you and you let out a soft laugh.

The Weeping Monk threw his last dagger to the ground.

“You however should go to our infirmary with haste, I bet those wounds are burning. Come, I'll show you the way.” your eyes focused on the amount of dried blood that was still sticking to his face.

Raphael picked up the sword and daggers, you stopped him before he walked off with them and took the sword from him. Tucking it behind your back next to your own sword.

The weeping monk watched you curiously.

You shrugged your shoulders “You'll get it back.” tilting your head towards a door at the other end of the room “I'll take you to our healers. Follow me.”

Taglist:

@linkpk88​ @5am-cigarette​ @lancelotapricot​

[missdawnandherdusk]

stay alive and say you love me

Remus X Reader (marauder’s era)

Summary: Request: @heavenlyrainyparis​: something angsty with young remus

A/n: ehehehehehehehe

There was a myth that werewolves were dangerous, that much was known. But there were also rumors that the man was not completely lost inside the beast. That if their true love spoke their full name, without fear of the beast, but with love of the man within, the curse would be broken.

Fairytales were nice and all, but real life held a different tone. When the werewolf was your best friend, and you weren’t sure true love existed, fairytales seemed sort of... stupid.

Yet, month after month, for five years you watched your best friend come back beaten and bruised. Scarred and damaged. And it broke your heart. All you wanted was to make it better. To make it go away...

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Remus croaked from the hospital bed.

“I can’t watch this, Remus,” I took his hand in mine, pressing it to my lips, and inhaling deeply, trying to reassure myself that he was alright. He squeezed my hand with the strength he had left.

I drew the line that summer. There had to be a way to make it go away. After that night, I wasn’t going to give up until I found the answer.

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

Remus appeared out of nowhere, tapping on my window weakly. I jumped, surprised, but smiled when I saw that it was Remus. My smile turned to despair when I realized my windowpane was now streaked with blood.

“Remus!?” I threw the window open, frantic. There was no use in trying to help him though without placing my hand on an open wound. There were too many.

“Rem!? What happened?” I interrogated laying him on the bed. My eyes flickered to the night sky and I had my answer.

Blood soaked through what was left of his shirt and the few bits of unmarred skin I could see were covered with a sheen of sweat.

“Come on Remus, just a bit longer, just hold on,” I murmured, pulling out my wand.

The healing spell was slow going. Very slow going. I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own.

“Mum!” I screamed, tears in my eyes. “Mum!?” My desperate plea had both her and my dad barging into my room, wands drawn. “I can’t do it,” I squeaked. “I... I’m not strong enough,”

I could hear them gasp at the boy who was lain on my bed and without hesitation, they got to work. My father ordered me to get towels and dampen a washcloth. I scrambled to the bathroom and tried to follow his orders with shaking hands.

When I came back into the room, Remus was no longer bleeding out, all of his wounds had been stitched back together with magic, but there was still so much blood. Too much blood. I stood there frozen.

“Y/n,” My mother broke my trance and my feet pulled me forward. “He’s going to live,”

A hopeless cry left my lips as I shook like a leaf in a hurricane. Remus was still out cold, probably from the blood loss or the intensity of the magic, but it didn’t aid my thoughts of him dying in my arms even the slightest. Rational thoughts had been thrown out the blood-stained window. My mind went onto autopilot.

My father closed the window and threw a quick cleaning spell to tidy my room and rid it of blood, but Remus and I were still covered in it. I understood the need for the towel and washcloth. With help from my mother, I was able to get his shirt off.

Next was the blood. There was so much of it over him. Gently with the damp washcloth, I began wiping it away. Starting on his chest working down. The red gave way to beautiful pale marred skin. Next here his hands and forearms. Bit by bit I cleaned all of the blood off of him.

My father came in with a clean rag, and taking it, I wiped the sweat from his face, brushing his hair from his face. His steady pants against my fingers gave me hope that he would be okay.

“Come back to me Remmy.” I cried softly, tears making their way down my face. My mother placed a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to her, hopeless and scared.

“He’s going to be alright,” She encouraged, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Stay with him tonight. We’ll contact his parents.”

“James and Sirius,” I choked out.

“We’ll take care of it,” My father smiled softly. “Rest now darling. You did well,”

I collapsed beside Remus and as soon as my eyes closed, I didn’t have the strength to open them again.

I woke, blazing hot in the middle of the night and realized why as soon as my eyes adjusted. Remus had moved and was now on his side facing me, his arms cradled around me ensnaring me in the sauna I woke up too.

I frowned though my muddled sleepy thoughts. He was never this warm before. One quick touch to his forehead and I felt him burning under my fingertips. Regretting to leave him, I scrambled out of bed and moved Remus back onto his back, carefully tucking his arms on his chest. I dampened another washcloth and pressed it to his forehead then I decided to get another and carefully wipe down his neck and shoulders in hope to cool him off. It seemed to work. His skin wasn’t burning under my touch anymore. I wished he’d wake and drink some water. It would help.

I thought about getting my mother again, just to feel the comfort, and to be consoled that Remus would be okay, but a soft croak caught my attention.

“Y/n?” A weak voice called. I went on high alert.

“Remus! Great stars, are you okay!? What happened? Do you need anything?” Tears pricked my eyes as I reached out for him.

Remus gave a weak laugh that turned to coughs so I helped him sit up and rubbed his back just between his shoulder blades. I reached over and offered him a glass of water.

“Please drink this,” My voice was hopeless as I begged.

He didn’t protest as he drained the glass. His breathing was still slightly strained, but he was awake. I could be grateful for that.

“How do you feel? Do you want anything?” Worry riddled my voice.

He shook his head and set down the glass.

“Thank you.” He whispered out his voice less raspy.

“Don’t do that to me,” I whimpered, wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder. Weakly I felt his arms encase me.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out. “I knew you’d be here.”

I nodded, “I’m always here, Rem,” My tears fell onto his shoulder.

My adrenaline wore off and I could feel my eyelids growing heavy, but I didn’t want to sleep. Not when Remus was awake, not when I could be reassured that he was alright. But Remus must have sensed my exhaustion and carefully tucked me into his arms and pulling a blanket back over us, letting me sleep as his blue eyes stayed trained on mine.

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

After that night, I was always beside Remus every night after full moon. When James and Sirius brought him back and he’d recover in the hospital wing. I was right by his side. Something changed between us. A bond was formed. That night we realized how much we needed the other. It was always unspoken, but it was not unseen by others. It kept my by his side whenever I could manage. In the halls, in class, at meals, in the common room, during the summer.

It was fifth year that I had found the book. That I had read the rumor. The possibility.

“...just as love holds power, so do names. To speak the name of a man to a wolf with such love is enough to break the curse of the moon...”

I told Remus. And he refused to let me even try. We fought over it again and again. Every time I would argue that I would not go through that night again if I had the chance to fix it. Remus always demanded to know if I loved him. I didn’t know how to answer that, and the matter always dropped. McGonagall didn’t have an answer for me. No one had an answer for me. I only had one question. And the next full moon I would have my answer. I would have my best friend finally safe.

I followed the five of them to the Whomping Willow and called for Remus before they could disappear. I watched the horror settle in his eyes and the disbelief in James’ and Sirius’. Peter had disappeared. Remus was the first to speak.

“What the hell are you doing!?” He shouted at me. “I’m dangerous Y/n! Please for your own good, go back!”

“My own good!? Remus, please! I have been there since we were kids! You think I’m gonna back out now!?” There were tears in my eyes as I reached for him. “Let me do this, please,”

James and Sirius came rushing up behind him but paused at the scene.

“Y/n, it’s a full moon what are you doing!?” James hissed.

“I’m not giving up on him,” I snapped back. “Not again,”

“Y/n, please be rational, you can’t protect yourself! How do you think I’d feel knowing that I’d hurt you!?” Remus was close to tears.

“The only way you’d hurt me is to make me leave,” I cried. “Remus, please,”

Before my eyes I watched the moonlight wash over the four of us and I saw three of my friends morph into animals, two of them coming to protect me, one glaring me down snarling. Remus launched himself at me but Sirius, now a large black dog, intercepted. A scream left my lips as I watched the two fight, crashing down the hill.

I started to go after them, but James stood in front of my, antlers barred. 

“James this is ridiculous!” I shouted. “Remus is my best friend!”

James bayed at me, knocking me back.

I heard a howl of pain and I pulled out my wand, stunning James and running toward the sound. I saw Sirius limping away and Remus was circling around him, growling fiercely. Without thinking I put myself between the two, wand at the ready to protect Sirius from getting hurt worse.

“Remus, please,” I begged. “You’re not the wolf, you’re... you’re my best friend.”

The wolf stalked closer barring his teeth at me, his golden eyes shining. Sirius snarled from behind me.

“I’m not afraid, Remus,” I whispered. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not going to run.”

Golden eyes flashed a deep blue then back again. It gave me hope. I finally asked the question. I finally answered Remus’.

“I love you, Remus John Lupin,”

Reaching out for him I watched in shock and awe as the wolf before me became a bit more human with each second that passed. Soon Remus was curled up on the ground, shaking. Quickly I took off my robe and draped it around his shoulders. Tousled brown hair fell about his face. I slowly reached up and brushed it away.

“You do love me?” He panted out.

“Of course, I love you Remus,” Tears stung my eyes. “How could I not?”

“I’m... I’m a monster,”

“No, you’re not,” I smiled, stroking his cheek softly. “You’ve never been a monster,”

“Hey not to break up a sweet moment, but uh, what did you do to James?” Sirius asked, now on two legs. “I’ll fix him I just don’t know what counter curse to use,”

“Oh,” My cheeks flushed red. “I stunned him.” 

“Okay, cool, continue,” Sirius nodded.

Remus laughed hopelessly beside me, and I joined in. I laid my head against his shoulder and looked up at the moon.

“Please don’t ever do that again,” Remus spoke softly. “You have no idea how scared I was,” 

“I’m sorry,” I amended quickly. “I really am, I never want to hurt you Remus,”

“The only way to hurt me is hurting you,” he clarified.

I nodded and intertwined my fingers with his as we watched the moonlit valley.

“Oi! Y/n! What in Merlin’s name possessed you to—” James stopped short when he saw Remus and I sitting together in the grass, both human. “I thought he was lying.”

“I told you so,” Sirius muttered.

“You really got him to turn back? And you couldn’t have mentioned that before we had to go quiet for a month?” James demanded. “You’ve known this whole time!?”

“We didn’t know if it would work,” I clarified. “And Remus wasn’t willing to risk it.” 

“By the way what the hell were you thinking?” Remus scolded again, pulling me closer.

“I couldn’t watch you keep destroying yourself Remmy,” I looked up at him through my eyelashes and saw forgiveness in his eyes.

“So... you’ve known about this for how long? And you wouldn’t let her?” Sirius raised an eyebrow at his friend. “What would make you think that it wouldn’t work? You love her, Rem. And bloody hell she loves you,”

“I could never admit it,” I gnawed on my lower lip. “I was so scared to,” I hid my face in his shoulder. “All I could think about was that night... and losing you for good, and I was scared,” Remus rubbed my arm comfortingly, holding me tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Come on love birds,” Sirius grinned, “Let’s get you inside,”

Though our little secret kept Remus from transforming more than a few moments, it didn’t change his exhaustion beforehand and slightly after. Nor did it deter his craving for chocolate, but along with these permanent things over the years, one thing also never changed.

You loved Remus John Lupin.

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masterlist

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i’ve got you

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[nalgenewhore]

<3<3<3

masterlist - ao3 - day four - day six

<3<3<3

The stupid beads on her stupid headdress dangle over her eyes and Elide angrily bats them away, her other hand white-knuckled in the heavy, ruby-red skirts of her dress. 

She stalks through the circus grounds, anger and hate nearly sparking from her eyes. Because of their cover, Lorcan’s taken to bracing Elide’s ankle constantly, but her gratitude for it and her growing affection for the female cannot placate her now. 

It’s the third night in a row that Elide’s customers at the oracle’s tent have been driven off to see Lorcan’s performance, and Elide has reached her breaking point.

The female is doing it to annoy her, she just knows it. She will not crack and pretends to hate it, pretends to not know that Lorcan craves her attention. 

On the other side of the grounds they’ve claimed is Lorcan’s clearing. The crowd is too thick for Elide to push her way through, so she climbs onto a barrel for a vantage point. 

Lorcan’s hatchet and dagger are gleaming arcs of light as she fights the foolish man who thought he could best her. A line, near a mile long, snakes its way around. Elide doesn’t understand mortal men and their fascination with proving their power over women and females. She marvels at their confidence, when it seems as though Lorcan is hardly breaking a sweat and the bored expression on her harsh face clearly shows that this is nothing but play to her, not even challenging enough to be considered training. 

She whirls and spins, always getting the best of her opponent, who stumbles around after her, trying to get a single hit. 

It’s beautiful, the way Lorcan moves, each move effortless and deliberate. The way her hair shifts like rustling grasses on a flat, open plain, not once getting caught on her opponent’s rusty sword. 

Then, in a flurry of motion that has Elide’s brows lifting and heat rising to her cheeks, Lorcan’s contender is tripped and his back slams into the hard dirt, where wild grasses used to grow. The tip of Lorcan’s hatchet presses into his flabby neck and Elide stares, her eyes glassing over as she watches the vein in his neck pump rapidly with his racing pulse. 

Slowly, she wanders her eyes up the weapon and Lorcan’s arm, tracing the lines of toned muscle visible through the shirt that clings to her sweaty, glowing skin. 

“And the winner is Lorcan!” Nic announces, eagerly stepping forward to triumphantly lift Lorcan’s hand. Unlike before, his eyes don’t stray to the precarious neckline of Lorcan’s open shirt. The still-red slice beneath his left eye is a warning to others, of what will happen should one forget their place. 

The disgust on Lorcan’s face is unmasked and she snatches her hand back, baring her non-human teeth. Wisely, his face paling, Nic steps away, self-consciously lifting his hand to the cruel wound that still smarts. 

Good. 

Lorcan looks elsewhere, possibly to her next challenger, but her eyes slide to Elide. She reads the angered desire in them and smirks, her steps swaggering as she returns to her starting position. 

It’s almost as if she expects Elide to sit and simper like the rest of her adoring public. Elide’s upper lip curls with annoyance and she gets down from the barrel, her skirts dragging on the ground. She glares down at them and lifts them up, wanting to shred them to pieces. 

Instead of doing what she wishes, Elide leaves, her back straight and chin lifted in defiance. 

She returns to her tent, where no one awaits. Hardly anyone is by this end anyway, all drawn to the strongwoman’s show. Elide rips the sign down and aggressively shoves the heavy curtains aside as she stomps inside. 

The first second that she’s alone and hidden from the world, Elide yanks the headdress off and throws it away. She pushes her hair back from her sweaty forehead and sighs, slowly walking to the rickety card table erected in the middle of the tent. 

Elide takes a cloth from the table and walks to the corner, where there is a collection of cushions and pillows to recline against. She remains standing and picks up the pitcher of water. Elide dunks her cloth in it and uses the sodden material to wipe the thick layer of cosmetics from her face. Every evening, Molly and Ombriel insist on pasting it across Elide’s face. She hates how thick it feels on her skin. 

Face cleansed, Elide pulls the pins from her hair, letting the thick tresses, rich and dark like cocoa, fall around her shoulders. She scratches her scalp, easing the pain from her roots. Then, Elide sits, slowly lying down and looking at the candles that surround her. 

She tracks the wax drops falling down the sides, spilling over the cheap candle holders, as she waits for Molly to shout that the carnival has ended. Then, she’ll return to the too-small tent and wait for Lorcan. Neither have ever mentioned how Elide cannot fall asleep until Lorcan’s arrived.

After a few minutes, when Elide has still not heard Molly’s shout, someone shoulders through the tent flaps. She sits up, expecting Ombriel here for the money, but sees Lorcan, bare from the hips up, save for the tight chest wraps she dons every morning. Elide rolls her eyes and says drily, “You know that Molly will be begging you to stay.” 

Lorcan walks until she’s reached the back of the tent and picks up Elide’s water jug. She drinks deeply and accidentally sloshes some of the cool liquid down her chin. Transfixed, Elide watches a bead of water trail down the line of Lorcan’s throat, catching on her collarbone. 

Her cheeks heat again. 

“Nic cannot wait for us to go,” Lorcan counters, putting the jug down and standing above Elide with a hand on her hip. 

Elide rolls her eyes again and crosses her arms, jerking her chin towards the absence of a shirt. “Did you sell your shirt too, then?”

The grin that slices across the death-blessed Fae’s face can only be described as wicked. “Sure did. Got fifteen coppers from a farmer’s wife for it.” 

“That’s disgusting.” 

“What, the fact that it was a woman?” 

“No,” Elide says, narrowing her eyes, “the fact that someone would pay for your sweaty clothes.” 

For some reason, Lorcan takes Elide’s engagement in the conversation as an invitation and sits down, propping up cushions to lean against. She tucks her hands behind her head and shrugs, “Money is money.” 

Elide eyes her, “You don’t seem so…” 

“Irritated?” 

“Murderous.” 

Lorcan hums, “Besting thirty men and having fifteen of their wives offer a spot in their beds does that to a person.” 

Elide digs her nails into her upper arms hard enough to leave crescent marks. She can’t explain the feeling that shakes her body and makes her want to snarl in the face of those women. “Then why aren’t you with them.”

Lorcan surveys the candles, the carpets, the pillows and cushions. Her eyes don’t miss the tight grip of Elide’s hands and something like satisfaction flashes across her gaze. “I do not care for mortal women who like to use me to explore their desires. I am not a… plaything or an experiment.” She smoothly gets to her feet and picks up the cloth Elide discarded earlier. One side is smeared with a white paste of cosmetics, so she flips it and uses it to wipe the grime from her skin. “You know, I heard a great many men tonight speaking of the things they’d like to do to you. Why not have your fun with them?” 

The thought of any man, but especially the ones who leered at her this evening, touching her skin… their bodies on hers… Elide has to fight the shudder that runs through her and the urge to crawl out of her skin. 

She drops her hands into her lap and looks down at them, idly fingering a rip in the cheap fabric that chafes her smooth, creamy skin. “I do not want them.” 

Lorcan retakes her seat, but she’s closer to Elide now. Close enough that Elide can see the hints of smile lines on her cheeks. “Do you prefer women?” 

“No. I do not ‘prefer’ women.” Elide looks up, like recognising like. “I do not care for men. At all. Not in that way.” Hardly in any way.

“Neither do I,” Lorcan says, her voice almost… soft. 

A small smile twists Elide’s plush lips, “I knew that. You… do not hide it well, if that is what you’re trying to do.” 

Surprisingly, Lorcan laughs. It’s nothing more than a dry chuckle that hisses through her teeth, but it stirs something warm in Elide’s belly. “I suppose I do not. I no longer care to have the patience one needs to deal with them.” 

“Did you ever?” 

“No,” Lorcan laughs, again. 

Elide decides she likes it when Lorcan laughs, and she wants to hear the rasping sound for the rest of her days. Carefully, with fear of rejection, Elide moves closer. Lorcan is silent, her dark eyes tracking Elide with some sort of warmth. 

It’s- it’s too much. Elide looks down again, shifting her skirts. Her ankle is exposed, Lorcan’s magic snugly wrapped around it. She stares at it a moment, her fingers twitching. 

“Does… does it hurt?” The words sound unnatural, like Lorcan has never asked that. 

Elide looks up, “No. Not really. It’s… it’s just sore.” 

Lorcan frowns, glaring at her ankle. Around it, her power slithers, holding it tighter. “You told me the magic helped. Why does it hurt.” 

“You know,” Elide teases, “that’s supposed to be a question.” 

Lorcan glares at her, utterly unimpressed by her avoidance. 

Elide sighs and rolls her eyes, “The brace helps, but… the bones healed improperly. No matter what, it will always hurt a little bit. I hardly notice it anymore.” 

The fierceness eases from her face, but there’s a different anger that fills her gaze. Lorcan studies her ankle and touches it with a gentle finger. “It… hurts most of all here.” The slivers of cool, dry death move to apply more pressure. A slight twinge eases a bit of the stiffness. “And here.” 

She fixes everything she can, and Elide is… it’s far lighter. She smiles and looks up at Lorcan, “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Lorcan says, silently looking at Elide. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Because. I want to kiss you.” 

A sly brow arches up, “Really? Is there a… reason you haven’t yet?” Elide tilts closer, “Are you frightened?” 

Lorcan snarls and slides her hand to the side of Elide’s neck, stroking her thumb over the corner of Elide’s jaw. She’s almost… gentle when she kisses Elide. 

The smaller woman grins and grazes Lorcan’s bottom lip with her teeth. She licks into Lorcan’s mouth, slightly out of practice. In her teenage years, she had her fun and filth with the maid girls, or the laundress’ daughter who delivered her sheets. 

At Morath… Manon. But she’s never truly wanted a person as much as Lorcan. 

The demi-Fae cups the back of her head and twists her onto her back, leaning between her legs. She controls it, kisses Elide slow and deep. 

Elide sighs softly and gives in, arching her back into the female above her. Lorcan’s fingertips drag down her spine and her hand grabs Elide’s backside.

Lorcan slides her lips down Elide’s jaw and her canines nearly breaking the skin beneath it. Elide’s gasp is caught in her throat and then Lorcan stops. She lifts her head. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nic.” 

A whip of Lorcan’s magic snaps out and strikes through the heavy tent curtains. There’s a scuffing and the scent of piss and… fear, so thick that Elide nearly gags on it. 

Then, a heavy body thumps on the ground. Lorcan slowly rises to her feet, still touching her hand to Elide’s. “He’s dead.”

Elide stands and places her hand on Lorcan’s jaw, turning her face back, “Then it’s done.” 

Lorcan wraps her arms around Elide’s waist and dips her dramatically, catching her lips again. She’s not sure she’ll stop craving the taste and feel of it. 

After a long, lazy moment, Elide tilts her chin away. “We have our own tent. A private tent.” 

Those dark, depthless eyes glitter, “Is that so.” 

“Yes,” she grins. “And, just so I know, is this… a one night tryst for you?” 

“I’m yours for however long you wish.” 

Elide traces her fingertip over the dip in Lorcan’s collarbones, “If I wanted you for longer than one night?” 

“Yes, even then.” 

“Months?” 

“Even then.” 

“Years?” 

“Even then.”

Elide kisses Lorcan once more, “And if I wished for forever?” 

Lorcan thinks for a moment, her lashes brushing against Elide’s high, rosy cheeks. “Especially then.”

<3<3<3

an: i. am. in luv with them. im obsessed. 

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