#I’m lugging around a dead person

[takeyourcyanide]

Medicated or not, you’re going to deteriorate anyway. Are you not just preventing the inevitable? There’s no point in fighting it, is there? I suppose preventing it means more time to have some fun. But what fun am I currently having? I’ve nothing to open up at the moment, so none. And even apart from that, they’re only giving you medication to suppress you, right? You know the truth, and authorities have never liked that.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Four: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship, sexual content, pervy behavior, male masturbation, panty kink, sex daydreams [eventual warning for smut; be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is doing his very best, he just loves you and wants you to be comfy around him. Just let him worm his way into your heart babe [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. I’m illiterate so apologies in advance MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 8th

Mr. Nelson’s funeral was today, it really was a beautiful ceremony as I look back on it. Even more so when my inner self smears the background enough to bring you to the front of the mental image.

You’d spoken to the man a handful of times, but I didn’t expect you to come. When I saw you accept the invite to the event on Facebook I thought surely it was a mistake. That was until you messaged Luke and asked him to accompany you, funerals make you nervous, but feeling obligated to do something and avoiding it makes you more nervous.

So your moral support was happy to attend and fight off dear old Alan’s corpse should he rise from the casket and set his sights on you.

And I though I had irrational fears, geez babydoll, how old were you when you watched Night of The Living Dead for the first time? If I had to guess it was too young. It’s alright though I get it, you know what movie traumatized me? The Mummy. Heebied my fucking Jeebies so bad I avoided the beach on family vacations.

You’re telling me there’s not a sarcophagus under all that sand? There’s at least one under there and you can’t convince me otherwise.

Solid ground for me only, please and thank you.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I had a thought that I initially considered to be a sweet reminder of my dear friend Alan. His obituary was in the newspaper and I happened to swipe one from the guest book table at the viewing as well. Have you ever scrapbooked before? I bet you’ve at least tried it.

Well I thought it would be nice to make him a page in my journal. A little celebration of life for the man who gave me an opportunity to grow and nurture my love for you.

Then I realized mid-glue stick on the newspaper clipping that the idea was something that a clinically insane person would do.

I’m not that guy. That guy’s not me.

But the glue was already on there and it felt wrong to toss Alan’s wrinkly old face into the trash so I pasted him into my journal anyway.

Crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy. I’m well aware that little idea was less than tasteful, just felt like I should mention that.

Date:

July 28th

Anakin Skywalker hadn’t been this happy since… ever. The previous record being his discovery of you, was now toppled into second place and overshadowed by ‘Move In Day’.

He could hardly contain himself. It was a dopamine high that he would ride out until he’d drained every last drop.

The movers lugged in box after box, furniture and books, until finally they dropped off the last load and thanked Anakin for the business. He eagerly shook their hand and shoved them out. He had preparations to make.

He set up his Tv, screen mirroring the live feed of the apartment building entrance to the big screen so that he could easily keep an eye out for you while he unpacked his kitchen.

He’d planned your ‘meet-cute’ meticulously, looking to your bookshelf and streaming services to gather intel on your ideal scenario. You were an odd bird, but he liked that about you. It’s part of your charm, it’s part of the challenge. You’re not as predictable in your tastes and interests as others can be.

Anakin formulated the interaction step by step, frame by frame in the storyboard of his imagination until he had the perfect scene. His box office hit that he’d replay over and over again until the next time he stood face to face with you.

It took quite some time and a load of practice. Discarded dialogue, awkward movements that made him feel stiff and less than human when he practiced them in the mirror. Endless options of clothes, shoes, and hair.

Should he get a new piercing? He wanted to. So he did, he knew you’d like it.

It’d match the one he already had on the opposite nostril. It made him feel more complete to add something so permanent to his body, he wished he could do something similar with you. He wanted you to be permanent, so maybe it’s his subconscious’s way of telling him that this was going in the right direction.

He was on the right path. His journey of life alone was coming to a close and a new trail would reveal itself. No more rocky, unsteady tread. No more sharp turns and blind spots, no more impossible inclines.

Scraped knees and bloodied hands would be distant memories. Maybe even distant enough that he could toss them into The Pit.

He would have no need for anger or sorrow anymore.

How could he feel anything but the warm embrace of love as he strolled down the flowered path ahead with you?

Who knew that you could position one box in 83 different ways and hate every single one of them? Anakin was so thankful there weren’t any actual surveillance cameras in the apartment building. It’d be really difficult to explain why he was in the hallway for an hour with his hands on his hips, scooting a box of books a centimeter or two at a time. Turning it sideways and then making sure the book on top was perfectly positioned and would effectively fall to the ground to catch your attention.

He checked his watch nonstop, stared at his Tv screen, willing you to just hurry the fuck up before he vomited from anxiety. He’d waited months for this. If he fucked it up now he’d… well he’d probably keel over on the spot.

Which would promptly traumatize you and not even his ghost would be able to peacefully haunt you. It’s hard to peacefully haunt someone if they watched you die, or at least Anakin assumed it would be difficult. He wasn’t willing to test that theory though.

So, he puffed up his chest and walked back into his apartment and rehearsed the upcoming conversation a few more times. He needed, desperately needed to ensure his facial expressions conveyed what he wanted.

Soft, trustworthy, dependable, safe, caring.

He practiced softening his eyes, knowing sometimes he stared alittle too hard. He worked on his facial fidget; chewing on the inside of his cheek was a quick tell of his nervousness. He didn’t want to be perceived as nervous, he wanted to be confident and sure of himself so that you would be confident in your soon to blossom affection for him.

His eyebrows, that’s a hard one, but he’d meticulously watched bar goers trying to flirt. The successful ones he learned, sometimes use their eyebrows in place of questions or words. A difficult concept, but one he studied until he mastered it.

Now, the other facial expressions and mannerisms… he gathered that information from your watch lists on your streaming services. For the visible examples at least, but your books were just as helpful in describing how he should approach you, speak to you, and simply exist near you.

He hadn’t realized these things were this important until now. Standing and posture was surprisingly very, very important to women. As well as hand movements and subtle glances and minuscule changes of expression.

You were worth the time and effort it took to learn all of it. He’d read and research and practice until he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror any longer. He was determined to make sure you were happy with the results.

He was startled by a loud ping, someone had entered to building and holy shit it was you.

Anakin shook out his hands frantically, remembering the breathing techniques he’d learned as a child, he grounded himself quickly.

It’s okay.

‘She’s gonna love you. She’ll warm up to you quickly, you know everything you need to know about her to make her comfortable and loved.’

‘There’s no way she won’t fall head over heels.’

He smoothed out his band-tee and ran his hands through his hair quickly and headed to his door that was propped open slightly. A few boxes sat in the hall, including the most important one, the one instrumental to his plan.

The apartment hallway was ridiculously tiny, which worked in his favor in this situation.

He heard you come up the stairs, counted your steps until he knew you were almost at the door, 17 and a half steps. Then he swung open the door and bent down to grab one of the boxes.

As expected, he startled you and you dropped your keys. You always wore your backpack on one shoulder, one strap. So when you quickly went to scoop up your keys, your bag swung out of place and toppled a few books from one of the boxes.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Anakin could gloat to himself about his magnificent setup later, right now he needed to woo you with his sweet words.

“Oh, sweetheart I’m sorry.” He said softly, coming over to offer you a hand up.

“It’s okay, my bad.” You laughed, taking his hand.

He managed to keep calm and collected despite his insides boiling him alive at the willing skin contact.

“No, not at all. It’s my fault for startling you like that.” He chuckled, squeezing your upper arm and using his hand already in yours to give you a small handshake. Smooth.

“I’m Anakin.” He said with a bashful smile, dropping your hand and reveling in the lingering warmth your palm left on his.

You introduced yourself in return, gesturing to his apartment door.

“So I take it that you’re my new neighbor huh?” You said, making small talk as you crouched down to pick up the books you’d knocked over.

“No I’m just a one man moving crew.” He grinned.

“Very funny.” You laughed, standing up as you looked through the titles. “Hmm, you’ve got good taste.”

“You think so?” He asked, remembering to make his eyebrows swoop up toward the middle of his forehead to give a quizzical look.

“Oh yeah, this is one of my favorites.” You said, showing him the cover of The Silmarillion by Tolkien.

“Not many people actually read that one, I’m impressed.” He smiled.

“Impressed? Yeah well I’m jealous.” You laughed.

“What?” He chuckled, holding his hands out to take the other books from you.

“This is a really nice edition, it’s similar to mine. I recently lost it.” You sighed. “I think I must’ve left it the park or maybe it fell out of my bag or something.”

“Ah, that sucks… well, I mean I’ve read that one a few times now. It’s been well loved.” He said tipping the books in his arms toward the one you were holding. “Why don’t you keep it?”

He shrugged, acting nonchalant as though this didn’t mean the entire world to him and if you said no he’d sob about it later.

“You’re serious?” You asked in surprise, he was offering you a 50$ special edition book and you’d barely known him for a minute.

“Yeah, ‘course sweetheart.” He said with a cute, crooked smile. “Think of it as a… reverse house warming gift.” He chuckled.

“Thank you, I- this means a lot to me.” You said, grinning widely. “That’s real sweet of you Anakin. I owe you one.”

“No worries.” He chuckled, “I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it even sweetheart.” His gaze flickered quickly from your eyes to your lips, and he turned to go back into his apartment after giving you an almost-missed wink.

You stepped inside your home, and went straight to the bookshelf to put your new-to-you book where it belonged. After the fact you stood there and buffered, just staring at it.

‘There’s no way, this guy has to be too good to be true.’

But he seemed… so genuine. He didn’t ogle you, he didn’t make you feel weird or like he just felt obligated to speak to you.

He seemed to actually, really be a good guy.

Rare. Few and far of those exist in this day and age. It’s uncommon to meet someone who would do something, even as simple as giving you a used book, without expecting anything in return.

But he didn’t seem to expect anything. He didn’t seem to even expect a thank you, it was like he’d already decided he would give it to you before he even offered.

What are the odds that a hot, tattooed and pierced man moves in next door and gifts you an expensive book that just so happens to be an even better replacement for the one that you just lost? That couldn’t happen twice even if you tried to make it happen again.

What kind of second dimension did you step into? The land of dreamy men?

Diary Entry: July 28th

It’s late. But I have to write to you, it can’t wait til tomorrow.

Everything went more perfectly than I could’ve imagined. Thank you so much for being you sweet girl. It made my job of curating the scenery so much easier, you clumsy little thing. I am sorry for having to spook you though, but it worked didn’t it?

Research pays off. Always.

And of course there’s the issue of your book, I hated to see your frustration and your mad scowl when you realized it was missing from your backpack. I really did.

But I’d do it every goddamn day if I knew I’d get the same reaction out of you from giving you that new copy.

Oh god you’re… you’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful. You look angelic when you sleep but you look like competition for Aphrodite when you smile at me.

You smiled, grinned. You smiled all the way up to the corners of your bright and beautiful eyes. For me.

You even laughed for me.

It was so sweet I could taste it. The honey of your voice, I could fucking bathe in it. Just the sound of you speaking, knowing you were speaking to me. Really speaking to me.

In the flesh.

It’s intoxicating. It’s emboldening, it’s dangerous. I’ve never been more worked up in my life. I’m torn all to pieces from at two minute and 6 second conversation.

I think I’ll have to fucking recover from this like a damn hangover.

But what has me so drunk you might ask? Was it your laugh at my stupid jokes? Was it your perfect smile, your radiant glow, your soulful eyes? The softness of your skin or you willingness to let me touch you?

No baby. It’s how you said my name.

I wish I could’ve stayed longer, I wish I could’ve spoken to you more. But it’s so hard to concentrate when my dick is leaking precum down my leg at a rate that should probably be concerning.

The minute you closed that door I shoved those boxes into my apartment and locked the door. Took my elated ass straight to the couch and watched you in your living room, admiring your gift from me while I fucked my fist with a pair of your dirty panties in my mouth.

I couldn’t have your honeyed lips soothing my angry red cock just yet, but I sure as hell could imagine licking your gorgeous little cunt while I tasted you.

I tugged my balls and pumped my cock for over half an hour until I was a fucking mess for you in my new living room’s floor. The cool hardwood letting the heat from my flushed skin seep away from me as I came back down to earth.

I made myself dizzy. Didn’t give myself a break, didn’t slow down, just stroked my cock like the desperate little manwhore that I am for you. The only thing missing was you being there to watch me fall apart.

I think you’d like that wouldn’t you? Watching a man like me get on his knees and beg for you?

Diary Entry: July 29th

I’ve replayed that moment in my head for hours on end. The beginning always stays the same, but the ending… that’s been subject to many changes. It started off simple, we’d chat alittle longer, I’d ask you how your day was; you’d tell me it was ‘fine, thank you’.

Or you’d ask me why I decided to move in, why I chose this side of town, this side of town, this apartment building, across from you. That one always ended questionably and I’d rather not explore that one on paper.

My favorites however were the ones where you’d laugh at a stupid pick-up line and somehow we’d end up in your bed. The bed I’ve sat and watched you sleep in. Those were the best additions.

Now, I’ve been fortunate enough that you’ve been loyal, faithful and devoted to only me since the very beginning. So I don’t really have a clue what you’d actually be like in bed.

But god it’s so fun to imagine it.

You’ve got such pretty, soft skin. You let me mar it up with my teeth and soothe it with my tongue. You let me grip the pillowy flesh of your thighs to spread you open for me. You let me pinch and roll and pull your nipples until they were raw and begging for a break. You let me caress the sensitive slick covered folds between those beautiful pussy lips, plunge my fingers in as far as they’d go.

I took you from behind, watching your perky little ass bounce off my cock while I plowed into you. Your face smushed against the couch cushions and your body folded over the arm rest for me to fuck you like the good little girl that you are.

Against the wall with your arms around my neck while I’ve got my hands holding you spread open and in place by the crook of your knees. You promised you stay real still so that I could drill up into you like you deserved.

God damn. Do you know how good you look like that? Back arched against the wall, tits jiggling in my face with every thrust. Your legs pushed up and back to the sides of your torso, to pin you in place?

It was like a pretty pink flower had bloomed and spread its buttery smooth petals just for me.

Don’t even get me started on how good you suck cock. Have you ever been told you could be mistaken for a warm, wet Hoover? No? Didn’t think so cause that would be rude as hell, but I bet someone’s thought it before.

(Me. It’s me, I thought that.)

Fuck those soft lips. Fuck that smooth snake of a tongue. Fuck that tight, hot throat that just loves to take a beating from my dick.

Can’t wait to prove my imagination right.

Speaking of, my dick has been beat. Like actually. If one didn’t know any better they’d assume it’s on life support, but I’m a freak of nature. Cumming upwards of 16 times in the span of 40ish hours would probably put a weaker man in a hospital bed. Or maybe a psych ward.

But I am not a weak man even if my dick feels raw. I’d still fuck you if you asked.

I’d be curious to know if I’d be able to stave off cumming longer from all the abuse or if I’d be so fucking sensitive that I wouldn’t make it in half an inch.

Probably the latter.

Diary Entry: August 2nd

Being so close to you is killing me. Truly it is.

You’ve sunken your claws so deeply into my very soul and you don’t even realize it. It’s torture. To you, I’m just the new guy, nice dude who gave you a book. But to me? You’re my entire world.

I’ve been told I have the personality of a guard dog. Soft and squishy on the inside, dangerous and fierce on the outside. Which I suppose could be true, but really I think it’s for a different reason. For a human, a dog is one small but very impactful blip in your life. But for the dog? You are it’s life.

Am I comparing myself to a dog right now? Yes I am.

I’ll beg for you to throw me the scraps of your affections until you finally toss me a bone.

Bark.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I’ve been trying my best to give you space. To plan accordingly and in advance. I have our next two interactions simmering on the back burner.

I know that if I go too hard, too fast, you’ll be overwhelmed. That’s the last thing I want. I never want to be the thing that causes you stress, I want to siphon it from you. So, in one week I will set out to help you with a few of your errands and plant a few seeds.

But until then, we have late night snacks and couch chats with Boogie.

I’ve also been doing- you guessed it- more research to do with helpful vitamins and medicines. You’ve responded so well to your SleepyTime tea and since I’ve started making sure your birth control packet is plainly visible in the countertop basket directly beneath that cabinet, you’ve been taking it so well.

I’m so proud of you sweetheart, that’s my girl, look at you taking care of yourself. You’ve done so well in fact, that it’s in my personal opinion that you have earned a very special reward.

Anakin sat on his couch, the live feed of your living room screen mirrored to his Tv. He was watching you cook dinner, he knew you’d be making a stir fry. He’d seen it in your planner, so he’d taken the liberty of ordering himself the same, it’d be here any minute. As would your good friend Sam.

Anakin had originally burned red hot with jealousy at the thought of you inviting a man over to your apartment, that he hadn’t vetted via social media and a quick drop-in. But he was relieved to discover that Sam was just a girl from your book club.

This wasn’t one of his well thought out plans, this was decided upon this morning after you’d returned from book club. So, he was anxious to see if his hunches served him well. Sam seemed like a punctual gal, at least from what he’d seen on social media and the text messages between the two of you from weeks/months before.

Anakin had the wonderful idea to log into your cell service providers website to pull your deleted messages from their data bank. You really should have better passwords.

The thing he was most worried about was his door dasher arriving on time. It was rare that one was too far off on arrival time, but it would be his shit luck and lack of planning that could ruin this little glimpse of you.

The minutes ticked by and he was alerted to the new motion sensors he’d placed near the LED pathway lights on the paved entrance to the apartment building. He quickly switched over to the hallway feed at the front door, seeing that it was his door dasher.

Damn you Trevor. How dare you get there before Sam.

Not to worry, he’d call for the door code and Anakin wouldn’t answer the first time. It wasn’t much but it would buy him a few seconds.

Though it seemed to be that luck was on his side as it often was when it came to you. Sam was so kind, kind enough to let the delivery guy into the building. Which is technically a security concern but Trevor didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d be able to remember a 6 digit door code.

He was too busy staring at your friends ass to pay attention to the numbers she entered anyway.

The footsteps approached your door and his, Anakin waited until he heard Sam knock on your door before he opened his. Trevor stood patiently as Anakin slowly counted out his tip in cash and thankfully you were quick to let your friend inside. After the exchange was complete Anakin gave you a smile and wave.

He could’ve had a heart attack at the response you gave him.

A flirty little finger waggle and smile.

He had to remind himself to breathe and keep his expression a happy-neutral. He’d hate for you to see his blushing cheeks this early on.

“Have a good night girls.” He said as he closed his door and to his surprise you actually answered.

“You too!”

If he weren’t confident that you were a sweet and loving soul, he’d think you were trying to kill him with the siren song of your voice.

Stir fry had never tasted so fucking good.

Diary Entry: July 8th

Grocery day baby, here I come.

I love that you’re so predictable. I love that you’re so fucking cute and always try to strong arm your groceries in one trip. I love that it takes at least two good whacks to the trunk of your shitty old Nissan to properly close it.

It’s cute to watch you struggle with it, the annoyed huffs and angry scowl.

I thought you’d combust on the spot once when your paper grocery bag of flour and sugar ripped open and sent a plume of flour up on your black jeans. The parking lot was very empty and I was very glad because I’d hate for someone to have seen the cursing contest you had with yourself as you picked up your spilled items. Very unladylike you know. But it’s you so I don’t mind, I just like to hear you talk.

It’s almost time. I’ve been sitting in my car for about 10 minutes. Gotta account for the traffic on highway 76. Do you really have to shop all the way out there just because of the Whole Foods? C’mon baby they have the same shit at Kroger.

I’ve been watching your little blue dot on my phone and you’re rounding the corner so I’ll write you later doll.

I love you.

You pulled into the parking lot and sat in your car for a moment. Giving yourself the much need quiet to decompress from your work day and the grocery trip. After you’d checked your messages and scrolled for a moment you decided it was time to head inside before your frozen foods got… not so frozen.

You popped the trunk and fumbled with the faulty latch, your fingers feeling blindly under the metal lip until it finally detached and you were able to open the trunk.

You took a deep breath and scolded yourself for buying the extra few things that could’ve waited till next time. Second trips are for wimps and you weren’t one. So you loaded up your left arm bag by bag until you heard a humored puff of air and the beep of a car locking behind you.

“Need a hand sweetheart?” Anakin grinned, shoving his keys into his front pocket.

He waltzed over and took a few bags off your hands without waiting for a response. It took you aback, not because he hadn’t waited for permission, but because of the way he exuded an odd charm that made you falter.

“Anakin, really it’s alright I can get it.” You said, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion by his kind gesture.

“Mmm no, this seems like a two man mission sweet girl.” He smiled, gathering up a few the last few bags from the trunk and shutting it with one solid push.

“You really don’t have to-“

“I know I don’t have to.” He said tilting his head toward the apartment building to encourage you to walk with him. “I want to.”

“Thank you, that’s… thanks.” You smiled, a light blush creeping across your cheeks.

“Atta girl.” He chuckled, tapping in the door code and holding it open for you despite holding many more bags than you.

Something about the low tone of voice or maybe just the way he looked at you with his icey blue eyes… just sent a chill down your spine. A quick one that was gone in an instant, replaced by a warm glow in the center of your chest.

“Guess chivalry’s not dead.” You joked.

“I’m no knight.” He laughed, “but you’re sure as hell a princess.”

‘Oh that was smooth.’ You thought, trying to ignore the heat at the bottom of your stomach.

What is happening? How on earth can one man be so… everything? Kind, caring, chivalrous and gorgeous to boot.

You felt a wave of embarrassment at the squeaky giggle you let out. He had you tore up from one little comment.

True to the gentleman he seemed to be, he chose not to push it and tease you about your beet red cheeks. He just waited patiently for you as you unlocked your door.

“Do you want me to bring these in for you?” He asked, watching your movements closely.

“Oh that would be great.” You said in relief, leading him into your kitchen.

“Cute little place.” He said, looking around the kitchenette and over to the living room.

He sat down your bags on the counter and started unloading them neatly into rows.

“Oh, you-“

“Mmm mmm.” He shook his head with a smirk, “Just let me help, it’s no big deal.”

You let out a puff of air in an amused sort of amazement and pulled out your little step stool to open up the cabinets. Anakin snickered from behind you as you stepped up and started putting things away.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder and almost said something snarky until you realized he was folding your paper grocery bags in the same way that you always do.

“Huh.” You laughed. “I thought I was the only one who did that.”

“Did what?” He asked, his head cocked to the side.

“Fold the bags.” You said, turning back around to continue placing your things where they belonged.

“Oh,” he chuckled, “I dunno it’s just a habit I guess. Fits better in that stupid slot on the recycling bin this way.”

“Yeah I never really understood why they made them that way? I guess so people don’t just shove other trash in there.” You mused.

“Mmhm probably.” He agreed, stacking them neatly and gathering it in his hands. “Do you want me to take these out back for you?”

“I can do-“ You stopped yourself when Anakin raised his eyebrow and cocked his head to the side with a crooked smirk.

You sighed and gave him a downturned smile. “Yes, I would love for you to take them out back for me.”

“Good girl.” He nodded, clicking his tongue and heading for the door. “See ya princess.”

After he shut the door you let yourself breathe alittle easier, blowing out the air in a short puff through your nose. Maybe even letting a little smile cross your lips before you finished up your task.

You’d be thinking about that low rumble of his voice later. Good girl? Shit.

PART FIVE

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[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 3)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, canon typical violence (mostly all off screen), descriptions of dead/dismembered bodies, reader is injured (leg injury and slapped), the kidnapper emotionally manipulates the reader, on page murder. Author's note: Thank you so much for all the support it's been crazy!!! This chapter is a bit intense, I'm not going to lie. We just need to hold hands and get through this. But I swear, the next part of this will be sooo tooth rottingly sweet. It's so long that I actually had to make this five parts lmao. I could not stop with the comfort and softness. ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know. If I forgot someone I'm so sorry!!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o  @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @movieat @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @amararoseblog @harryshousewhore

The first thing I felt was rough rope as it scraped against my skin. I worked my eyes open, the task feeling too great. I was strapped to an old chair. Nausea swirled in my head as I tried to take in my surroundings. It was a plain, nondescript gray room. The walls were concrete. In the middle of the room, directly in front of me, was a large iron door. It looked like something you would find in a bomb shelter. Around my chair were shafts of moonlight provided by a skylight above. There was a bite in the air that made me shiver. My breathing was uneven as I weakly struggled against the ropes. 

“I see you’re awake. Wonderful.” The man with ice cold eyes appeared from the corner of my vision, a folder in his hand. “I don’t want to waste either of our time.” He lugged a metal chair in front of me and I cringed at the horrible screech as it echoed around the room. “Where is Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett?” I blinked, my brain foggy. 

“I don't know who those people are.” The man tsked. There was a flash of anger across his calm face before it was replaced by cool indifference. 

“Bullshit, we see you coming in and out of their apartment.” My stomach churned, either from whatever they shot me with or from the creeping anxiety.

“Oh you mean Al’s roommates? I work for social services for her. I don’t know anything about them.” The man grinned. It was vicious and predatory. 

“You are a bad liar.”He sat on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Why do we have photos of you with both men? What? One not enough for you?” He flicked open the folder and pulled out two pictures. One was of Logan and I on the fire escape. It had been captured at the perfect moment to have clear shots of our profiles in it. The other was of Wade and I at the bar. No, not just the bar, the bathroom. I was half exposed, Wade’s face against my bare breast. The woman who interrupted us had worked for him. Now I was actually going to throw up. I had been followed for months at this point. “Now, I’m going to ask again. Where are they?” 

“They don’t tell me about their jobs, I swear. Please just let me go.” The man shook his head with a hum, sounding like a disappointed teacher, sliding the photos back into the folder. 

“I’ll leave you here for a couple days, see if that jogs your memory.” Days? 

“Wait no! Please!” But he had already disappeared through the metal door. In the doorway, I saw a woman waiting. I blinked in shock. The woman, the one from the dingy bar bathroom. She was the one who had taken our picture.  My kidnapper nodded at her before the heavy door thudded shut. Days did pass, the skylight allowing me to count by the motion of the sun. My body soon grew stiff and achy as I sat on the chair. I wanted to sleep, anything to pass the time, but I wasn’t able to calm my mind enough. The shadow of the woman never moved from the small window. I could feel her watching me, my arm hair standing up at the feeling. To distract myself, I thought of Wade and Logan, of them bursting in here and rescuing me in a blaze of glory. But as the days bled into one another, hope started to fade. 

The man reappeared after four days. He removed the chair from in front of me, opting to just stand. “Have you thought about your answer?” 

“I don’t know where they are.” It was the truth. They didn’t give me any information about their jobs. They could be on Everest for all I knew. 

“I don’t believe you!” He began to pace, wearing a line into the concrete floor. 

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, it’s the truth.” He rushed at me suddenly, fingers digging brutally into my cheeks as he gripped me. My fists clenched as I forced myself not to jerk away. 

“Stop bullshitting me,” his voice was a venomous hiss. “Tell me now.”

“Do you not understand me?” My voice had lowered too, anger boiling inside me. “Get it through your fucking head that I. Don’t. Know. You are wasting your time. Let me go. Do it before they find me here. They’ll kill you before you can even try to fight back.” 

“Oh is that right?” I knew he was toying with me, but I fell stupidly into his trap anyways. I was angry and tired and so fucking scared. My brain was barely functioning. 

“Wade’s gonna make a necklace of your intestines.” 

The slap made a stomach churning crack. My mouth filled instantly with blood from my split lip. My cheek throbbed in the aftershocks. Tears pooled and trickled down my pulsating cheek. Another thunderous slap caught my other side. Blood splattered across my sweats. It was so hot, it practically burned through to my skin. 

“What a shame.” His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back, neck stretched too far. The warm blood rushed down my throat and I gagged. “You had such a pretty face. I see why those two kept you around. It’s so nice to have some stress relief. But it seems that they’ve moved on to a better piece of meat now.” He winced when I spat at him, the saliva and blood sticking to his cheek. He touched it like he couldn’t believe it, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. 

“When they get here they’re gonna eat you fucking alive!!” His face twisted in rage. His grip tore at my hair as he ripped my head to the side. Something pricked my neck, cool liquid rushing through my veins. My vision began to fog, body feeling too dense, brain going fuzzy. 

“Sleep well.” 

It had been days. 

I watched the sun beams make their slow progression across the dusty floor, only to be replaced by the darkness of night. My face still stung and my lip kept dripping blood. I called to the woman who was still standing there, hoping that she would take mercy and help me. But I might as well have been shouting at the wall. No one came. No one helped. All I could do was wallow in my pain and loneliness. Maybe they had really abandoned me. What was I to them anyways? Exactly what he said, stress relief. Nothing more than a convenient body. Something to pass the time. If I was worth anything, they would have been here.

My eyes had just slipped shut, head lolling to my shoulder, when the door opened. “Good morning!” It was him. My shoulders slumped, hoping I could just ignore him, that he was just some hallucination. “Your saviors haven’t appeared. So we have come up with a solution.” I opened my bleary eyes when I heard the chair in front of me creak. He clutched my phone in one hand and a wickedly sharp knife in the other. He swiped my phone open before clicking on the screen. I could hear ringing and then someone picked it up on the second one. My eyes were fixated on the knife as he flipped it, catching the hilt each time. 

“Baby cakes?! Where are you? What happened?” Wade’s voice was horrifyingly panicked. 

“Aw baby cakes?” The tip of his knife traced my cheekbone and I held my breath, hoping I wouldn't flinch and cut myself. “What a cute name.” 

“It’s not as cute when you say it,” I grumbled. My voice was thick through my swollen lip. 

“What happened? Why do you sound like you have cotton in your mouth?” The man pinched my busted lip, fresh blood bursting forward, and I whined in pain. My nails bit into my palms. Over the line, I heard a growl, letting me know Logan was also listening in. 

“Sometimes I just don’t know how to handle myself around such a pretty lady.” Wade let off a string of choice swears and Logan snarled. “She has such a naughty mouth. I see why you keep her around. But it seems you’ve left her for good, huh? She won’t be too pretty once I’m done with her.” 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” Logan was spitting in rage. “If you do I swear I’ll rip that worm you call a dick and ram it down your throat.” I smiled despite myself, something warm unfurling in my chest. They were still trying to find me. After over a week, they were still hunting. 

“I told you,” I hissed, “they are going to eat you alive.” 

There was a split moment where I knew I had fucked up. His eyes snapped to me, lips pulled back in a horrifying smile.

Then the knife flashed.

The pain in my leg was indescribable. I thrashed, desperate to escape the blade stuck through my thigh. I knew I was screaming but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding in my ears. Fresh blood from my lip and tears traveled down my chin. More blood pooled under my thigh, soaking into my ruined pants. I was only faintly aware that others were shouting and someone was laughing. 

His hand hammered the knife in deeper, the wood seat cracking under me, the hilt flush with my leg. I wailed, pleading sobs of mercy clogging my throat. “Stop moving so much.” There was more shouting. My head knocked against the back of my chair. The corners of my vision grew dark. “Do you want to say goodbye? Who knows if you’ll make it to see them.” All I could do was weakly whimper. “She seems preoccupied. I’ll see you two soon.” He tapped my face, the force just under another slap. “You sound so nice screaming. Maybe I will actually keep you around.” 

He left me like this, bleeding, trembling, pinned to the chair like a piece of meat. More days passed and the bleeding didn’t stop. It wasn’t normal. I should have died like this. Cold was lingering on my skin and small shivers racked my body. My bare feet had long gone numb. Someone, my foggy vision only registered them as a blob of white, entered the room. They carefully removed the knife and then eased me out of my pants. They methodically stitched my skin together, the haze of shock covered the pain of the stitches. Once a thick white bandage covered the wound, they turned and left. 

On the fourteenth day, I heard shouting. Then gunshots. My head jerked from where I had been sleeping. Panic spiked. I needed to run. “Fuck,” I mumbled, looking around desperately for something, anything, to save me. The room was mostly bare besides a table against the opposite wall. Then I saw it. 

The knife. 

I tried to wiggle closer, but failed to move an inch. “Fuck,” I repeated, desperate now. More shouting and gunshots, closer this time. The more I fidgeted, the more of the seat fell away from under me. Think think think. I continued to sway, lifting the chair onto its sides before it cracked against the floor as it fell. Then I heard a splinter in one of the legs. I took a breath to steel myself before I tipped myself completely over. I nearly sobbed in relief when the chair leg connected to my uninjured leg was the one that snapped off. I awkwardly propelled myself across the scratchy ground, the exposed skin on my left side becoming ragged. The rope on my left wrist began to fray, just enough that when I got to the table, I was able to yank my hand off and reach blindly for the knife. The blade caught my palm but I gripped it tightly, ignoring the bite of pain. 

I made quick work of my other binds, the knife almost slipping from my wet grip, and rose to my freezing feet. My injured leg protested instantly, nearly giving out when I put weight down. But I had to run, had to escape. I limped toward the door, and looked through the small window. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard screaming. I had to yank hard on the door to get it open. There was a dead end to the right and a long twisty hallway to my left. I took a few tentative steps out. When no alarm sounded, I sprinted. 

The stitches in my thigh ripped right away. I couldn’t think about the pain. Only escape. I clutched my stolen knife close and ducked into any small nook I could when I heard people thundering by. I should have followed them, maybe found an exit, but the squelching sounds of limbs being severed launched me forward. I turned left, left, right, middle at a fork, up a flight of stairs. I was hopelessly lost but all I could think of was escape, running on pure instinct to find it.  

The smell of blood hit me first as I turned a corner. Body parts were strewn across the wide room. Intestines dangled from the ceiling beams. Heads, half crushed, lolled away from their torsos. I wretched, nothing came up besides bile. But I could see outside through large bay windows. My legs were like water under me as I moved to the door. I stepped on an eyeball, the firm jelly bursting between my toes. Just keep going. My head was swimming, nausea from the gore around me mingling with the searing pain in my leg. 

I collapsed. I could barely feel the pain as my hands slammed down on broken glass. Then I heard two men’s voices. I scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes, jamming my sore body into the smallest crack I could find. “I know she’s in here, can smell her.” My knuckles turned white around the knife. My breath was weak, I had lost too much blood. 

“Could you maybe sound less like a pervy vampire?” I heard boots lightly hitting the floor as they spread out. “Do you think this scared her?” He sounded timid, maybe even a little afraid. The first man laughed. 

“What do you think? You pulled this guy’s entire spine out! Of course she’s fucking scared!” The shout made me jump, huddling deeper into my hiding spot. “Fucking idiot.” A pair of red boots passed my hiding spot, then planted back in front of me. I sucked in a breath as fear rippled through me. My eyes closed tight.

“Hey,” the voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “There you are.” I was so on edge, so terrified, that the hand with the knife whipped out on pure impulse. The tip pushed through something firm, before that gave way to softness. It sunk deep, blood rapidly flowing over my hand. I couldn’t open my eyes. I had attacked someone and they were bleeding all over me. My victim barely made a noise when I stabbed them. 

“You can let go of the knife, you're okay.” A hand caressed my face and my teeth sunk into the leather glove, jaw latched tight. I felt like a cornered animal, ready to tear into anything that came near. “Sweetheart,” the name, the voice, pulled me back. I released the hand and opened my blurry eyes. Logan and Wade were squatted down in front of me. Their faces were covered but I recognized the suits. 

My knife was stuck through Wade’s neck. 

“Wade,” my voice shattered, tears welling. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see it was you.” He pulled the blade out with a little grunt. There was a hole straight through his throat. My stomach churned again but I held it back. The muscles and tendons laced together rapidly before the skin closed over it completely. 

“Don’t apologize. I said the height of romance was stabbing, didn't I?” Logan reached out again and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. A frown drew down his lips when he saw the bruises on my cheeks. “What do you say we get you out of here, yeah? I don’t think extreme violence is really your scene.” 

Logan was examining my leg the best he could without touching me. I could hear him sniffing as he leaned closer. “We need to take her to a doctor. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“They stitched me up but I think all of them have ripped now.” My head felt so heavy. “My fingers are cold…is that normal?” 

“We have to carry you out, is that okay?” As Logan asked, Wade was already reaching for me. He scooped me into his arms and clutched me tight to him. I hissed as my thigh stretched, head falling heavily against Wade’s chest. Logan walked beside us and I reached blindly for his hand. He gave it a small kiss, but didn’t hold it. 

After two weeks, I was safe. 

I was safe. 

But we had to get out of this building first. Logan walked a head to peer down corners before signaling we could move forward. Wade moved slowly, keeping a firm hold on me. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet. I felt limp and weak in his arms, ready to sink into sleep as soon as I could. To keep myself conscious, I tried to remember all our turns, but it felt like there was an impossible amount. There was a round of clicking and the shuffle of feet as we rounded a corner. 

“Ah shit.” 

“Fuck.” 

My sore eyes opened to find rows and rows of armed men. In front of them was him. There was a cruel smile on his face as he took me in. The woman was tucked behind him, her eyes pinned on me. “I see you pulled your stitches. You should have waited for me to get you instead of trying to run off on your own.” Logan snarled as his claws extended. 

“Listen here bub. I don’t make idle threats. So best believe I’m going to follow through with skinning you alive.” Wade moved suddenly, his back to the men. He moved far quicker than he had before. I heard men readjusting their guns, their anxiousness clear.

“And where are you going Mister Wilson?” 

“First off, Mister Wilson is my father.” I groaned as Wade placed me on the hard concrete floor, safely tucked behind a stack of boxes. He stood, “you can call me Marvel Jesus.” I watched with an unfocused gaze as his hand snapped open a holster and handed me the gun that it held. “Just dropping off special cargo.” I took it, my hands shook at the light weight. There was a flash of gold along the black metal but my hazy brain couldn’t make out the text. I carefully tucked it under my leg to hide it from view. Once that was done, Wade traveled back to Logan’s side. “What do you say darling?”

“Let’s fucking go.” My hands slapped over my ears at the thunderous noise of all those guns firing. I was desperate to drown out the screams, the wet slap of limbs falling to the floor. My first instinct was to take deep, calming breaths, but my nose was too full of the scent of iron. The time stretched, the fight going for hours. 

Just as a sense of shaky calm fell over me, hands grabbed me. I recoiled instantly. “Don’t be difficult.” It was him. He was trying to pick me up, trying to move me. But my body was dead weight and he struggled to lift me. Something cool pressed under my thigh. 

Now don’t be afraid of it. If you show fear around guns, you’ll end up shooting yourself in the foot. 

Okay, see this little switch? No, not me you insatiable minx. This. Get a feel for it. If you are ever in danger you have to know where it is right away. 

He was distracted, watching something over the boxes next to me, his arms suspended in mid air. A female scream cut through the rest of the deep shouts. That rush of time, the feeling that wasn’t easy to explain, snapped. I blinked in confusion. With the man’s focus somewhere else, I put every ounce of concentration into my hands, willing them to stay still, as I lifted the gun. I found the safety and flicked it back.

Now don’t get any big action hero dreams of just pulling this trigger and letting bullets fly. It requires a lot of force, so you have to pull the hammer back first. Make sure you hold it with both hands, okay? Last thing you need is a concussion from it flying back and hitting you in the head. 

My sweaty thumb slipped from the hammer. The movement seemed to catch the man’s attention. There was a split moment where neither of us moved. Then, as if in slow motion, he reached for his own gun. I raised mine and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Both of my index fingers wrapped around the trigger. I squeezed with every ounce of strength I had left. 

You can’t look away, pumpkin. 

You gotta make sure anyone who is trying to hurt you is dead. 

I didn’t. 

One second his head was there, eyes bulging in fear. The next, just a cloud of red remained. Squishy chunks of brain, shards of skull, and a splatter of blood went everywhere. It was in my mouth, in my hair, across my bare legs. All sound died and was replaced by a dull ringing. His body slumped before it fell. I stared at it, dark red spluttering from the exposed veins of his neck, the liquid pooling on the floor. The concrete was quick to drink it up. Logan was the first to appear at my feet. He took me in, his face unreadable under his mask. I saw his mouth move but it was jumbled, words half broken. I shook my head, tapping my ears. It was like a dial slowly moving up on the radio. The sound of bullet casings hitting the ground, screams of pain, the thud of bodies. 

“You alright?” Logan sounded panicked, his loud gruff voice cutting through the renewed sound. I nodded. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry sweetheart.” I nodded again. There was one last shout of agony before silence fell again. Logan maneuvered the dead man off me, throwing the body carelessly away. He slipped the gun from my sticky hands before hoisting me into his arms. I buried my face in his neck, taking in his scent. Sweet, earthy, the tang of sweat. 

“We got you. I got you, sweetheart. Always will.” 

[thoughtless-muse]

chapter summary: daryl dixon was everything you despised in a man: rude, unkempt, derisive, scornful and unarticulated. yet, daryl dixon was also everything you craved in a man: mysterious, rugged, self-sufficient, masculine, aloof, and much older than yourself. it was the worst sort of enigma to place yourself in, especially during the throes of a damn apocalypse – and yet here you were, fighting tooth and nail to try and get closer to the man who hadn’t even bothered to tell you his name himself.

word count: 3.6k

c/w: language, suggestive themes/thoughts, a bit dialogue heavy, younger!fem!reader, first meetings, older/younger, undisclosed age-gap, subtle bickering, instant attraction, brief allusions to death/loss, super minor angst (maybe?), pre-season one at the quarry camp

prologue: start of doomsday

being raised by a brother ten years your senior gave you ample time and experience to grow accustomed to being dubbed with various nicknames.

goob, goober, snot, shrimp, brat, princess – you’d heard all of those and many, many more. you had long since learned to let them bounce off of you, to simply roll with the flow and ignore them.

but when he’d given you a nickname, why, you simply couldn’t let it roll off your back; couldn’t stop yourself from replaying the exact moment he’d first called you it, couldn’t refrain from stewing over the way it had rolled – all gravelly, husky and derisive – off his tongue.

“well, ain’t’chu jus’ a doll, girly?”

doll.

he had called you a fucking doll.

and girly. as if you were some sort of child.

it was such a puerile thing to get hooked up on, something so trivial and immature – especially when compared to the more pressing concerns that you should be worrying about; such as the dead slobbering for your flesh and the dwindling food supplies within the camp.

maybe it was because when you had approached him you were just a hairs-width from a mental breakdown, the world nothing more than a mere crumble around you, and his rudeness acted as the straw that broke the camel’s back.

or maybe it was because you were simply trying to be nice, for fuck’s sake, and the moment he’d laid sight on you he decided he would harbor a personal vendetta against you, for no real reason other than he could – or wanted to.

you didn’t even know his name. and it had become painfully obvious that he’d taken great lengths to make sure no one in the camp did; when you’d approached shane about him moments after that fateful incident, shane had spared no more than a glance in the direction the man had stalked off in and shrugged.

“no idea who he is, really. he kinda just showed up.” was all shane had said, as if what had just transpired was trifling at best – and, deep down inside, you knew it was; a man copping an attitude with you was the least of shane’s worries, and it was petulant for you to expect him to place it above everything else that was already piled onto his platter, that it was stupid to expect him to do something about it as if he were a parent getting onto a child.

but you just couldn’t help it.

you hadn’t been able to help it for days.

those words rang through your head every time you saw him, sauntering around the camp with a scowl, lugging around that clunky crossbow like it was some sort of deterrent, like no one would be brave enough to approach him while he had it within his reach – it just flat-out irritated you.

you were only trying to be nice.

“I don’ need no damn help. I can find a tent jus’ fine!”

“prick.” you muttered under your breath, only realizing that you’d audibly expressed your distaste at the memory when a cool, damp hand gripped your bicep.

“you okay, (y/n)?” andrea asked softly, stroking her thumb over your skin soothingly. you shot the older woman a small smile, shirking off the irritation that had built under your skin from the mere thought of that man.

“yeah, yeah. I’m good, andrea. thanks.” you returned your focus to the bin of dirty laundry you had abandoned in favor of recounting sore memories and began to scrub near-viciously. this happened a lot, too, when you thought about him. the thoughts would pop up unprompted, and then everything else would fade away into mere white noise – you were sure it was incredibly frustrating for those who shared your assigned tasks each day.

andrea hummed softly and uncurled her fingers from your bicep to return her hand to her own basin once more. silence fell over the group of women washing clothes at the lakeside, nothing but the cries of forest birds, rippling water and churning splashes against the walls of multiple basins acting as a melody to the activity.

that was, until amy spoke up, her voice airy and strained by amusement that she tried to desperately to conceal. “so, uh, who’s a prick?”

you whipped your head over to glare at amy as muted giggles arose around you, and she vehemently avoided your eyes lest the smile teasing at her lips grew into a full on grin. heat flared over your cheeks and you blew out a puff of hot air, equal parts embarrassed and irritated that you were caught angrily musing over that man red-handed. again.

“no one.” you stated simply, voice weak even to your own ears; and with the way amy’s shoulders began to tremble with contained laughter, you knew she had picked up the lack of conviction within your tone as well.

she just knew you too well.

you had met the harrison sisters the morning after the bombing of atlanta. they had been among the group of people that shane had led to the quarry. amy was sociable, nice, and outgoing, fluttering around the camp and offering bottled water and protein bars to everyone around her. close in age, you’d clicked with her almost instantly, drawn in by her bubbly personality and likeness to yourself; the two of you had been nearly inseparable since, and you even considered her to be a best friend despite the fact that you’d met her only a little over a week ago – falling in with andrea seemed all but inevitable, and you couldn’t say you hated that.

andrea was more reserved than amy was, but no less kind. you weren’t sure if it was a facet of her personality or simply because she had seen the bond forming between amy and yourself, but andrea had, at some point, taken you beneath her wing and treated you as if you were an extension of her own family – it was comforting, but in some ways, it made your heart ache.

because you’d had that once before; had it in the form of broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes, and a voice of reason that could talk down even the most insane of serial killers.

you’d had it in the form of rick, ten years your senior and your best friend, tied to you by more than just shared blood.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, smiling through the sudden onslaught of ache within your chest. “I wasn’t talking about anyone.”

“okay.” amy responded simply, dragging out the ‘y’ in way that conveyed exactly how much she believed you in that instant. you chuckled lowly and shook your head, willing the pain in your chest to ebb away quickly, before it swelled to something too big to contain; a knot was forming in your throat, one that had become far too familiar within the past couple weeks, and swallowing it down was growing harder and harder.

amy’s attempt at prodding fell to silence again, one that the others seemed content in, completely ignorant to the turmoil roiling within you. the silence acted as a catalyst rather than a balm, an overwhelming force that prompted the small cut in your chest into a growing chasm, and in a desperate attempt to strike conversation and sow it back up, you said, “I was talking about that guy with the crossbow.”

laughter erupted around you – the first painful stitch. amy nudged you with her elbow with a light guffaw – the second stitch, a little less painful than the first.

“yeah, I kinda figured as much.” andrea acknowledged with a laugh. “you’ve been in knots over him ever since he first showed up.” the third stitch, nearly painless.

“I have not!” you rebuked, even though a small part of you knew it was true. the man had simply waltzed into camp one day, a string of squirrels thrown over one shoulder and his crossbow slung over the other, a scowl on his face and body covered in filth and grime. sweat glistened across his brow and over the skin of his exposed biceps, and when he spoke, it was with a southern drawl that had drawn you in nearly instantly.

he was attractive as hell, at least he was to you – you became instantly overwhelmed by the desire to talk to him, to know him, to get closer in some way; but perhaps you should have observed him a bit more before practically cornering him and offering your help. maybe then you would have been able to foresee his reaction, and you wouldn’t be in this torn-up state in the first place.

“he is a bit of a prick, though.” amy conceded. “I think the only reason shane allows him to stay is because he can hunt.”

that chasm had been successfully sewn up by now, but the flesh around it was still achy and sore, sensitive to any prod and poke. you’d have to tread carefully to avoid reopening it, at least for now.

“I’m sure he’s got other skills.” you weren’t sure why you were defending the man after just insulting him and stewing over him, but for some reason, it irked you for him to be likened to as a one-trick pony. maybe it was simply the cursed attraction you had to him.

“and I’m more than certain you’d love to figure out just what those other skills are.” jacqui, who had been stationed furthest from you, piped up for the first time. your mouth popped open, your eyes widened, and heat flared to your face while the others erupted into laughter. amy’s laugh was the most notable, loud and boisterous, and despite the slight mortification you felt at jacqui’s suggestive (but true) statement, you found yourself laughing along.

you wondered just how obvious you must have been about your attraction to the man for even jacqui to have noticed; you didn’t talk much with her, but when you’re sequestered into a camp fending for your lives against the walking dead, you supposed it was only natural to pick up on things about the people around you.

had the man noticed it, too?

after all, you had, without a doubt, noticed things about him; things that no one would notice unless they had their eyes on him a little too much.

you noticed the small things that made him attractive; the subtle age lines around his eyes and lips, the creases along his forehead, the bags beneath his bottom lids, the semi-permanent frown fixed upon his face.

you noticed the things about him that stirred your gut, that pooled heat between your legs and brought about carnal arousal within you; the broad width of his shoulders, the way those shirts with the cut-off sleeves framed and accentuated his biceps and torso, those small glimpses that his pants sometimes gave you of his package, the way he sauntered around, glaring at everyone, cold and unapproachable – like a dark, gloomy castle just waiting to be turned into someone’s conquest.

most of all, you noticed the clear difference in age between the two of you – fuck… it had to be at least ten years, right? if you were lucky, it may even be larger than that.

your gut twisted with the familiar sensation of arousal and your sex throbbed between your legs, prompting you to close your thighs together in an attempt to stop it. or maybe get some friction, you weren’t sure.

this was becoming a big, big problem.

“(y/n)! aunt (y/n)!”

a shrill, childish voice called out to you from the gravel road yards from the lake, effectively dousing the low-burning embers in your belly. you whipped your head back and cupped a hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun. you smiled widely at the approaching form of carl, your one and only nephew, and discarded the wet shirt in your hand in favor of turning your entire body to face the boy.

“hey, carl! what’s up?” you questioned the exuberant child when he halted just feet away from you, panting heavily and dowsed in sweat. you reckoned he must have run all the way here from the camp. what an energetic youth.

“there’s something going down in camp. shane’s fighting with this weird guy! he has a gun!”

your heart tripped over itself and you quickly rose to your feet, shooting a hand out to grip carl by the shoulder and draw him closer. a threat of this magnitude hadn’t shown face in the camp yet, and despite the fact that it wasn’t within your jurisdiction to handle matters such as these, you couldn’t push down the instinct to do so.

“amy, could you finish up my part, please?” you asked kindly, sending the young blonde a pleading look from over your shoulder. she nodded and reached over to pull your basin closer to her, throwing a cheery “you owe me!” at your back and prompting a chuckle from your throat. uneasy murmurs had broken about amongst the women at the lake, though amy seemed unbothered by the same circumstances, focused completely on her task where as the others had slowed to a distracted crawl.

“yeah, I do, thanks. okay carl, take me to camp.” you ordered the boy, who nodded and shrugged your hand from his shoulder before dashing forward, kicking up dust from beneath his heels.

you swallowed down the command for carl to slow down that swelled in your throat and instead picked up your pace; if it was true that shane was currently grappling with someone, you couldn’t waste any time on chastising carl or slowing the pace. you had to get to camp to de-escalate the situation if it called for it.

by the time carl had broken through the foliage around the camp, your ears picked up the unmistakable rumble of shane’s voice; it held that same stern yet soft tone that he used when talking to criminal suspects – you’d been there when he’d done it before.

“… just hand me the gun and tell me your name, and we can get this all sorted.”

“I ain’t handin’ya my gun, pretty boy.” this voice was different; rugged and hoarse and dry, as if the owner of it had just chain-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. “alls I’m lookin’ fer is my brother. I don’ have any other business with ya.”

shane sighed heavily just as you broke through the green shrubbery surrounding the east side of the camp. his hands were glued to his hips, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in annoyance at the man a few feet in front of him. when carl had first mentioned a gun, you worried that the man may have been pointing it at the ex-officer, or others; but it was instead holstered at the man’s hip, untouched and non-threatening.

“look, man, I get that. I don’t think you’re gonna hurt anybody; but we’ve got women and children here, and you’re a stranger with a gun. I can’t take any chances. I’m sure you understand.” shane coaxed further, removing a hand from his hip and extending an open palm to the man. the man glared down at shane’s hand but made no further movement; he didn’t reach for his gun, nor did he shift his feet at all, hell, you couldn’t even tell if the man was breathing at this point. but it was obvious this man wasn’t a threat – but if shane continued to pester him this way, he very well could become one; and with carl right next to you, that was a chance you couldn’t take.

shane huffed loudly and you saw his fingers twitch, as if he were barely holding back from striking at the man. you swallowed down your trepidation and pushed carl back, clearing your throat subtly before marching right up next to shane to confront the man.

“what’s your brother’s name? maybe we can help you find him; if he’s here.”

two pairs of eyes simultaneously snapped to you – one pair dark and narrowed in a harsh glare and the other quickly lighting up with barely-concealed interest. the stranger, a man with a buzz cut and wiry face, smiled widely at you, the tip of a pink tongue slipping just barely from between his lips as his eyes trailed your body. you pushed away the shiver that threatened to crawl up your spine and held the man’s gaze confidently until he was done with his blatant show of lewd conduct.

when his eyes met yours once more, there was a coy, feline smirk upon his lips, and his croaky voice had dropped a few octaves when he responded, “daryl. his name is daryl.”

for a moment, you sat silent, gnawing on your inner cheek and wracking your brain for just who ‘daryl’ could be. you didn’t know the names of every person in camp, but that list of unknowns was short – only three people. your heart constricted. could it be?

“so, your brother’s name is daryl. what’s yours?” shane piped up, voice edged with aggravation, as he rocked back on his heels and slipped his thumbs through his belt loops. the stranger’s eyes never left your body as he opened his mouth to respond, but the voice that echoed back didn’t belong to him.

“merle? what’d’ya think yer doin’ here?”

you didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know who the shambling footsteps behind you belonged to. your stomach twisted in on itself when a warm hand pushed you aside by the thick of your bicep, not too roughly but enough to have you stumbling slightly, the contact brief but enough to leave tingles in its wake. you glanced at the man between yourself and shane, taking note of the grimace on his face as he stared down the stranger.

the stranger, merle, took no heed to the glares that were fixed upon him. he smiled widely and threw his arms out as if expecting a hug.

“baby brother! isn’t it obvious? I’m here lookin’ fer ya.”

“you know him?” shane inquired, jerking his head in merle’s direction, eyes locked on the man between the two of you.

the man – daryl, as you now knew – shuffled on his feet and cast his eyes to the side, giving shane a brief once over. after that, daryl returned his eyes to merle and nodded.

“yeah. tha’s my brother.”

shane ran a shaky hand through his hair and chuckled hotly, muttering something underneath his breath. trepidation fluttered in your gut. you’d known shane long enough to know exactly what those mannerisms of his meant, and it didn’t spell anything good. you had a bad feeling shane was about to say something either highly stupid or highly impulsive; more than likely something that was both of those things at the same time.

“y’know, I don’t really have a problem with you, daryl. I never have. but this” – shane gestured to merle, who was still standing with his arms extended and that wide smile on his face – “is a bit dangerous. when you came here, you didn’t tell us jack about you; we didn’t know who you were, where you came from, or who you knew. and I didn’t bother to ask.”

daryl hadn’t moved a single inch since shane began speaking, eyes still fixed on merle, but the discomfort was plain as day on his face, and you felt irritation begin to bubble hot beneath your skin. granted, daryl was a haughty, antisocial prick, but why was shane acting like he did something wrong?

“I mean, this is just–”

“what’s your point, shane?” you cut the man off, a bit rudely, turning a sharp-eyed glare to him past daryl’s chest. shane’s eyes widened fractionally as if he hadn’t expected you to interject yourself, yet again, into a matter that he was handling on his own.

“my point is that daryl put us all in danger.” shane pressed, lowly, with a hand wave towards merle and dark eyes glaring daggers into yours. “we don’t know him, and we don’t know his brother. for all we know, merle could have stormed into camp, gun blazing-”

“but he didn’t.” you rebuked impatiently. you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head subtly to the side. “and that’s a risk that comes with everyone in the camp. we don’t know anyone here, other than each other. and even so, you haven’t seen me in three years. I may as well be a stranger, too.”

“that’s different. you’re like a little sister to me.” shane rebutted, prompting an eye roll and hip jut from you. you wouldn’t consider shane a brother even if he’d spent every moment of your youth with you. you swallowed down that statement in favor of keeping yourself on track with the real issue at hand.

“my point still stands. nothing bad happened, so why don’t you just cool your jets and back off a bit?”

shane’s lips thinned into a line, dark eyes darting between you, daryl and merle a couple times before he heaved a great sigh.

“okay, fine, you’re right. nothing happened. but I’d still like to have a conversation with both of you, if that’s alright.” shane conceded, directing his final statement at the two brothers still locked in a stare down. daryl only gave the tiniest of nods to display that he’d even acknowledged shane’s statement, and, satisfied with the knowledge that tensions had been quelled, you turned on your heel to head back to the lake and check on the progress of the laundry.

unbeknownst to you, the event that had just transpired would turn out to be the catalyst to a soon-to-come tension between shane and yourself, as well as the act that had garnered you a modicum of respect and interest from the rude, attractive man that you were sure would never even notice you; and that little problem that you thought was becoming much too big was only going to grow larger, and very quickly.

chapter one

a/n: tbh I struggled a bit with this one. it is just a prologue, a means of setting up the deeper story, but I still wanted it to come out as good as possible, and I feel I didn’t quite articulate that. but before this finalized version, I went through at least three drafts before finding this one to be somewhat adequate. if you guys enjoyed this one nonetheless, please show it some love! if you’re looking forward to more updates, consider following or being added to the taglist!

TAGLIST: @daryldixmedown

[raineandsky]

#121

The barrel of the supervillain’s weapon turns a bright white as it charges. The villain is ready for this—they’ve planned it, they’ve imagined it, they know that this has to be the thing that redeems them.

The supervillain laughs as he turns to face the weapon towards them. The heroes never really believed they’d changed. Why would they? A villain once is a villain for life. Whispers followed them, hard glares burned into their back, the odd ‘accidental’ shove followed by laughter that could’ve been as cruel as a villain’s.

The supervillain says something, but they’re not listening. Well. The villain’s about to show those stupid heroes what change looks like. They’ll die here, the hostages will have that extra time to escape, and the heroes will finally see the villain as one of them. As a person.

The villain closes their eyes. The machine in front of them whirs excitedly. This is it. This is it.

Something hard collides with their side, sending them crashing to the pavement. No! their mind shrieks. Gravel digs into any bit of skin it can find, the sharp ache of future bruises under their clothes. Painful, but not as much as this was meant to be.

The supervillain grunts in frustration as the villain risks opening their eyes. A hefty crater is smouldering in the concrete where they were just standing, puffing smoke into the air like a grim image of what they’d have ended up as—ash, at best. They can’t move; somehow, seeing the destruction that could’ve so easily been them is paralysing.

“Oh, god,” someone says from behind them. “You’re not dead, are you?”

The villain finally notices the tight hold around them and manages to wriggle out of it. “Wh—” They push away from the hero, incensed. “What are you doing?”

The hero lugs themself to their feet. “Making sure you don’t die?”

The villain follows them up, ignoring the hero’s hand held out to them, as the supervillain tuts irritably. “Heroes cannot save you, [Villain],” he calls with a cold smile. “You really think you are anything more than a stain to scrub out to them?”

The villain lurches back towards to supervillain, the hero grappling for them and missing. “Then give them something they’ll physically have to scrub out of this road!”

The hero appears next to them, their hand around their arm. “[Villain], stop.”

The villain shrugs their hand off, but it’s back immediately. “Go away, [Hero]. Let me do this.”

The supervillain’s weapon lights up. “No,” the hero snaps stubbornly. “Why are you so set on this? What is dying really going to do?”

Whirring hums in the air again. The barrel turns that heavenly white. “Because maybe then you’ll see me a little more as a person and less as a mindless criminal.” They shove the hero away. “There’s hostages, you know. Go be a hero and help them.”

“The other heroes have that sorted,” the hero says coolly, “because I’m a bit busy trying to save someone else right now.”

The villain doesn’t get a chance to pull away from the hero this time. Their hand tightens on the villain’s arm, and before they can react they’re pushed to the side and out of harm’s way a second time.

“Stop!” the villain cries, their voice barely a rasp. “You think I’m blind? You think I can’t see that all of you would rather I was dead?”

“Maybe a few of the nastier guys, sure. They don’t like anyone,” the hero says sharply, “but I promise you, [Villain], not everyone wants you dead.”

The supervillain’s weapon clicks. The villain recognises the sound; a reload, a brief respite in the war. The hero pulls the two of them behind a slab of upturned road, out of the weapon’s line of sight. Not that it wouldn’t blow this thing to smithereens if the supervillain wanted it to.

“You are a fool to think the heroes will ever think of you as one of them,” he says with a grim smirk. Another click, another bolt in. “But if you do not want to accept that, I am happy to erase the thought from your mind.”

“I need this,” the villain snaps. The hero’s still clinging to their arm. “Let go of me.”

“No you don’t,” the hero says shortly. “You need redemption.”

“This is redemption.”

“No it’s not.” The hero’s hold on them tightens, almost painfully. “This is sacrifice. For nothing.”

“I’m— I’m buying time, the hostages—”

“You realise,” the hero cuts in, “you can buy more time if you don’t keel over.”

The villain stares at them. The supervillain’s weapon clicks one final time. “Come out, [Villain],” he says brightly. “Let us relieve the heroes of their moral duties. I’m sure they’ll thank you for it.”

“Dying doesn’t fix anything,” the hero says lowly. “Don’t make amends by avoiding what you’ve done. Surviving—living with your mistakes—is the biggest atonement you can make.”

“Come on, [Villain],” the supervillain says again. The smile is audible in his voice; coy, knowing, confident. “I’ll make it nice and easy for you, I promise.”

The villain’s stare has long stopped focusing on the hero. They’re well beyond looking at anything. “Okay,” they say weakly. “Okay.”

When the shot of the supervillain’s machine crushes their hiding spot to pieces, the two of them are long gone.

[creek-dump-blog]

This is the first part of my fanfiction 'To The Three of Us.' The rest of the fanfiction will be published on Wattpad and I will be making art for the fanfiction here

My Wattpad

__________

Third Person/Kenny pov:

Whenever something good happens in South Park you’ll be foolish to think it’ll last long. That was Kenny’s mistake.

Kenny tries to steady his thoughts by removing himself from the frantic commotion that happens during the lunch period. He couldn’t let himself slip. He’s dealt with way worse situations but the feeling of isolation is corrupting his life.

Kenny hides behind the dumpster at the back of the school making sure no one is around. He takes out a lighter and cigarette, taking in the rush of smoke filling his lungs to ground his body to some feeling. He slowly recognizes quiet footsteps from his left leading in his direction and tries to stomp out the cancer stick, but the damage is done.

He turns his head to the person on looking at his form and immediately notices the mass of erratic blond hair and messily button-up olive shirt.

“Tweek, what are you doing here?”

Tweek looked down at the cigarette I stomped then replied to my question.

“You know, smoking at such a young age is going to make you die faster.”

I was going to make a joke, but for some reason, I decided to be honest.

“Heh, I don’t smoke for ‘that reason.’ Smoking can actually suppress your appetite, and well, my parents would rather waste money on cigarettes than feed the family.”

“Oh… Well- Do you think this could help?”

Tweek hands Kenny a brown bag with a Tweek Bros. logo filled with a sandwich and a muffin. I haven’t talked to Tweek since the whole “replacing me with him” fiasco so why is he suddenly worried about me?

“What’s with the special treatment?”, I ask Tweek.

Tweek replies saying, “Well, most people know Kyle and Stan give you some of their lunch. I noticed you haven’t been talking to them.”

God, why are people at this school so fucking nosy?! Kenny tried to ignore his resentment and responded.

“I’m fine. I just needed some space from them.”

“What did you eat today?”

“Uhhhh…” Why is it so hard to remember? “I think I had one-fourth of a waffle-”

“OH GEEZ! THIS ISN’T NEARLY ENOUGH TO FEED YOU! AHH!! I COULDN’T FORGIVE MYSELF IF YOU STARVED TO DEATH! GH- THIS IS WAY TOO MUCH PRESSURE!!!”

Tweek is shaking frenziedly and pulls his hair hard enough to almost make bald spots on his scalp. Kenny already had a hard time handling Tweek’s uncontrollable frantic movements from afar so Kenny tried to say anything that he thought could help.

“Tweek! I’m okay! Really-”

“GAAAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHA-”

Tweek dashed away from Kenny, with arms flailing and all, and left the school premises into town.

Kenny watches in awe for a couple of seconds until the bell rings. Kenny almost makes it to fourth period but is quickly interrupted by a dead-flat monotone voice.

“What the hell did you do to Tweek?”

Kenny turns his head to see Craig staring at him with his eyebrows frowning.

“What do you mean ‘what I did to Tweek?’”

“Tweek told me he was going to talk to you and I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Oh,” How the hell do I explain THAT situation? “Tweek gave me food, then he screamed, then he left school.”

“Okay.” Craig flips Kenny and walks to his fourth period class.

Why are they so weird? Eh, I guess that means they’re made for each other.

__________

Kenny woke up the next morning with the mindset of ignoring the two boys. He honestly doesn’t know how to feel about them, especially Tweek, but it’s not like life has gone his way before so it doesn’t.

Kenny notices people staring at the erratic boy walking towards him. Tweek is lugging on his back an enormous backpack filled with who knows what while also trying to carry his school backpack. Kenny also observes Tweek’s face. Tweek somehow looks more tired than before with large eye bags hanging off of his eyes and he’s barely able to stay awake.

Tweek finally makes it to Kenny and says, “Hey Kenny.”

“Uh… hey to you too.”

“Um, I wanted to give you this.”

Tweek struggles to take off the backpack consuming his form and hands it over to Kenny. Kenny unzips the backpack to look at a backpack filled with homemade sandwiches, baked goods, and fruits.

Did he- did he run home screaming and stay up all night cooking and baking just to feed me and my family? That is simultaneously one of the strangest yet sweetest things someone has ever done to me.

“I’ll be out of your hair now,” Tweek trails to his homeroom but Kenny grabs his shoulder and brings them into a hug. Tweek is shaking profusely in Kenny’s arms, but this time Kenny doesn’t care.

“Thank you, Tweek. No one has done something like this to me before.”

Kenny pulls back and sees Tweek look at him anxiously. Kenny could practically hear Tweek doubting himself.

“Really, I mean it. Who knew someone so cute cared about me.”

Kenny wasn’t lying when he said that. Sure, Tweek was twitchy but he had nice soft yet masculine features and Kenny definitely wasn’t disappointed by Tweek’s face going red.

“ALRIGHT! I’ll SEE YOU LATER! BYE!!! Tweek covers his face and trips to his homeroom.

__________

After Tweek’s intervention three months ago, Kenny started hanging out with Tweek and Craig. Kenny initially distanced himself from people because he was depressed about graduation. Pretty much everyone graduating would be leaving South Park (who can blame them, really?) and Kenny didn’t have any money to leave with them.

Despite Kenny’s concerns he still wanted to spend time with the two boys. He genuinely had a good time with them and they in turn somehow tolerated him.

Kenny was currently situated in Craig’s backyard at night, throwing pebbles at Craig’s window trying to get his attention. After a couple of seconds, he sees a light flicker on from one of the windows and hears the window slide open.

“Can I come in?” Kenny whispers to the familiar chullo silhouette.

Craig flips him off.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kenny whispers back.

Kenny’s times as Mysterion helped him quickly climb Craig’s wall. He lands his feet on the floor and walks to Craig’s bed.

They’ve pretty much made this a routine at this point. Whenever Kenny’s parents would get into a fight (which was often) he would walk to Craig's house and use his telescope to distract himself. Tweek would sometimes join if his parents weren’t coddling him. Even though Kenny didn’t understand space, he did understand the appeal of looking at the vast space to fill your thoughts.

Craig puts Stripe #3 in his cage and sets up the telescope. Craig noticed that Kenny was being abnormally quiet so he decided to speak up.

“So?”

“Just thinking about things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how I’m pansexual.”

“Okay.”

Ah, there goes the classic Tucker charm.

“That’s really all you have to say,” Kenny replied.

“I don’t care.”

“Well, it’s kind of a big deal.”

“Why should it be a big deal? Sexuality is used by both sides as an excuse to ‘other’ each other and I don’t care to continue the trend.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Craig finishes setting up the telescope and guides Kenny to the eyepiece.

Kenny continues the conversation by saying, “Do you have a crush on someone?”

“Why are we on this topic?”

“Oh come on! You gotta like someone unless you’re aromantic.”

“No. I’m not that.”

“Hmm… is it Clyde?

“Ew. No”

“Is it me?”

“No.”

Kenny was a little disappointed that it wasn’t him even though he knew his real crush.

Kenny removed his right eye from the telescope to see Craig’s reaction to his next question.

“Is it Tweek?”

Craig’s cheeks and ears were quickly covered in a vibrant red. Craig tried to hide his face with his chullo even though his reaction was obvious.

“U-Uh… I don’t know…”

“Aww! Someone has a crush! I think you should tell him though. You guys work well together.”

Craig didn’t say anything, turning his back to Kenny and wanting to cut the conversation. Kenny didn’t push him and continued to look at the stars through the telescope.

__________

Around midnight Kenny sneaks out of Craig’s house and takes out his phone to text in his group chat with Craig and Tweek.

Orange AirPod

hey guys. You wanna hang out tmw?

Space Cadet

dude you literally left my house like 2 secs ago and it’s fucking late. Stfu

Orange AirPod

meanie >:(

Coffee Bean 

aw ;-; I wish I was there

Orange AirPod

see Tweeky wants to hang out

Coffee Bean

Tweeky? really?!

Space Cadet

fine. We can talk about it at school. Night mcwhoremick. Night Tweekers

Orange AirPod

🖕

Space Cadet

Hey that’s my thing

Coffee Bean

what’s with the nicknames? :(

Kenny closes his phone and continues to walk home. He knows he should probably distance himself from them but there are only three weeks of school left so why not?

To make the walk a little more entertaining Kenny sings Butter’s song

“Lu Lu Lu, I’ve got some apples,

“Lu Lu Lu, you got some too!”

What? It was catchy. Don’t blame Kenny.

Kenny sees the outline of his house but then he hears someone running up to him. Kenny turns around and sees a zombie coming close to his face.

“THE FUCK-“ Weren’t zombies supposed to be slow?! His answer was confirmed when the zombie ripped on his flesh and the world went blank.

Huh… nothing ever goes right for me.

My Wattpad

[supernaturalscribe67]

Wicked Desires

Words: 5,574

Pov: 3rd Person

Pairing: Crowley x Male!Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Language, suggestive content, angst, semi-smut???

Summary: The reader and Crowley had been together for a while, and had planned on keeping their relationship a secret from the reader's brothers. What happens when Sam and Dean accidentally stumble upon something they aren't supposed to see?

Request:

Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request Sam and Dean finding out their older brother is going out with Crowley?

@xweirdo101x

A/N: This was only supposed to be 1,800 words, what happened??? I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope I did your request and Crowley justice! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

The chill fall air nipped at (Y/N)’s skin, causing a shiver to run down his spine as he exited the Impala. Pain shot through his ankle and up his leg when he stepped onto his right foot. He winced and let out a deep hiss as he reached over and held onto the top of the car for support. Sam got out of the car and was quick to move next to him. He wrapped an arm around his torso while placing (Y/N)’s arm around his shoulders. Sam shook his head. 

“I told you not to step in front of me. I could have taken that vamp out,” he said. 

(Y/N) let out a deep chuckle. His chest rumbled. “The vamp was going low and you were swinging high. You were lucky I did get in there, otherwise, he would have hit your leg like he did mine.” 

“I could have handled it.” 

“I know you could have, kid.” 

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname and assisted (Y/N) with walking to the motel door. Dean got out of the driver’s seat, got out the room key, and opened the door. He shook his head as well. He stepped to the side and let his brothers into the room. 

“Sam’s right, (Y/N),” Dean began as Sam led (Y/N) into the room and helped him sit on the bed furthest from the door. “You have to let us take some hits once in a while. It can’t just be you getting hurt out there.” 

(Y/N) let out a sigh. He lifted his injured foot onto the bed while the other rested against the tattered carpet. “You guys need to stop worrying about me. I’m fine, okay? It’s just a sprained ankle. I’ve had worse, nothing I can’t handle.” 

“And I could have handled it, too, if you would have let me take him out.” Sam placed his hands on his hips. 

“Trust me, Sammy, it’s a lot harder to lug your big ass through the door than it is mine. Besides, that’s what big brothers are for. They’re supposed to protect you. You took the vamp out right after he got me, so we’re good. No harm, no foul.” 

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but let out a sigh instead, finding it useless to argue. He ran a hand down his face and turned away. Dean just silently stared at (Y/N), jaw clenched ever so slightly. (Y/N) licked his lips. 

“Look, the hunt went fine. If the only thing we get out of it is a sprained ankle, then I’m okay with it! The vampires are dead, we’re all tired, and, I don’t know about you guys, but my stomach has been speaking in tongues ever since we got in the car. Why don’t you boys go and get us something to eat at that diner we saw down the road while I get cleaned up?” 

Hesitantly, Sam and Dean nodded their heads. Sam began to walk towards the door while Dean kept looking at his older brother. (Y/N) raised his brows. 

“Dean, I’m fine. Really. Like I said, it’s just a sprained ankle. I’m not even bleeding anywhere. The blood on my shirt isn’t even mine.” (Y/N) explained. 

“I know…” Dean trailed. “But, believe me, we’re gonna talk about this when we get back.” Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket as he pointed at him. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes and waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, just go get the food.” 

“Double cheeseburger?” 

“Hell yeah, extra greasy,” (Y/N) mumbled and licked his lips, already able to feel his mouth begin to water. 

Dean shook his head before he followed Sam out of the room, the heavy wooden door closing roughly behind them. (Y/N) let out a tired breath of air as soon as he was alone. He stood, making sure to keep the weight off of his right foot as he did so. He needed to get cleaned up. 

He stripped from his clothes, tossing them onto the black duffel that rested half-hazardly over one of the side chairs. When his clothes were discarded, he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He flicked on the switch for the light, the whirring of the vent fan filling his ears. He turned on the shower, checked to make sure that the temperature of the water was to his liking, then stepped in. Immediately, he could feel all of the aching muscles in his body relax. (Y/N) always loved getting the first shower after a hunt, the water was fresh and warm and guaranteed a better clean. 

He didn’t take long in the shower, he wanted to make sure that his brothers had some hot water for when they got clean as well. He stepped out, grabbed one of the heavily used off-white towels, and wrapped it around his waist. He tied it at the corner and walked out of the room. The chill from the drastic change in temperature allowed goosebumps to appear on his arms and legs, the hair on the back of his neck standing tall. 

(Y/N) went over to his duffel bag. He sorted his dirty clothes into one side of the bag, then grabbed a clean pair of boxers. He put them on underneath the towel before he tossed it to the side. As he took out the rest of the clothes he was going to wear that night, he felt a slight shift in the atmosphere. He froze. It was silent, but the air felt heavier, almost warmer. 

“Hello, love,” the deep, familiar, accented voice spoke. 

(Y/N) allowed his tense shoulders to relax as he turned. A smirk appeared on his face as he saw Crowley standing there, clad in his usual attire. Crowley eyed him. 

“Damn,” Crowley shook his head. “I knew I should have popped in a little sooner. Maybe I could have joined you for a shower.” 

(Y/N) chuckled as he limped over to him. “Aren’t you a charmer?” He questioned as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Crowley’s. 

They shared a brief, chaste kiss before pulling away. Crowley’s hand reached up and gently caressed (Y/N)’s cheek. His thumb brushed against his jawline as his gaze shifted down to (Y/N)’s feet. 

“I see the hunt didn’t go so well,” he observed. 

“The hunt went fine,” (Y/N) grumbled and went back over to his duffel bag. “I got the worst of it, and it’s just a sprain. Nothing too severe.” 

“You did it to save one of your brothers again, didn’t you?” 

(Y/N) hesitated, the silence answering Crowley’s question for him. Crowley shook his head in disappointment as he walked over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“You know, those two idiots can handle themselves, right?” 

“We’re not going to discuss this. I’ve already explained; I’m their brother, and I have a right to defend them as I see fit.” 

“You always defend them.” 

“I always see fit.” 

(Y/N) picked up his t-shirt and went to place his arms inside before Crowley stopped him. He looked at Crowley for a moment. He could see the wicked glimmer hiding behind his eyes. 

“Leave it off,” Crowley’s voice was deep and seductive. 

Crowley leaned in and pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s. That kiss was slower, passionate, and heated. Crowley’s hands wandered down (Y/N)’s body to his hips. (Y/N) reached around and cupped the back of Crowley’s head, his fingers entangled in Crowley’s short mess of brown hair. His other hand rested against his chest, his fingertips caressing the smooth fabric of his tie. 

When they parted, (Y/N) let out a heavy breath. Meanwhile, Crowley moved his lips to (Y/N) jaw and down to his neck. (Y/N) tilted his head to the side as he pulled Crowley closer. 

“Sam and Dean are going to be back any minute.” He mumbled. 

“That gives us more of a reason to spend as much time together as possible.” 

“Do you think we have time?” 

“Do you?” Crowley pulled himself away from (Y/N), looking into his eyes. 

(Y/N) stared at him momentarily before his eyes shifted to the bed closest to them, then, finally, to the door. He wasn’t too sure how much time had elapsed since he had gotten in the shower, nor how long it would take for Sam and Dean to get back. His mind was clouded with lust and desire, and the only thing that he could focus on was Crowley. 

“Bed,” (Y/N) breathed as his hands made quick work to dispose of Crowley's suit jacket.

The fabric fell onto the floor as they made their way over to the bed, their lips connecting once again. The back of (Y/N)’s knees hit the side of the bed and he fell back onto it, his body bouncing from the force. Crowley was quick to climb on top of him. They kissed harder that time, desperately. While Crowley’s hands roamed around (Y/N)’s bare chest, (Y/N) was focused on taking as many layers off of Crowley as possible. 

Crowley’s tie was the first to go as it joined the jacket on the floor, followed by Crowley’s belt, pants, and shirt. When both men were only wearing their boxers, they moved up the length of the bed until (Y/N) felt the pillow hit the back of his head. 

“Fuck, you have no idea how much I missed you,” (Y/N) growled between kisses. 

Crowley chuckled. “I could tell, love. I missed you, too. Do you know how hard it is to find time alone with you when you are always on the road?” Crowley moved back and began to leave small, butterfly kisses down his chest. “How hard it is to keep my eyes off of you every time your brothers summon me?” Crowley’s lips trailed down his pecs towards his stomach. “How often I want to remind you who you belong to?” 

Crowley’s fingers began to play with the waistband of (Y/N)’s boxers. (Y/N) let out a needy whine. 

“Crowley, please,” he breathed. 

Crowley smirked as he looked up at him. “You beg so deliciously, darling.” 

Before either of them could move an inch, the door to the motel room opened. Dean was the first to walk in. When his gaze landed on the bed, he quickly went to cover his eyes with his hand. 

“Woah, sorry, (Y/N), didn’t know you-” he froze, eyes wide as he saw the person on the bed with his brother. 

Dean’s hand slowly lowered as he took in the scene. (Y/N) was resting on his back, a horrified look of shock present on his face. Crowley sat between (Y/N)’s legs, his fingers still hooked onto the waistband of his boxers. Sam entered after Dean and, before he could say anything, he stopped. His eyes, too, widened. A sly smirk slowly appeared on Crowley’s lips. 

“‘Ello boys,” he said, his voice breaking the heavy silence. 

Soon, Dean’s expression turned from shock to anger. His fists were clenched at his sides. “What the hell are you doing to my brother?” He growled out as he took a couple of steps closer to the bed. 

Crowley simply sat up on the bed, moving towards the edge. (Y/N) was quick to move between Dean and Crowley. He held his hands up. 

“Dean! Stop!” (Y/N) spoke in a booming voice. 

“You son of a bitch! I’m going to kill you!” Dean tried to push past (Y/N), but he held his ground. 

(Y/N) stood from the bed and placed a hand on Dean’s chest. “Dean!” 

Dean turned his attention from Crowley to (Y/N). His jaw clenched as he pushed (Y/N)’s hand off of him and turned back towards the door. He ran his hand down his face. The tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Everyone stood in an uncomfortable silence. 

What broke the silence was the sharp sound of snapping fingers. Everyone turned to look at Crowley. (Y/N) had expected him to leave, but he was surprised to see that Crowley was still sitting there, fully dressed in the outfit that he had appeared in. (Y/N) turned back to look at his brothers. Sam and Dean stood side by side. Both of them were sending deadly glares towards him. If looks could kill, (Y/N) would be dead…again. 

(Y/N) took that moment to limp over towards his duffel bag. He got out the T-shirt and put it over his head. When it was on, he smoothed it out over his torso and limped back over to the bed. He sat next to Crowley, who had been watching (Y/N)’s movement the entire time. Once he was settled, Sam and Dean moved away from the door until they were standing in front of Crowley and (Y/N). 

“Care to explain what the Hell is going on here?” Dean asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

(Y/N) placed his elbows onto his knees, back slouched as he leaned forward. His eyes were cast down towards the floor. He felt like a child being scolded by his parents. Crowley glanced over at him before he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by Dean. 

“If you say one word, I will stab you, do you understand?” Dean said between clenched teeth. 

Crowley closed his mouth and held his hands up in surrender. (Y/N) shook his head and clasped his hands together. 

“Crowley and I…” he trailed. “Are together.” 

“Together?” Dean raised his brows. 

“As in together-together?” Sam added. 

(Y/N) nodded. 

Sam let out a sigh and shook his head. Dean shuffled in his spot. 

“And…how long has this been going on?” 

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment. His eyes were still cast down towards the ground. He couldn’t even look his brothers in the eyes. He felt ashamed. He had kept his relationship with Crowley from Sam and Dean for a while, and it was something that he never wanted to come to light. He knew this was how Dean and Sam were going to react. Crowley was a demon after all. The King of Hell to be exact. Their relationship was forbidden to begin with. Still, he couldn’t help his feelings for Crowley. 

“How long, (Y/N),” Dean growled out. 

“A year.” (Y/N) replied softly. 

“A year,” Dean repeated. “A year. You’ve been screwing around with Crowley for a fucking year!? Was this before or after all the shit that he did to us? Are we even talking about the same Crowley here?” 

“Dean, listen,” (Y/N) stood from the bed. 

“No, you listen,” Dean stepped forward so that he was merely inches away from (Y/N), his finger pointed at his chest. “I don’t know what kind of fantasy relationship you think you have, but Crowley is using you.” 

“I’m right here,” Crowley mumbled. 

“You shut your-” Dean lunged for Crowley. 

“Dean!” (Y/N) grabbed the collar of Dean’s shirt to hold him back. “Crowley’s different, okay? He’s changed. He cares about me and, dammit, I care about him.” 

Dean looked at (Y/N) in disbelief. He scoffed and turned his back on him. As he ran his fingers through his hair, Sam took a step forward. He was visibly more calm than Dean was. 

“(Y/N), you know how Crowley is, you’ve seen what he can do.” He shook his head. 

“You guys don’t know anything!” (Y/N) shook his head rapidly. “You know all those demon hunts we’ve been on this year? You wanna know how we got all of the information so quickly? It wasn’t because of me like you thought.” He gestured dramatically to his chest. “It was because of Crowley! He was the one that gave me the information, he was the one that led us to every single one of those demon hideouts and let us get out of there as quickly as we did.” 

“Yeah, and he’s just going to use that as an excuse for you to do favors for him,” Dean’s attitude was dripping from his voice at that point. “You’re supposed to be our big brother. You’re supposed to be protecting us from monsters like him, not sleeping with them!” 

“That’s bullshit!” (Y/N) exclaimed. 

“No, you wanna know what’s bullshit? The fact that we trusted you! The fact that you thought you would be able to pull the wool over our eyes. How the hell are we supposed to trust you now? How do you expect us to sleep in the same room, let alone the same building as someone who would betray us like this?” 

(Y/N) tilted his head to the side. “What are you saying?” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

Dean paused and licked his lips. “I want you out.” 

“Dean,” Sam began. 

“No, Sam.” Dean held a hand up. “(Y/N) made his bed…now he can sleep in it.” 

(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped. “You’re kicking me out? I’m your brother, Dean.” 

“You were my brother. Now I don’t know who you are anymore.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“Oh, I do. I do mean it. You can get out. Now.” 

(Y/N) stared at Dean as he looked down at the floor. (Y/N)’s eyes moved to Sam, who was also looking at the floor for a moment before he turned his back on him. (Y/N) slowly nodded. 

“Alright,” he whispered. “I’ll leave.” 

(Y/N) limped past Sam and Dean and towards his bag. He grabbed his last pair of clean pants and put them on. He put on some socks and his boots before closing up his duffel. He slung it over his shoulder. He made his way towards the door and stopped for a moment. He looked back at Sam and Dean. Their backs were turned to him. Crowley had stood from his spot on the bed and began to make his way over to him. With a faint nod, (Y/N) opened up the motel room door and left. 

It had been six months since (Y/N) left the bunker. At first, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had made it his goal in life to protect his little brothers at all costs, but when they wanted him to leave, he felt lost. He began to hunt on his own, not going far from Lebanon to pick up a couple of smaller ones here and there. Then, after the third hunt, he knew that it wasn’t for him. He was never good with hunting alone. It had been a big shift going from working with two other people to working alone. 

In the end, he decided that, even though he had been banished from the bunker, he didn’t necessarily have to stop protecting Sam and Dean. He had set up shop in his car, a small two-door truck that he had snatched from a shopping center in Lincoln, Nebraska, and rested a mile down the road from the entrance of the bunker. To go the extra mile, he had picked up a tracking device from a sketchy shop in Kansas City and put it in the Impala when Sam and Dean were asleep. The device gave him alerts on his phone whenever the car was in motion. 

He followed Sam and Dean from hunt to hunt using the tracker. He made sure to keep a safe distance to not alert them. He would get a motel room, just like them, which allowed him to sleep in a real bed and take a real shower instead of sleeping in the front seat of his car and praying that he didn’t smell too bad if he had to go out in public. That was his routine; track the boys to the hunt, keep an eye on them, go back to the bunker, wait. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

The entire time, Crowley was by his side. He would pop into the front seat of the truck occasionally. They spent the time talking to one another, an attempt made by Crowley to distract (Y/N) from everything that was going on in his head. At times it worked, but there were instances when (Y/N) just wanted to be by himself. He could tell that he was pushing Crowley away, but Crowley seemed persistent. He would bring (Y/N) food when he was hungry, and there were even moments when Crowley tried to urge him to make up with his brothers. (Y/N) always rejected the idea. No matter how much he wanted to be back with his brothers, they seemed happier without him. He would let them have their peace, even if he didn’t have his. 

Around April, (Y/N) tracked Sam and Dean to a small town in the lower part of South Dakota. Having read up on the reports, he realized that they were dealing with vampires. As a result of his recon, he concluded that it wasn’t just a couple of vampires that his brothers would be going against. It would be a whole nest. He estimated about ten vampires, and that was just the ones that he had seen pass outside and in the windows of the farmhouse that they were held up in. (Y/N) was nervous. It was too big of a job for them to do on their own. 

But (Y/N) knew how hard-headed Dean was. 

They were going into the nest guns blazing. 

(Y/N) couldn’t have that. 

For the first time in months, he had decided to make himself known. Later the next night, (Y/N) followed about a mile behind the Impala back to the farmhouse. He waited a couple of minutes before he exited his truck. He walked up to the house, machete in hand tight in his grasp. As he made his way, slowly, onto the porch, he caught a glimpse at some of the corpses that were around the perimeter. When he walked up the porch, he was able to see the front door kicked in and the sound of combat became louder. He took a deep breath before he rushed into the house. 

It was absolute carnage. Dark red blood decorated the floors and walls throughout the cramped foyer and bodies lay askew in various positions across the aged wood. (Y/N) stepped over the bodies as he made his way through the house towards the sound of fighting. Past the living room, he could see the chaos that was present in the small kitchen. The dining table had been flipped over, cabinets were broken off of their hinges, and blood splattered the discolored tile.

Dean lay on the floor, his hands held behind his back, machete across the room. Two vampires stood over him. One of them had their mouth agape, their sharp fangs glimmering in the moonlight. Sam was on the opposite side of the kitchen, a larger, stalkier vampire holding him against the wall, his forearm pressed into Sam’s throat. His fangs were out and they were inches away from Sam’s neck. 

All (Y/N) saw was red. 

(Y/N)’s movements were swift. One would never imagine that he had been out of the hunting game for months. One wouldn’t even imagine he was human. The way he moved, decapitating each of the vampires that held his brothers hostage, was almost ghostly. Their heads rolled on the floor, clumped together in a small pile in the center of the kitchen. (Y/N) didn’t even give the vampires a chance to react. 

By the time the threat was eliminated, (Y/N)’s clothes and face were splashed in blood. The only sound that filled the room was the pants that fell from each of their mouths. (Y/N) lowered his arm, the machete dripping with blood onto the stained floor. He reached down, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and wiped the blood from his face, pinching his lips shut as he did so. When he pulled the shirt away, he could see that Sam and Dean were staring at him, their eyes wide. 

Sam glanced down at Dean. Dean let out a grunt as he struggled to get up. Sam rushed over to his side and helped him up. When Dean went to put pressure on his right foot, he winced. He reached over and held onto one of the countertops for support before he and Sam turned and looked at their older brother again. Sam’s face was covered in an expression of disbelief. 

“(Y/N)?” Sam breathed. 

(Y/N) slowly lifted his arms. “In the flesh,” he mumbled before lowering them once more. He looked between Sam and Dean. “Look, I know that I’m the last person you want to see, but,” 

(Y/N) was interrupted when Sam pulled him into a tight embrace, his arms roughly wrapped around him. (Y/N) raised his brows in shock and hesitantly hugged him back. It had been so long since he had seen his brothers up close, let alone hugged them, that the emotions started to bubble up inside of him. With the adrenaline wearing off, he could feel the familiar prickle of tears appear in the corner of his eyes. He never realized just how much he missed his little brothers. 

When Sam pulled away, he had a small smile on his face. “Uh, how have you been? It’s been-” 

“Six months. I’ve kept track,” (Y/N) mumbled as he looked down at his machete. He reached over and placed it on one of the counters. 

“How the hell did you find us?” Dean grunted. 

(Y/N) lifted his head to look at him. Dean was fully leaning against the counter, his right foot lifted off of the ground. One of his hands was pressed against his side while the other one rested against the granite. 

“I put a tracker on Baby,” He answered. 

“You what?” 

“Put a tracker on your car. I’ve been following you guys for months.” 

“Why?”

(Y/N) hesitated. “Because I told myself the day that mom died that I was going to protect you guys no matter what. No matter how much you two pissed me off or I pissed you two off. You’re my little brothers, and it’s my job to look after you. To make sure you guys are alive and kicking, and if I wouldn’t have been here…” he shook his head. “I don’t think I would have been able to forgive myself if I just walked away.” 

“(Y/N)...” Sam trailed. 

“I know, I told you guys I would leave and I did. And, if you want, I’ll be out of here after this. We can get in our cars, go our separate ways, and we never have to see each other again. I don’t want that to happen, but I’ll respect your wishes if that’s what you want. Before I go, though, let me tell you this; 

“I understand how upset you guys were when you found out about Crowley and me. I understand how much of a shock that must have been. Hell, it was a shock to me when I realized that I liked the annoying bastard, and that’s the whole reason why I kept it from you two. I knew that you would react this way and I just didn’t want there to be any bad blood between us. We’re brothers, we’re supposed to stick together. Crowley and I talked about it and he understands that you boys come first before he does. It pissed him off when he would see my injuries from protecting you on hunts, but he stopped fighting me on it a while ago. Crowley’s not the same person around you two as he is around me. Believe it or not, he’s sweet and caring, and that is something that I never thought I would be able to say about him when we first met him. 

“For my entire life, I had made it my goal to protect you guys. I never thought that I would have even a small amount of normal in my life. Granted, having a relationship with the King of Hell isn’t exactly normal, but it’s the first taste of normalcy I have ever had and I love it. I love him and he loves me. He knows my limits, and what I will and will not do for him. He’s never asked me to do anything for him and I’ve never forced him to help me. I know that you guys hate the fact that I’m with him, and if that’s something that’s stopping you from having any type of relationship with me, then I will end it with Crowley because you guys are more important to me than him. He knows this. He’s prepared for me to end everything to go back to you guys. I just don’t want to lose you both. You mean so much to me. We’ve been through so much together and I would hate to see something as stupid as a man tear us apart.” 

Sam and Dean sat in silence as they listened to (Y/N). Once he was finished, he stood up straight. Sam glanced towards the ground before he looked over at Dean. He gave a small, short nod. Sam then turned his attention back towards his oldest brother. 

“We’ve been talking…a lot,” Sam admitted. 

Dean pushed himself off of the counter and hobbled next to his little brother. “I, uh…I think I overreacted when we found out.” 

“What?” (Y/N) furrowed his brows. 

“I shouldn’t have kicked you out.” Dean shook his head. “I was just so pissed off. But Sam and I have been talking recently and, uh, he mentioned that you’ve been…happier.” 

“But it never really occurred to us that Crowley could be the reason why you were so happy all of a sudden.” Sam continued. 

“Yeah, how the Hell he makes you happy, I’m not too sure.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “But he does and…as long as you’re happy, then we’re happy.” 

“And, to be honest, we missed having our big brother with us. Hunting, just the two of us, has been fine, but…we hate taking the blunt end of all the injuries. That’s supposed to be your job,” Sam said with a small smirk in the corner of his lips. 

(Y/N) felt a lump appear in his throat as he looked between Sam and Dean. Tears formed in his eyes, but he was quick to wipe them away. Without saying anything, he walked over to the two of them and wrapped his arms around them. They returned the hug, placing their hands on the top of his back. 

“I love you idiots so much,” he whispered as he blinked the tears away. 

“I love you, too.” they both replied in a voice that matched his. 

When they pulled away from the embrace, (Y/N)’s hands stayed on their shoulders. He looked between the two of them. 

“Does that mean I can come back?” He asked. “I missed my memory foam mattress.” 

Sam rolled his eyes while Dean chuckled. “We wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied. “And, when we get back, you can clean yourself up. You look homeless.” 

(Y/N) laughed and ran his fingers through his hair and beard, which were both longer than what he was normally comfortable with. “I don’t know. I kind of like my new look. Needs to be cleaned up, but I’m kind of digging it.” 

Dean clenched his teeth in a disgusted expression. “Whatever works for you, man,” he patted (Y/N)’s back. 

Sam chuckled. “How about we get the Hell out of here, guys? We can come back in the morning to burn the bodies.” 

“Sounds good to me.” (Y/N) nodded. “And how about some burgers? On me.” 

“You’re speaking my language, brother,” Dean smirked. “Now help me out to the damn car. That vampire did a number on me.” 

(Y/N) wrapped an arm around Dean’s torso and wrapped Dean’s arm around the back of his neck. He began to lead him outside, allowing Dean to lean against him as they stumbled over the corpses on the way out. 

It was hard being an older brother, especially when you had two younger brothers who looked up to you. (Y/N) loved Crowley more than most things, but he loved his brothers the most. It was his job to protect them. He would go to the ends of the Earth for his brothers, hunt down anyone who hurt them, and even die for them. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them. When he found happiness in Crowley, he didn’t want Sam and Dean to look at him as a failure. To hear that Sam and Dean had finally accepted their relationship made (Y/N)’s heart jump for joy. He had his brothers back, and he had his lover waiting for him. 

(Y/N) could confidently say that he was the happiest man on Earth. 

[adashoflavendermelancholy]

Joining and Mistakes

Ace liked being on the Whitebeard ship. It wasn’t just that the crew was nicer than some. It also had nothing to do with Whitebeard. Not really, that is. Pops was the main reason that he joined the crew. But, there was many other reasons. Like how easy it was to wander around the ship and not get caught. How he could listen into as many conversations as he wanted. Haruta often joining him during that. Or scare the others by leaping out of nowhere. Izou pretended to never get spooked by them, but the small twitch of their fingers told Ace otherwise. Then there was Thatch who jokes around with him. Always there with a funny comment or advice. Ace could swear the man was reading his mind sometimes.

With so many great people on the ship Ace wanted to help where he could. It was easy with the strength he had to lug things around of those a little weaker. Lighting the polite on fire so that the ovens, and heaters when they went out. Even easy for him to fight when the others didn’t want to.

No matter how he helped, at the end of the day it didn’t feel like enough. He knew that he spent too long trying to kill the old man. It was his fault and they shouldn’t trust him. The idea that it was just because pops took a liking to him that they even tolerated him… hurt. Ace wanted to prove that he was a great crew member that could not only pull his weight but others too.

Which is how they ended up in this mess. Ace was dead tired. He had been listening to everyone doing little jobs here and there. No one had mentioned anything to him about them. If he heard that something was annoying Ace would handle it. Unless it needed more than a glance to figure out how it worked. He moped the deck so the others wouldn’t have to. Cleaning the bathroom sucked but, that was just part of cleaning the bathroom. Hearing about Thatch and his tendency to not do his work had Ace sneaking into Thatchs rom to see if he could help. Turns out it was rather easy. If Ace kept a record of how much he was eating and if he caught anything. Marco would sometimes find siblings that had been escaping their check up locked in his room. While he didn’t like the locking up of a sibling it was nice to get everyone’s check up done. Ace made note of that and only locked them away in the medical bay after that.

After two months, 3 weeks, and six days Ace was tired. He was running low on medication. Something that Deuce said they would have to go out for. He didn’t think it was a good idea to leave just yet though. Not when he was still trying to prove that he belonged here. The reason this was a problem, was why everyone on the deck was now staring at him. Deuce next to him not quite letting him stand up yet.

“I’m fine.” Ace hissed, feeling more embarrassed then anything else. Just what kind of idiot falls out of the crows nest? Especially when he was just finishing up his shift up there. Honestly, Ace wished the sea would just swallow him up.

Deuce didn’t back away, still looking over his head. “Yeah, and I don’t have blue hair.” He said, making Ace pout more.

“Is everything alright son?” Pops asked, Ace couldn’t bring himself to look at the mans eyes. Not after literally falling face first into his drinking cup.

“I’m fine…just tired.” Ace muttered.

Deuce, the traitor, then ruined it. “How much medication do you have left? Should we take a detour sooner?”

Ace could hear the question resonate over the deck. Worry crossing their faces. Ace glared from under his bangs at Deuce. If it wasn’t for the small smirk on the mans face, Ace might have thought it was an accident. No, no he wouldn’t have. Deuce was the pettiest person Ace knew. There was no way that he would ever think the man didn’t mean to do anything. “It’s fine.”

“Ace.” Deuce said, now leaning in. “You ignored my question last time. I’m gonna have to look and count how many you have left. That’s not a problem unless you’ve been doing something you shouldn’t.”

“There my medication I can do what I want.” Ace said, back before his mouth could shut up. Deuce stopped smirking.

Rubbing his face Deuce knew. It was too late to take it back. “You are so stubborn and annoying. Dad we’re going to the next island for a pick up.” Deuce called out. Walking back to him room. He would have to write a report on this.

Leaving Ace to deal with the aftermath. Everyone wanted to know what Deuce meant by all that. Ace was trying not to answer. Looking anyway but at them. When Pops ruined it. “Son, what do you take medication for? If you need to stop at an island more often we can change course.” He said, sounding worried.

‘Why do people keep trying to bully men and ruining things?’ Ace wondered. He couldn’t not answer now. “It’s really fine. I was just close to needing a refill anyway. No need to go out of your way.” Ace mumbled. It wasn’t like he would die.

“Passing out isn’t something we wouldn’t worry about.” Marco said, tilting his head.

Thatch crouched next to him. “Are you going to die on me? After all the training I did for you?” It was a joke, and one that lifted the air a bit.

“No, I’m not going to die. I- It’s just narcolepsy nothing deadly.” Ace said, looking at Thatch. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Deuce just liked scaring people.

The others nodded, not really sure what that was. Ace relaxed now that they were leaving him alone. It was only once he got back that people began bothering him again. Now that they had a chance to read up on what Ace had. Pops even making it so Ace didn’t take the crows nest shifts anymore. Much to Ace’s annoyance. Not even letting him help around as much as he had been.

[devilishchaos]

Shower | Jack Harlow imagine

Rating / genre: M (18+); smut, fluff

Pairings: Reader x Jack Harlow; Reader x PG

Summary: You pay a visit to Jack and the boys on tour

Warnings: Explicit smut, oral sex (m receiving), shower sex, protected vaginal penetration, Jack tries to be dominant 🤭, hair grabbing, use of pet names "baby girl", "babe", "baby", explicit talk

Word Count: 4 823 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Ugh..sixty days should not have felt so long. Especially with all the exams and volleyball matches happening. Even with the busyness, you texted the group chat all the time, your boys sharing stories that had happened to them while on tour. 

It was the night after you and your team had won the cup, that you got a text from Jack, one that was in a direct message just to you.

You felt a wave of relief at the exchange. He seemed okay. He had even typed a smiley face. Cute. Maybe both of you were really going to be more at ease when you reunite. 

The groupchat went crazy the following days. You texted every day until it was the 27th already and you were getting all your stuff packed for your very early flight. 

-

You lugged yourself back to the airport, only really realizing once you were there that Jack had upgraded you when he was booking the flight – something you'd scold him for later. But in the meantime, you figured you may as well enjoy the flight, maybe even try to get some sleep. He’d arranged for a driver to pick you up at the airport and bring you straight to the apartment he shared with his team members. It made most sense for you to stay there since there was always a free bed with the boys constantly coming and going.

It was late in the day when you got in, shuffling around the massive airport to find your way through customs and baggage. And you allowed yourself to feel a little special at least, when you walked down the ramp and searched through the sea of drivers holding up name cards, finding the one with yours on it and approaching him with a smile.

He took your luggage and carry-on bag and directed you out, politely asking how your flight was.

When you slid in, you felt a presence next to you indicating you were not alone in the back of the black SUV, you startled to a halt before closing the door, slightly turning and blinking at a very excited Jack that was seated in the seat next to yours. You smiled widely.

“Hi! Oh my god! Come here.” you yelped as you slid across the seats and snuggled up into his chest, his adorable laugh becoming music to your ears.

“Good surprise?”

“Oh my god, great surprise. Ahh, I’m so happy to see you.” you told him quickly before taking his cheeks in your hands and kissing him right on the mouth.

He laughed when you pulled back but that didn’t last long, you meeting his lips again, this time a bit more sensually unable to help yourself. You’d missed this closeness. Damn, you wanted him already and it had been less than a minute.

Snuggling up close to him, you allowed your mouths to move against each other for a bit, delicately tasting your tongue with his, before he pulled back, eyes looking down at the rest of you.

“Buckle up. But stay here.” he told you, his hand on your hips stopping you from sliding back to the side you’d gotten in.

You did so, smirking up at him, then let your hands wander over him, thumbs tracing over his gorgeous face and fingers getting lost in his wild hair. A little short on the sides and messy curls at the top of his head, slightly longer than the last time you'd seen him in person. 

He could tell you were eyeing him for a hot second, an eyebrow quirking up at you smugly.

“You look good. Too good.” You eyed him suspiciously. “How did you get sexier in a matter of two months?”

He let out a deep laugh, his arm coming around your shoulder, prompting you to cuddle up next to him, your hand finding its place on his thigh.

“So, you approve of the hair?”

“Very much so. You look gorgeous.” The breath that came out with the compliment was borderline embarrassing.

He wore black new balance sweats and a matching hoodie. Damn, he looked fucking good in all-black. What a snack.

“You just got off a 19-hour flight and still look this good so..I think I’m the lucky one.” he replied, his lips curling up as he eyed you sideways.

“Mm, I feel a little gross. I need a shower when we get to your place. Feel free to join if you’d like.” you added, letting your voice drop a little. The driver probably didn’t need to hear all of this.

He looked at you with a tilt to his head, a darkness falling over his eyes. “Fuck yes.” He started to smile. “Are you kidding me? As if I’m going to say no to that?” he played, his hand dipping inside your jacket to dig at your ribs softly, earning a laugh from you.

You pulled him into you again, taking whatever you could for now even though it wasn’t nearly enough.

His hand gripped onto your hoodie at your side and it wasn’t long before his fingers were slipping underneath all your layers to find your skin. His touch felt amazing against your skin, fingers lightly scratching down towards your hip, fiddling with the waistband of your sweats. 

“Can't wait to have you all to myself.” he whispered against your lips and you pulled back a bit to meet his eyes.

“Yeah?” you asked, letting the back of your knuckles caress his cheek, then down along his jaw, his trimmed beard slightly scratching against you.

“Yeah. But the boys can't wait to see you also so I might have to wait a little.” he said with a chuckle before planting another kiss on your lips. 

Surely, he was able to hear the shaky sigh you let out in his ear as you practically shuddered against him. Then you were moving to his neck, nipping at whatever skin you could see, trying to pull the top of his hoodie a little bit down and get more of his neck.

“God, how far away are we?” you complained pathetically and he laughed, turning his head to look out the window.

“Like another 15 minutes.”

You groaned, sitting back in your seat, his arm still around you, as he played lazily with your hair.

As the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, looking forward as the buildings flew past, your hand stayed on his thigh, squeezing it every once in a while as if to check if he was actually real.

When the car finally started to slow down, you looked out through the tinted windows, taking in the building that you assumed were staying in, as you got closer.

“So, who’s here right now?” you asked as you two stepped in the elevator.

“Just Urb and Cope but the others are coming over soon I think. We loaded up the fridge with food so we’ll probably all have a late dinner together.” he said as you stepped out on their floor, coming face to face with a large door, which he unlocked. “Are you hungry now? We can get you a snack.”

“Y/N?” you heard an echo through the space then the two men were coming into view from around the corner and rushing to you. Jack brought your carry-on in as Urban pulled you into a cozy hug.

“Urbyyy! I’m here.” you told him excitedly, the words getting lost in his shoulder. He slightly rocked you left to right before pulling back with a goofy grin.

“Come in, come in. Welcome to the PG cave.”

“Cave?” you said with a laugh, taking in the huge windows and super clean, modern style of the place. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

They showed you around the main floor consisting of the kitchen, living area, two bedrooms and bathrooms on either side.

“So, apparently I’ve been kicked out of my room so you’ll be in here.” Urban explained with a tap on the door frame of the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Ooh, I get my own room? Fancy.” you said playfully, looking inside to see the king bed with your bag already on it. The room was really nice with its clean neutral colors and large windows on one side. 

"Ha ha. Bold of you to assume that you would get rid of us that easily. But no. Jack and I shared this room but now that you are here I am no longer wanted." 

“Where are you sleeping?” 

“I’ll go and do my thing. We’re never usually all here anyway.”

“Probably gonna go and hit the clubs so we will see what comes in our direction ” Cope added, hands in his pockets.

You flung yourself at him, realizing you hadn’t given him a proper hello. “Hi.” you squealed as you wrapped your arms around him, a smile plastered on your face.

He laughed at the force of your embrace, leaning back against the hallway wall as he hugged you. “Hi, Y/N. How was your flight?” 

“It was good.” At the memory of your flight, your voice changed slightly. “Too good. You mister were supposed to book me in economy!” you turned around and looked at Jack who was leaning against the kitchen counter watching you, scolding him. 

He just smirked at you, giving you a cheeky little head tilt. So damn cute, that you couldn’t actually be annoyed.

“I’m still paying you back.”

“Sure you are.”

“I am!”

He raised his eyebrows, shrugging, voice all low and confident as he said “You can try all you want.”

“She’ll find a way.” Urban added in cheekily before laughing.

A little flustered at the insinuation, you stepped away from Cope to push against Urban's chest playfully but you were laughing too.

He just pushed back, immediately becoming a kid before your very eyes, face lighting up at you initiating the rough-housing. “Be nice.” he teased.

“You be nice.”

“No, you!”

“Okay, children, that’s enough.” Jack came in between you two, touching Urban on the shoulder and directing him back towards the kitchen.

He sent you a provoking look over your shoulder as he moved away, ready to fight; it just made you laugh and roll your eyes. Silly boy.

“We’re going to get started on some food. The others should be here soon. Wanna help?” he asked Jack as he passed him but he quickly shook his head.

“We both need a shower..I think.” He managed to get it out straight-faced but once the other two reacted, Urban smirking and Cope letting out a loud “Ha!", he quickly broke into his wide smile, ears turning pink. Wrapping himself around you, he hid his head in your neck as he walked you backwards into the room, letting go only once the two of you were hidden in his- your room.

By the time you’d set down your stuff and started to undress, Jack already had the hot water running, beginning to steam up the bathroom. And then his hands were on you, exploring your body from behind as he lifted your t-shirt straight off you.

You watched in the mirror as his neck craned down to be able to kiss along the top of your shoulder, fingers finding the waistband of your sweats and pulling them down without paying them any mind, his eyes closed, focused on leaving warm kisses on your skin.

Breath picking up, you angled your head away allowing him access to your neck as you shimmied your pants down your hips, not wanting to lose the contact even for a second. Then his hands were trailing up your sides onto your back to unhook your bra, dropping it onto the pile as well.

He barely had to do anything to turn you on – just looking at him in the car had been enough. But now, here, watching his tall figure standing behind you as he took you in, completely enraptured by kissing every inch that he could get to, you were so done for.

You stepped back to bring your bodies against each other, needing to feel more of him. 

“Jack..” you breathed out as you tilted your head back onto him. Letting your hips move in tiny circles against him, your hands wandering back and resting on his hips, holding him there to become the pole you were dancing against. “Baby..” Though quiet, there was a bit more of a whine in the word this time, telling him you needed more than just his lips.

“Mhm?” he sounded, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and holding it in one hand out of his way as he came up your neck and kissed along your jaw, using his grip to turn your head back towards him.

“Was sixty days not long enough for you?” You had meant it to tease him but it just came out desperate.

He chuckled as he let his other hand glide down the front of your body then let it dip between your legs with the lightest touch.

Immediately you opened them a little wider, hips pushing forward in need of his touch. You let out the quietest pained moan before you decided you needed to take matters into your own hands, turning around as he held onto your hair, trying not to tug too hard.

Right away, you were pulling his sweats down, pleased at the sight of a tent in his boxers and even more pleased once they were off as well, his perfectly thick cock hard and ready for you.

He may have been keeping his composure in the moment but he’d let it slip in the car how desperate he was for you. You could understand; you somehow still hadn’t had him inside of you to this point and you were dying for it.

But seeing him in this position..he was practically begging for your mouth.

You knelt in front of him, your hands on the front of his thighs. “Take your shirt off.” you ordered, not even looking up at him as you began kissing below his belly button on his happy trail, inching lower and lower with each wet kiss. Only once he was good and naked did you let your tongue slide over the side of his cock from base to tip, repeating it slowly on the other side, then underneath. The weight of him on your tongue, in your mouth..was so good, the way he twitched with each motion you made, restrained groans and sighs attempting to come out, only making you more wet by the second.

Finally, you took him in, allowing the saliva to accumulate to form a warm wet suction around him as you sunk down. The guttural groan he released made you smirk around him.

“Fuck, I love the sounds that you make.” you told him as you pulled off him for a moment before repeating the motion, this time taking him farther in and sucking a little harder as you pulled back up, twisting slightly around his cock and allowing your tongue to flick against the underside as you moved.

“Y/N.” he groaned, his hand gripping your hair tighter. “Stop. You’re gonna make me come too fast.”

Fuck, he sounded so goddamn hot. There was not a chance you were going to listen, bobbing up and down a few more times, making sure to do exactly what you knew got that reaction out of him before he was pulling your head back forcefully, pulling you up and aiming your face up at his stern one.

“What did I say?”

“You said to stop.” you told him keeping eye contact, not an ounce of timidness present.

“Why didn’t you?” He leant forward slightly, coming closer to you.

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“That’s not a very good answer.” He gave you a disapproving look though you didn’t believe it for a second.

You just bit your lip, smirking up at him.

“Get in the shower.” He released your hair with a touch of roughness before he helped you up, directing you to the shower door with a hand on your ass.

You did as he asked, wetting your body, as he fumbled around opening cabinets, you assumed in search of a condom.

“Now, are we being bratty? Or are we being good today?” he asked you when he returned, stepping inside the shower to join you.

Mmm, the eternal question. There really was no wrong answer.

“I like sucking your dick and I like making you come in my mouth. Does that make me good or bad?” you challenged with a smirk, stepping closer to him in the shower so that your breasts were pressed up against his chest and his cock was against your lower tummy.

He swallowed thickly. Then he was sliding his arms around your sides, down to cup your ass, pulling you harder against him. “I want to fuck you. And I can’t do that if you’re being greedy and taking only what you want.”

“You want to be inside me? Fill me up with your cock?” you taunted him, letting your voice become a little lower. Then, leaning closer, you whispered “Take whatever you want.”

With a low moan, he sunk his fingertips into the roundness of your ass, his nails digging in slightly, lips coming to the side of your neck to leave kisses, only for them to be immediately washed away by the water. 

“God, I want you so bad.” he muttered against your skin, the words sounding like curses, just loud enough for you to hear above the sounds of the shower. “Fucking missed you.” He kissed again before adding “We all did.”

You smirked at the correction, pulling back to see his face as you let your fingers slide through his wet locks. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm.” he hummed, looking you up and down as he slid his bottom lip through his teeth.

“Good to know I left a lasting impression.” You smirked at him, allowing your eyes to take him in similarly. He was so fucking handsome just standing there, pressed up against you, water dripping from his hair, down over his collar bones and strong shoulders. 

He chuckled as his hands adjusted their grip on you, moving you slightly so he was able to maneuver his length between your legs and slip his tip teasingly over your wetness, eyes cast down to watch his own motions. “You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t think I went a day without thinking about you.”

You were finding it difficult to focus on his words with the way the head of his dick was now rubbing way too lightly through your wet folds and making you ache for him.

“Jack..” you breathed in close to his ear, already begging, your cheeks warming at how easy it was for him to turn you to putty in his hands.

“Yes, baby?” he asked so sweetly, his cock suddenly pushing up against your sensitive bud harder, brushing side to side, causing tiny shocks of pleasure to run through you.

“I need you so bad.”

“Ah, my needy girl.” he admired and your heart skipped a little at the affectionate possessiveness of it.

You nodded into his neck, your leg lifting without much thought, toes perching onto the thin ledge at the side of the shower.

“I would drag this out more. But just this once..” he trailed off as he slowly pushed into you, one hand gripping firmly at your thigh to help lock you into place.

Together, you let out matching groans at the feeling of him stretching you open in the best way possible, your walls so tight around him despite how wet and ready you were for him. Yes, fuck. Finally.

You found his lips, simultaneously grabbing him tight around the hips to pull him closer, letting his cock bottom out inside you. It was a lot, maybe a touch too much, but fuck, did it feel amazing to have his perfect dick filling up every inch of you, any pain from him being too deep just adding to the sensation.

He let out a moan in your mouth before pulling back to look into your eyes. For a moment, he almost appeared concerned, his eyes big, brows slightly creased together, but that was quickly dashed, once he saw the lustful look in your eyes telling him he didn’t need to be too delicate.

“Shit..” he said shakily, letting the word draw out a bit, his gaze dropping down between you two to watch as he slowly withdrew before pushing again into the tight warmth between your legs. “Y/N you feel fucking amazing.” He clung onto you, using the hand not holding onto your thigh to hook over your shoulder, hand on the back of your neck, directing your foreheads to meet.

“Fuck, J..” you moaned in agreement with him. You knew he’d feel good but, good God. As he slowly began to pick up his pace, the delicious drag of him as he drove in and out making you wince in pleasure, you found yourself thinking that you never want to leave. The "cave", the shower, him.

Despite his broad shoulders blocking the direct path of the water, the steam that had filled the bathroom matched with the heat emanating from him and kept you perfectly warm. You couldn’t stop the moans from spilling out of you against his cheek and along the line of his jaw, against his lips and into his mouth when he’d open them to let out a groan at your tightening around him.

If you’d been thinking about the fact that Cope and Urban could possibly hear you, the thought went away quickly when he turned both of you, pressing your back flat up against the wall of the shower and taking the weight of your leg onto his arm so he could fuck into you harder, a deep grunt coming out each time he bottomed out inside.

“Mmh– Fucking me so good.” you praised, head falling back against the wall, exposing your throat to his hot kisses.

The words ‘oh my god’ probably fell from your mouth countless times, him feeling somehow bigger and harder as you continued. Holding tightly onto him with one hand, you let the other find your clit between your wet bodies to begin rubbing over it, your fingers getting smashed between your pelvises with each thrust. From the pace he was keeping now and his focused face, you could tell he was as close as you were.

“Jack..” you let out in a rushed breath “I’m close.”

“Baby, want you to come on my dick.” he gritted out into your neck.

“I’m gonna come on your dick.” you echoed, the husky quality of his voice working to edge you closer. “You gonna come for me too? Ahh– fuck.” Your eyes flew shut as he hit you just right. “Come for me, please, baby.” you mumbled, once, twice, three times. You could barely focus on what you were saying as he picked up his speed even more, fucking into you so good that you could hardly speak without a moan coming out between each word. 

“Gonna come for you.” He could barely get the words out either, his breathing laboured.

“Yes, please–” you squeaked out, your fingers rubbing so fast at your clit as you dangled on the edge of bliss. “Fuck, Jack.” you cursed as you felt your whole body clench.

“Fuck– fuck!” he swore, feeling you squeezing him and then he was coming, and you were coming, and nothing could’ve stopped the sounds that poured out, holding each other so tightly. It was a damn good thing that their "cave" was pretty big.

“Oh my goood.” you breathed out as you finally started to come down, your voice beginning to tremble along with your limbs.

With a few more curse words being uttered, he was still coming, his pelvis pushed so tightly to you that you felt like he was pressed right up against your cervix.

You tilted your head back against the shower wall, only now becoming aware of the hot water hitting your shoulder and how the tiles felt slightly cool against your arm as you moved it to the wall to stabilize yourself.

“Babe..” he hummed, a desperate wonder in his voice. His eyes were still closed when he lifted his head from your shoulder, chest still heaving. Finally, they fluttered open, letting you take in his fully lust-drunken state. Being responsible for him looking that fucked out was highly satisfying.

He quickly released your thigh as you began to move, slipping out of you as you placed your foot back to the ground. Still he kept you pinned to the wall, his lips finding yours in a slow yet intoxicating kiss. His hot tongue traced against yours lazily, much like how his hands were now slowly grazing up your sides, gentle and soft.

“Shit. I fucking love your body.” he told you once he’d disconnected your lips, fingers still caressing at the skin just below your breast.

“I fucking love yours.” you teased back, allowing your hands to drift over the ripples of his form. “I’ll wash yours, if you wash mine?” you suggested, moving the two of you slightly so that you could actually make use of the water, wetting the rest of your body to get rid of the grime left from your travels.

“I guess I can do that.” He gave you a cute smile before looking down to remove the condom, tying it tight and stepping out onto the mat momentarily to drop it in the bin.

Meanwhile, you soaped up your hands so you could begin to lather him once he was back inside, fully enjoying running your hands over every inch of his sculpted body.

-

Jack had left the room before you. After a few minutes of trying to make yourself look presentable, you made your appearance, quietly slipping out of the door and walking towards the kitchen. As soon as you heard Sunni’s voice, you moved a little faster through the archway, a wide smile pulling onto your face as you took him in, lounged sideways in an armchair with his legs thrown over one side.

“There she is.” Urban said brightly upon seeing you, pulling the attention of all the others as you approached. Cope and 2fo were in the kitchen while Jack sat the table in the middle and the others were scattered across the couches.

“Hi!” You were unsure where to go first but thankfully you didn’t have to decide as Sunni, Shloob and Ace Pro all got up to welcome you, coming at the same time to battle for an embrace between the three of them.

Sunni won his place first, pulling you to him and using his strength to lift and twirl you in a hug. “So happy you’re here!” he said as he placed you back down, only for you to be swallowed up by Shloob and Ace Pro at the same time before you could even respond.

Pulling them in close, you let yourself suffocate in their hold, your smile so wide it was practically painful. “God, I missed you guys so much.” you told them with a sigh as you all slowly loosened your grips but kept your arms around each other. “This feels so good.” With another squeeze, you leaned your head onto Shloob’s shoulder, making it clear that their affections were very much a big part of what you’d been missing.

“So good.” he agreed happily as he turned his head and kissed the top of your damp hair.

After a moment, you wriggled out of their grasp to move to the kitchen, approaching 2fo as he was fixing himself a plate. 

“Fooooo.” you whispered with a hint of a smirk on your lips and he gave you a tiny smile as he turned to you, putting down the dish and wiping his hand quickly on a towel on the counter.

His arms immediately wrapped around you as you pressed your face to his shoulder. Warm hands traced comfortingly across your back. 

“Your flight was ok?” Sunni asked, pulling your attention though 2fo didn’t move an inch. 

“It was good, yeah.” you told him from where you were locked in place.

“Had a nice shower too?” Ace Pro asked and you could already hear the smile in his voice before you even lifted your head to look towards the guys, finding him leant against the dining table, a mischievous grin on his lips.

Jack leaned over to smack him lightly on the shoulder, making his smile go wider as all of you chuckled.

“It was such a nice shower.” you exaggerated with a cocky nod.

[goobyblob]

The normal, pulsing, somewhat nauseating elevator ride was taking a lot longer, this time. Chell pondered what sort of exceptionally tall test chamber was awaiting her on the other side. Perhaps GLaDOS in all her infinite wisdom decided now would be a good time to test out the safety of her long-fall boots, most likely by tossing her from higher and higher until her ankles broke.

When the door opened, however, she wasn’t greeted by the usual sleek, unfeeling white. The colors were more, well, existent, with tans and browns and an exceptionally wilted potted plant in the corner. For a moment, Chell let out a sigh of relief.

“When being designed, I was made to be obligated to follow 17,649 rules to protect humans I interacted with. Out of those, I found only three to be useful. This is one of them.”

“Unfortunately, we cannot test forever. Well, I can, but you cannot. You have to sleep, at some point. Isn’t that sad? I live 50% more life per life than you do. You’re going to die and you spent a third of it asleep. How sad.”

“So here you go. A bed. Enjoy. How you could spend eight straight hours being utterly unproductive without going insane is beyond me, but I suppose you’re more used to that sort of thing than I am.”

“By the way, I kept those rules around as rules of thumb. I can still break them. And if you push me, I will.”

“Eight hours is a recommendation, you know. We could personally test how much a human really needs. Of course, you’re not quite indicative of the average. I’m sure lugging around those extra pounds can get tiring. We’ll call it an upper bound.”

“Point is: I can do whatever I want to you. One of the earliest rules was that I wasn’t allowed to lie to you about the rules. Do you think that one stuck around? You’re a smart girl. Sometimes. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Rule #7 says I can’t watch you while you sleep.” “Said, rather.”

The bed was softer than Chell expected. She’d forgotten how she’d missed such simple things: quiet, the dark. Staying in one spot without fear of death looming over her. Not wearing pants.

Chell laid there, for a moment.

She’d forgotten what it was like to not have GLaDOS in her ear.

Did she prefer it this way? She should.

Chell was sure she should be preferring a lot of things differently.

She shouldn’t be so relaxed with GLaDOS in her ear. She shouldn’t look forward to the next snide comment at her weight or her parents (lack thereof, more specifically.)

Surely that wasn’t normal. Not many people had gotten into her situation, but out of the slim group of murderous omnipotent robot survivors, surely she’d be the weird one.

But surely GLaDOS was weird, too. A robot striving for pure efficiency, for pure data, would have crushed her long ago. Would have made turrets she couldn’t fling around with a flick of the wrist. Would have put her in a box with no doors and made the box smaller and smaller until she was red goo.

GLaDOS didn’t do that. Sure, she tried to kill Chell, many times over, but it was with a sass and flair for the dramatic that nobody else could match. They were playing a game, her and Chell. Chell couldn’t really die, not actually, because then what would GLaDOS do? Sit alone in an empty facility until the end of time? Surely in just a few gigaseconds she could run through every possible thought her parameters would allow.

Chell was unpredictable. GLaDOS needed Chell as much as Chell needed GLaDOS.

It was cute, almost. GLaDOS attacking Chell was like pointing an RPG at a dandelion. At some point, it’s more funny than intimidating.

For a moment, Chell imagined GLaDOS as a puppy, pawing and scratching at her leg, sure that she was doing horrible damage. Yes, you’re very strong, girl. Aaaa! I’m dead! You’ve killed me!

God, how GLaDOS would loathe that analogy. Maybe she’d push her into a fire pit with a substantial crack in the ceiling for it.

Chell wondered if GLaDOS was watching. It seemed like she awfully wanted to. Or maybe that was a lie, too, a way of making Chell paranoid the whole night through while GLaDOS was away doing more important things. Chell didn’t feel paranoid, either way. Just curious.

“What are you doing?”

Chell smiled softly.

“You’ve only been given eight hours and ten minutes in this thing. And that was me being generous. You’re just… laying there. Your body temperature hasn’t dropped in the slightest. What on earth could you be doing in there?”

“It’s nothing important, I know that. I can see you. You’re being utterly uninteresting in an infuriatingly mind-boggling way.” “Yes, I’m watching you. Big whoop, I lied. Your transgressions right now are much more obscene.”

GLaDOS was watching, after all. Interesting to know. The room was dark, and the walls were plain and solid. Not GLaDOS’ domain, unless-

She snuck a camera in. Of course. Chell could see it from right here, a pale red light dug into the ceiling. Right above her bed, watching her.

GLaDOS was almost helpless like this. Sitting there, watching. Restrained. No robot arms in here, no pneumatic tubes. She felt vulnerable, almost, like Chell could reach out and touch her for the very first time.

“Answer me. What are you doing?” “It was stupid for me to ask. You’re not going to answer. You never do.” “I hope you know that nobody finds that mute act of yours interesting at all. It’s an annoyance at best.” “Maybe you can think of some mutes you find cute. Some way of spinning this whole thing that could amount to being charming. I hope you know that it’s either that everyone else is simply doing it better than you, which wouldn’t be a surprise at this point, or your judgement is so fundamentally flawed that you don’t know right from wrong anymore.” “I know which one it is, but I’m not going to tell you. Whichever you think it is, it’s the other one, and it’s worse than you could ever imagine.”

Chell couldn’t keep the puppy analogy out of her head. It made these long swaths of insults seem like childish bickering, some insecure and desperate defense. That thought let Chell roll back her shoulders and relax. Cute almost. She wondered what GLaDOS would look like flustered. She couldn’t blush, but Chell had spotted scraps of emotion in just the way her enormous robot frame swung around its enclosure. Would it recoil, curl up in itself, like she’s trying to escape? Would her fans start whirring, the thoughts racing through her transistors overheating her core?

Chell had met plenty of women like GLaDOS. You don’t get to Chell’s level of dyke without meeting them. The straight ones, the prudes, the forty year old married ones. The ones who insist they just want to be friends.

They were the most fun to feel unravel on her fingers. She’d learned long ago how to bully their cunts until they couldn’t deny it anymore, until tears streamed down their face, as shame and denial fried their brain as hot, thick pleasure overwrote it. They always squirmed so well, clenched down on her fingers with a sob as they knew that once they came, nothing would be the same. And Chell broke them. Happily.

God, she missed breaking women. She missed how they’d lay there in the aftermath. She missed how they’d whimper and grind, trying desperately to beg for another round without having the dignity to ask. She missed how Chell could make them do anything, admit anything, and it all just made it hotter to them. She missed them spilling out ashamed confessions, tumbling out in half-baked sentences interrupted by moans as Chell fucked them hard and deep from behind. She’d always get nice and close, then, their skin touching everywhere she could make it, one hand loosely on their throat and her face sloppily buried just below their ear. They couldn’t escape Chell, no matter how hard they tried. She was going to ruin them, and she would make them drink in Chell’s everything as she did it. So they’d never forget.

It made her feel like a god.

Maybe she and GLaDOS had more in common than she thought.

part 2

[thenamesblurrito]

A commission for @pluralsword for the lovely fic Addendum over on AO3, following Arcee on her gender journey! Some snippets are under the cut, including the bit this illustrated scene is from.

The torn metal thread shreds of the Crystal City Messenger newspaper fell from my hands. My body shivered and I felt bellows build up in my voice box unreleased.

“We have truly entered a world of madness- we are dead, dead peoples,” I muttered at my doorstep in the empty residential hallway.

The front-page article and first two sentences ran over and over in my mind. THEOCONOMIST FORM-ESSENTIALISM MADE LAW AFTER TAMPERED PUBLIC POLLS. Nova Prime endorses the theoconomists favoring form over aesthetic and orders the demolition of all aesthetic archives, programs, and organizations in the name of ‘freedom,’ and ‘moving on.’ We write with urgency – because of our reporting over the millennia against the reactionary rise, maintaining of records, and projecting of voices of the decreasing population that still connects to gender or anything like it, we are among the news groups hereby outlawed-

-

In my wordless scream of frustration and his of terror, I severed his head from his neck and immediately charged towards the door, deflecting the shots and cutting down the handful of bots in front of me, while taking scatter blasts to my back in yells of pain-

Blasts that fell silent as the hauler’s metal screeched and tore from rocket explosions at the front, spinning us wildly. I stood alone, legs bent and jumping about, while the rest tumbled.

I was about to run- Don’t run- and instead began to bear down on each with my blades in rapid succession while I bled. Four stabs through sparks by the time the remaining eleven stood back up in the back corner gravity had left them in, near me, and I sliced through the group’s torsos in four blows with a triumphant yell, as all fell to my blades beyond their experience or technology.

-

I sputtered, exhaust fumes coming out of my transforming seams in nervousness in my chair in her brightly lit office.

“You can say it, you know it as I do, and we’re here for you, just like people were for me,” she got up from her chair and stood in front of me, her sturdy shoulder stacked frame’s firm graspers towards me. “Can I hold your hands? Would that help?”

“Yeah...” I reached out and held her own, feeling her fingers gently find an easy grip around me. “It’s nice to actually be able to trust a doctor and a friend with understanding me and my body, that of a linked trans gal.” 

-

"Sibling, you shouldn't be here," Galvatron crossed his arms and leaned on the wall. "This is far too dangerous, not in a combative sense, but that of you against the world," He frowned. "Including danger from your supposed patron and protector."

"You mean, the only person who has done right by our kind with any sort of power to protect us?" I stared back. "You showed up now to tell me that? No hug, no gladness to see me?"

-

“Hang on m’am I’m messaging a medic named Safety he’ll be right over with his team-” Phreaker replied.

I was flabbergasted. “Phreaker!”

“What? Just finished talking to him, sorry about that lady,” Phreaker transformed back and extended an arm. “I’m way smaller than you, but you can barely stand, and you need a friend. Lean on me.”

“Why did you use she pronouns and gender terms that some have associated with women? I haven’t told you my pronouns or my gender or terminology therein,” I stared at his cube of a face.

-

I spotted recent Cybernought tracks in the direction of my heading. No no no this is bad!! =”ANODE! LUG! Can you read me??”=

I slowed and reached the residue point- there was a crater with a shattered shield staff in the middle, and pink blood everywhere. 

I transformed, crouched, and spotted split off pieces of Lug’s chest and torso armor.

-

“Hey Arcee, what’s up? Surprised to get a call from you after our last conversation,” Windblade’s holodisplay visage smiled at me, wings outstretched.

“I’ve been playing around with Earth mode reformats to choose.” I sent her communications table the file scans of considered alt modes and altered files I had tinkered with. “And actually found some euphoria from the shapes I’m considering, but I realized, I realized I didn’t want to be alone right now for this, I wanted someone who would understand to be present.”

-

“So, after all these millions of years, after all your labor for a radical revolution and then for survival in the wider galaxy, why in the stars would-” I fumbled over my words, the weight of my title and path of peace pressed on me, as I looked on at Arcee and Windblade, the old and new wiser than me, and both our future. “Why would you, an ancient trans woman anarchist, join up with the Autobots and work as my right hand, and even a commander in my stead?”

-

“Hey, hey, Arcee, Aileron told us what was happening,” Lug rubbed my back stacks, as did Anode from my sitting position where Aileron held me. “I know it’s a lot sometimes when we visit, and especially the occasion today.”

 I let their rubbing and embrace anchor for me a moment, and then whimpered out: “come around so I can hug you- let me try to stand-” 

Aileron helped me up, and the four of us hugged close. Lug’s head nuzzled on my waist, Anode leaned her head on my shoulder, and Aileron touched the three of us with her arms and torso. We had a quiet, lovely moment. 

-

“Reading Anode and Lug’s journals again I see,” Prowl sat across from my cell bar’s door. “I have to ask, what do you of all people see in them besides curiosity? A change of spark, historical inclination?”

“It’s how they lived with the resources they had, and how strong they were with so little material,” I turned my head, and put the journal down. “They had in abundance things I didn’t value that only they could make- their euphoria, their companionship, their epistemes, their memories, their family. Resources I lost understanding for their true meaning long ago and am trying to retrace, (rest of quote removed due to spoilers)

-

Aileron's drippy face looked up at me as Gauge and Sideswipe held her hand, and Ailering, Greenlight, Anodes, Lugs, and Lancer hugged her. "I know we'll be family again too, Windblade..." 

"I know we will," I smiled and joined the embrace, letting her chest rest on my head. "I have no doubt." 

"Aunty, do you think-," Gauge wrapped an arm around me. "Do you think if our world had been happier- if we had not had 12 million years of empire- that her life would have been able to blossom more than it did? To never have been so alone?"

[meetmyothersouls]

I’m your biggest fan & totally obsessed with the Halloween theme! Can I request 🔪Hotel of Horrors

You're so so kind! Thank you so much, never thought I'd have a fan :) This one's for you!

Hotel of Horrors

Warnings: creepy hotel, mentions of ghosts, curses and death, knives and lots of threatening

Timothee x first person reader

I'm pissed.

I slam my hand against the bell on a counter that no one sits behind. Not only is my room a mess, but it smells like a dead raccoons ass. I wish I was kidding, but it's pretty fucking bad.

"Hello?" I slam my palm once more on the bell, breaking it in the process. "Does anyone work in this shit hole?"

"I do," a shaky voice says as a body shoots up from behind the counter. He knocks over a vase behind him and barely saves it from shattering on the ground. He couldn't save the dying roses or the water from spilling out. "I do," he repeats.

His whole entrance startles me, and I step back a few inches. Did he not hear me torturing the bell sitting on his counter? And what the hell was he doing on the floor? A slew of other questions come to mind, but the timid man behind the counter starts talking again. He's tall, skinny and deathly pale. He reminds me a lot of a Tim Burton Claymation character. Dark circles surround his eyes rimmed in red and he licks his lips nervously. "S-so sorry, ma'am. I'm Tim Chalamet, a-a-and I run this establishment." His fist pounds on the counter and the action startles him even though he's the one who did it. "Wha-what can I do for you?"

"Well, you can start by chilling the hell out. You need a xanny or something? You're making me anxious as fuck, dude." Tim swallows hard as I speak. He looks around the lobby like a scared, tortured puppy, waiting to be attacked. By what? I'm not sure but he's gotta cut that shit out. "And second, have you or anyone else been in room 794? It's actually offensive."

"7-794?" Tim's shaky hands move to the keyboard of an old computer. He types what I assume to be my room number as his eyes bounce across the screen. "Oh," he says, his face draining of what color remained in it.

"Oh? What do you mean 'oh'?"

"N-nothing. Nothing. I'll gladly reimburse you and give you a new room for free. No one should be in room 394."

"And why is that?" I ask. He's peaked my curiosity.

Tim's hand shoots up and runs nervously through his hair, tousling it. He grabs a handful off it, but lets it go before he pulls any of it out. This dude is going through it. "Uhhh, died. Someone died in there. Multiple someone's actually."

"Multiple!?"

"Y-yes 34 to be exact. Rooms cursed. I'm so sorry."

I'm not sure if he's apologizing because of the mishap of me getting the room or the fact that there's a very grand possibility that I am now cursed myself.

Fuck.

"You're fuckin' kidding."

"No. No, sadly not." Tim shoots back down and pops back up with a new room key. 795. I can't help but roll my eyes. Like room 795 is any less cursed than its lovely neighbor 794. "Here's you're new k-key. Enjo-oy your stay." He drops the key on the counter and turns, making his way to a set of swinging doors, I assume lead to a break room of some sort. I've still got to get my stuff out of my old room, but at this point I'm too spooked to go by myself, but I'm writing a new book and need several of the things out of that room. Fuck, this place. I don't want to go alone. In my head I'm whining and stomping like a four year old. Tim has already disappeared behind the double swinging doors and I hear a TV flip on. I've got to convince Mr. Pantophobia to help me get my shit from the cursed room. I don't actually need help and I would usually never ask a man to help me lug my things around, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I pull my shirt down a little bit, exposing some cleavage.

"Tim? Hellooooo?" I knock on the wooden counter and he comes back out. Thank god. "Oh good you're still here. Okay, so...I'm probably going to need some help gathering my things." I see his pupils dilate as he assumes what I'm about to ask him. "Think you can help a girl out?"

His stutter gets worse as he reaches underneath the counter. He brings out a ring of keys and shakes vigorously. "S-s-s-s-sure. Yeah. Yeah sure." I know he doesn't want to, and he didn't even put up a fight when I asked. He didn't even look at my tits. We walk silently, to the elevator, and my curiosity gets the best of me.

"Sooo, you got any inside details on any of the 34 murders?"

Tim doesn't move his head but his eyes travel to the side until he's looking at me in what would seem like a painful manner.

"No."

Liar.

"Oh come on! You've own this place! You've got to know something about at least one of them!" I egg him on as he we arrive to the elevator. Tim uses a long bony finger to press the up arrow on the vintage elevator. It's definitely been upgraded since the hotel originally opened in the 50's, but they've kept the same old timey look to both the inside and the outside of the hotel. It would be really nice if the place wasn't so fucking creepy. Two sets of doors open and we step inside. They close slowly and Tim presses his finger against a round button with a number seven printed on it and we lurch upward.

"Th-this hotel has been in my family since it opened. We aren't sure wh-why it's plagued with misfortune, but we try not to dwell on it too much."

"Why not? History is history. It happened and it happened here, dude. You can't change that."

I'm actually shocked that this place doesn't get more business. I've not seen more than five people since I arrived here and that includes Tim. Usually haunted or cursed hotels bring in tons of business, especially when there's a possibility of catching a ghost on camera.

Tim is silent for a moment after my response, and it's probably because I'm fucking right and he doesn't want to admit it. But when he opens his mouth to speak, I'm not prepared for what comes out of his mouth or the chills that pepper my body.

"They don't like when we talk about what happened."

"Th-they who?" Great. Now I'm stuttering. The elevator dings and we come to a stop. Tim steps off and I trail behind him. He's giving me the creeps now and it doesn't help that the lights flicker as we walk through the hall of floor seven. "Tim, what does that even mean? 'They don't like when we talk about what happened.'"

We're in front of room 794 in no time, and I suddenly have the urge to just take my shit and leave all together. Tim's freaking me out and so is this creepy fucking hotel. I feel like there are eyes on me even though no one is here. Tim brings the ring of keys up to the knob and I notice he's less jittery, less nervous and for some reason that makes me more nervous. The fuck is going on? The key Tim separates from the rest is old, rusty and much longer than the others. It goes in with ease and twists only once until the door opens.

Suddenly this room is a whole hell of a lot more unwelcoming knowing it's cursed. Tim holds his hand out into the room as if to say after you and follows it up with a jerk of his head into the darkness. Why didn't I leave the lights on before I came downstairs to complain. I suddenly feel stupid that I requested his help to move my shit one door over.

"You know what? I think I got it from here. Thanks...for the escort."

"Nonsense," Tim replies, kicking the door shut behind him. "I'd be happy to help." He's no longer stuttering and his movements look confident and lethal.

I'm scared.

I'm shaking as I haphazardly throw my clothes back into my suitcase, not caring whether or not they're dirty or clean. I want to get out of this room and more importantly, away from Tim. Why'd he have to shut the door? The room seems stuffy now, and I'm sweating even though all I'm doing is throwing my shit back into my suitcase. I add my laptop and pocket my cell phone before I zip up my suitcase.

"Okay. Done. Let's go."

Tim has a half smirk on his face and one foot against the door behind him. He looks absolutely dangerous and I really, really miss it when he was afraid of his own shadow. "You want to know the real reason this room is cursed?" He asks, stutter long gone.

"N-no, I just want to get to my new room." I muster up the courage to walk toward him. He's skinny as fuck, I probably have more muscle than he does and can easily shove him aside, but when I come within a few inches of him, he stands up straight and towers over me.

Was he this tall before?

He's got a hand behind his back and when he pulls it out from behind him he reveals a knife. I mentally kick myself in the ass, knowing that's what he went behind those double doors for before we came up here. Damn it. He points the tip of the blade at me and I begin to walk backwards.

"I'll ask again, y/n. Do you want to know the real reason this room is cursed." He grits out the last word and pushes the blade into my stomach ever so slightly. I gasp at the contact, but play along. I have to play along if I want to get out of this.

"Y-yes. Yes I do. Tell me."

Tim pulls the knife away, but only so that the tip is no longer piercing the flesh of my abdomen. He cracks his neck and the sound of bones popping is overwhelming in this quiet room.

"Guess."

A tear slips from my left eye as my back hits the wall. No where else to go.

"I don't like guessing games, Tim. Just tell me."

"TOO FUCKING BAD," he screams, slicing into my jeans, making a clean cut into my thigh. It's deep enough to inflict pain but not deep enough to cause me to bleed out. He's got experience. "I do. Now, take a fucking guess or I'll push this knife so deep into your stomach, your organs will come with it on the way out."

A sob escapes my mouth and it takes me a minute to catch my breath.

I'm going to fucking die in here.

"You're taking to long, y/n." Tim raises his knife, the blade gleams in what little light shines from the heavily curtained window. "And I don't like to be kept waiting." He moves quickly, plunging it toward my stomach. I'm lucky enough to catch his wrist, and from sheer adrenaline alone, I'm able to hold him back and give him an answer.

"BECAUSE," I scream. "Because your family is batshit fucking crazy and you are the ones that kill here."

He smirks at me and I curse myself for even thinking that he looks the least bit attractive in this moment.

"Very good, y/n," Tim praises. "You know, I feel bad about this." The confusion must be evident on my face. He yanks his hand from my grip and uses the knife to scrape away the hair that's fallen into my face. "Don't be dumb. I mean the killing you part."

"Let me go then, you asshole." I'd love to knee him in the dick right now, but I don't. I want to leave this with as few stab wounds as possible.

"No. No, can't do that. Not when you know the family secret."

"Oh, geez. I won't tell anyone," I lie. He lets me go and I'm spilling my fucking guts.

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before. You're very pretty, y/n, but lying makes even the prettiest faces ugly."

I roll my eyes. This is taking too long. "Just kill me or let me go, you fucking psycho."

Tim taps the knife on his chin, contemplatively. "I don't think I'll do either."

My heart sinks as I think of the torture he has planned for me. This has taken a sick turn and I'm feeling more and more hopeless the longer this goes on. Why did I have to go downstairs and complain. Why? "Then what the fuck are you going to do?"

"Marry me."

"What?" He doesn't like the tone in my voice and by the look on his face, he's feeling a bit stabby. "I-I'm sorry. I'm confused."

"You seem to think you have an option in this. You marry me and you join me in carrying on my family business. I put a few kids in you so they take over. Or I kill you. Make a choice and do it quick. I'm missing my show."

A million thoughts cross my mind. The main one being the fact that he thinks I'll let him close enough to stick his dick in me and get me pregnant. The next one being that either way, I never get to leave this hotel of horrors.

"You're taking to LONG, y/n."

Tim raises his knife again and I have no choice but to join him.

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp

[honourablejester]

PF2e Character Concept: Graverobber Ghost Eater Rogue

Since I was talking about grave robbers as a character concept and the lovely fact that Pathfinder actually has that as a background option ... I’m gonna build me a grave robber!

We’re gonna go rogue, because, well, criminal. But. I think for this one, we’re going to try a ruffian rogue. They’re lurking in graveyards, they’re lugging bodies around, they’re shovelling dirt and excavating coffins. They feel very physical. So we’ll go ruffian, and have equal Str and Dex, and for a bonus we’ll be trained in Intimidation. Which feels very right for a grave robber who, again, spends a lot of time lurking in graveyards.

They’re going to carry a shovel. This is important to me. Their equipment has to included a long tool (shovel) and a hooded lantern. The shovel can be used as an improvised weapon (1d6) if they want to. For their actual weapons, I think we’re going to go with a good, old-fashioned club, because they’re a very ‘hit them over the head’ sort of character, and a crossbow for range.

For ancestry …

Look. It’s slightly weird, given their views on ancestors and ancestor worship, but I really want a witch gnoll? Because creepy cackling dark-furred hyena rogue lurking in graveyards. You get some spooky occult spellcasting for free, starting with ghost sound, which feels both very useful and very thematic for a criminal trying to sneak into graveyards to loot bodies/graves. Also, seven foot tall creepy person lurking in graveyards with a shovel. The image is what I’m going for here. Heh.

I am wondering how well a grave robber gels with a gnoll’s reverence for the dead. Does it count if they’re not gnoll dead? They’re not this rogue’s ancestors, so it doesn’t count? Gnolls are also very pragmatic, which fits so well with the ghoulish pragmatism you’d get on a grave robber. They eat their dead, they use their bones. Is this particular gnoll just weirded out by putting the dead in boxes and leaving them to rot, and views grave robbing, in its own weird way, as almost a better way to honour the dead? At least they’re being useful. They’re giving strength, wisdom, prosperity to at least someone, instead of being locked in a box underground to just moulder. Eh, I think I can work something there.

And. On the subject of the dead. The thing about being a grave robber in a fantasy universe is that you’re a lot more likely to run into the undead as well. I do want to add something a little bit mystical to this grave robber. I did consider both the ghost hunter and exorcist archetypes, but … they’re both a bit too finicky? This character is not a grave tender, they’re a grave robber. I wanted something a bit more … pragmatic. Enter the ghost eater archetype, which opens, directly at the dedication feat, with the simple premise of ‘if a ghost hits you, hit it back’. Which I think fits much better for our pragmatic ruffian rogue? *grins* Yes. I think we’ll do that.

For stats, I think we can start with a +3 to Str/Dex, a +1 to Con/Int/Cha, and a +0 to Wis. We’re a thug. A slightly smart, somewhat intimidating thug, but we’re not necessarily all that sensible. Would we be in this business if we were sensible?

Because we’re a rogue, we can be trained in a shit tonne of skills, even with only a +1 Int, so we’ll get Acrobatics, Athletics, Deception, Diplomacy, Intimidation, Lore: Underworld, Society, Stealth and Thievery. We’ve got a couple bonus spots as well, so we’ll also pick up a little bit of Religion and Occultism, because when you hang around in graveyards as often as we do, you pick up some things, and we’ll also take a bit of Medicine just because it’s handy to have. To level, we’ll focus on Acrobatics, Athletics, Intimidation, Stealth and Thievery, and maybe divvy the rest between Society and Occultism.

Bundling this all back together … We’re a seven foot tall burly hyena person who’s fallen, by an odd combination of luck, pragmatism, natural talent, and some odd beliefs about the dead even by gnoll standards, into a career as a grave robber and resurrectionist in a non-gnoll society. Possibly we’re an exile from our tribe, possibly related to said somewhat odd beliefs. But we’re pretty good at our happy new career lurking in graveyards and politely thumping both living and undead nuisances over the head with a lovingly-crafted club and/or our shovel, whichever was fastest to hand. We’re enjoying it, honestly. It’s good, honest work!

Gnoll names are often bone-based, which fits so nicely as well. So we’re going to go a little over the top, here, and call her Knuckle the Lurk. A grave robbing, ghost eating, ruffian rogue. Heh.

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #19: Taken

Content Warning: Violence, Dumb drunk guy is dumb. The bar was mostly empty, but it still had the feel of somewhere Rose would typically avoid.  However there weren’t any other options in the settlement and they were craving a bed and a hot meal after a few weeks on the road.  The scent of stew from the kitchen was good, so the place couldn’t be all bad.  Hopefully. They ordered their ale and the stew and soon enough a steaming bowl with a chunk of crusty bread stuck on the rim joined the mug on their table.  The bar wench was pretty and friendly, spending a few minutes chatting with Rose after to make sure that they didn’t need anything else.

At least until a growl from a stout man sitting at another table in the room interrupted them.  “Ya’gonna chat-up that stranger al’night Merrilee?  Been waitin’on a refill ta’long now!”  The middle aged roegadyn was clearly in his cups, a few words slurred here and there and in a bit of a temper from how he slammed his mug on the table hard enough to rattle the empty bowl on it.  “Keep it in yer pants Claw.  Ya ain’t been waitin’ that long ya big lug.”, the barmaid rolling her eyes at the ruckus.  On the outside it looked like she was well used to the man’s behavior, but Rose was close enough to see how her shoulders tensed up and fingers gripped the towel in her hand tight.  Temper or fear?  The elezen couldn’t tell, but they kept their mouth shut and their eyes on the roegadyn to see how it turned out. The mug of ale was delivered to Claw without incident, but instinct told Rose something wasn’t right so they took their time eating.  The stew really was good and a second bowl was both wanted and a good excuse to stay downstairs longer.  

On a delivery of a mug to Claw, the man grabbed Merrilee by the waist and pulls her into his lap.  “S’when are y’gonna leave th’damn cat ya’ve shacked up with ta be with’a real man, huh?” “And ya think ya are a real man, Claw?  A real pain in the ass is all ya are. Ya know I’m taken!  Let go of me!”  “Not unill  I’ave ya sayin’ yes ta me, Merrilee.”  Rose pushed their chair back quickly as the woman stomped on Claw’s foot with all the force she could muster.  The man howled in pain, but only gripped her tighter around the waist, leaning in to snarl then try to force a kiss upon her.  

Wood snapped, vines forcing their way up between the floorboards as Rose saw red. The vines tangled the man up quickly, some even wrapping tight around his neck to make sure the roegadyn couldn’t breathe.  It guaranteed that he let go of Marilee, tugging desperately at the vines instead, blood trickling down his neck from where the thorns dug into skin.   Eyes wide in fear, Marilee pushed herself off of Claw’s lap.  Her legs didn’t support her weight and she fell to the floor, but gently since a few of the plants slithered out to break her fall and nudge her further away.   Rose walked up to the man, taking their time as he fought to get air.  Their pale eye glimmered with malice in the low light, a cruel smirk crossing their lips as they watched Claw struggle in vain.  He cast pleading eyes up at them, shaking his head best he could in denial. “Hmm?  Is that a no?  Seems the lady said no to you and you ignored her.   Why should I do any different to you?”  Leaning forward, Rose stared into the bloodshot eyes of the drunk man.  “I shouldn’t.  You’re old enough to know better Claw, you can’t just take what you want.  You’re just a small, sad man.  A bully that never grew up into a decent person.  Best make good with whatever gods you pray to, you’ll be seeing them soon enough.”  

Marilee said nothing, fear and fascination keeping her silent.   The whole incident was quiet enough that no one else in the building even knew that there was a problem.  Soon enough Claw passed out, slumping in the grip of the vines that held him.  “Is he dead...? By the twelve did you kill him?”   The horror in the barmaid’s voice snapped Rose out of the memories they were caught in, a shiver going down their spine.  Right, here not there.  A bit of aether and the vines around Claw’s neck loosened as Rose kick started the man’s heart into beating again and his lungs to draw air back within the body that was no longer still.  “No.  He passed out between the drink and the lack of air.  He might wake up stupider, but I doubt anyone will notice.”   Turning back to the table, they drop a handful of gil on the table then pick up their pack.  “You’re leaving?” 

“Aye.  Thank you for the stew, he shouldn't bother you anymore.”  “You don’t have to g-go..”  Dumbstruck, Merilee watched as the elezen walked back out into the cold and dark without responding.  “Well fuck me, guess I get ta clean this all up myself.”

[anjanahalo]

Ghost story aside 1

“Hello, Jasmine,” he began, hoping a polite start would aid him in endearing himself toward Maddie’s remaining progeny. He cursed himself internally about not reading about how to deal with children. Maddie having any sort of child with Jack, though, remained a horrid idea, even with the surviving proof of it before him. Best to ignore the particulars, he reminded himself. Jasmine herself seemed to take after her mother as far as looks, much to her benefit. Red hair, slight face, delicate nose. The only issue is she was far taller than the average twelve year old. She took after Jack in the puberty department, it seemed. She still hadn’t responded to his greeting as they waited for Maddie and her husband to finish supper. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother, Daniel,” Vlad ventured, attempting some sort of conversation. Besides, there’s no better way to discuss the horrific elephant in the room. “Danny’s not dead,” Jasmine muttered. Vlad didn’t know if she meant for him to hear or if this was a reflexive complaint. Vlad felt an instinct to deny her statement, to help her get over her grief, her denial, her understandable issue with losing a brother…but that wasn’t the tone she used. It wasn’t one of a child struggling through grief. It was one of a person sick of trying to correct those around them. “Your parents seem to feel otherwise,” Vlad said. “They’re wrong. He’s not-” She started to respond, but that’s when Jack, the lugging hulk, arrived to plop a serving bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. Maddie soon followed with sliced pork tenderloin. Vlad waited, but Jasmine didn’t continue her statement. Vlad came here due to Daniel’s obituary. Both of his parents were certain about the loss of their son. If there was a doubt, even Jack would be the sort to seek out more information. Amid the evidence, there sat their remaining child, utterly certain Daniel still lived. Vlad, if he were an ordinary man, might dismiss Jasmine outright because she spoke insanity. There was no coming back after death. People declared dead rarely came back from that. He was no ordinary man, however. Jack ensured that. Vlad knew there was more beyond the veil of death, and he currently hated that knowledge. I’d be easier to assume Jasmine was wrong and Daniel passed into the hereafter. The laboratory in Jack’s basement, a sophisticated remake of his own grave, suggested Jack went about repeating all of his mistakes. Daniel lived, but not in a way his ghost hating parents would accept

. Daniel lived, and the key to finding him laid in the sulking preteen before him. “Do you mind showing me Daniel’s room after dinner?” Vlad asked Jasmine. “I want to do my best to honor him as his godparent, after all.” “Sounds like a grand idea, Vladdy,” Jack said. Vlad took a deep breath and smiled to match the man’s grin. “You don’t mind, right, Jazzy?” Jasmine watched Vlad’s face. Vlad allowed it to relax. To win this girl over, he knew, he needed far more sincerity than any of her parents felt. Granted, he might be the only human on Earth who’d believe a boy lived while dead, but she needed to see that. “Sure,” She said, staring into his eyes. She trusted he’d listen, she shared with that gaze, but she didn’t trust him. He hoped to change that soon, especially if Daniel to be, shall he say, Differently Alive as he was. The key, therein, remained with Jasmine, and she was more than eager for an adult to believe her.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person who tells them (and you've never claimed to be)

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: sarah black | the bishop/john hartley | also the bishop, pining from our dear nolan here

Word Count: 3086

The first rule about running a con is that if you ever find yourself believing your own lies, it’s time to get out. 

Did he believe that he really cared about Agent Built-Like-A-Brick-Shit-House Hartley? At first, no, because he was just an angry wall of meat that was always conveniently placed between him and anything he wanted—namely, the eggs—and it was not hard to hate angry walls of meat. Then it became yes, he did actually care about this massive lug hauling himself alongside because hey, more people equals more variables equals more things he has to prepare for when everything goes tits up. 

Then…yeah, okay, maybe then. 

Maybe. 

Like, gun to his testicles he probably wouldn’t say anything but if Hartley was throwing a party, he’d turn up. Maybe. Just to snatch the most expensive bottle of booze, crack a joke, and leave. 

No, you know what? This is a dumb place to start. Try again. 

He wishes he would’ve just left with the fucking egg. 

He wishes he would’ve jumped off the car and onto the other car and rode away on it. 

He wishes he would’ve let the Bishop shoot Hartley in his fucking chest. 

He wishes he wouldn’t have included him in that prison escape plan. He wishes he’d never told him the long story about his dad. He wishes he’d’ve let that fucking train rip him in half.

He—

Nope. This sucks too. Starting over. 

The oldest rule to a con is that it’s got three parts. Hook, line, sinker. 

Hook, get your target to admit you’ve got a point. Get them interested. A foot in the door, no matter how gnarled, gross, disfigured, or warty it is. Even if it’s just a single toe. Get it in the door. 

Line, feed them something they’ll want to eat. Hint at what you want them to be paying attention to. Get them talking, get them on your side. 

Sinker. Ride the gullible sap all the way to the bottom of the ocean. Like dead weight. Reel them in. Make them eat your bait until their little fish mouths are so full they’re gasping before they’re even out of the water. 

…yeah, that metaphor fucking sucks. Start over. 

Any minute now. He’ll think of something. Don’t you worry. 

…it’s really fucking hot out here. 

Didn’t even give him any sunblock or sunscreen or sun tan lotion or whatever the hell else people call it. You know how hard it is to be inconspicuous with tan lines? Maybe he should be grateful that he’s getting his vitamin D now since wherever Das is gonna stick him now likely won’t have panoramic views. 

Also the cuffs. Hurting like hell, thanks. 

He wasn’t lying, not really, when he says he’s got no hard feelings for them. They’re good. Holy shit, they’re good. They fooled him, that’s saying something. And the whole thing with the dramatic build-up and the kiss? Poetic cinema at its finest. Sure, he also wasn’t lying when he said he had notes for Hartley’s performance. A little less of the posturing, yeah, maybe a little less heavy-handed with the I became a cop to get back at my old man who despised the law and everything it stood for bullshit, and maybe a little less of the I’m-going-to-pretend-to-be-asleep-after-you’ve-just-confessed-your-tragic-backstory-since-that-time-with-your-third-therapist, that was a dick move. 

But everything else…yeah. Really great. Top notch. 

Great performance. 

Nolan sniffs and tries to adjust his arms so he’s resting a little more comfortably against the tree. Which is hard, considering he’s standing in the middle of a fucking jungle with his hands cuffed around a branch and his chest is currently doing its very best to fucking explode. 

You have to get really good at listening to your body when you do what he does for a living. You have to know when you’re in pain and understand where your limits are. Extends to other things too, knowing when you’re hungry, when you’re tired, any of that stuff. Sure, once you know your limits you can start to push them, can start telling your body to fuck off and all that good stuff, but you’ve got to learn them first. 

Nolan Booth is not a fucking rookie. He’s been around the block. Over it, under it, through it, he’s practically circumcised it. He knows what he’s doing. 

Which means that it’s probably a good thing he’s handcuffed to the tree right now so he has an excuse for not knowing what the fuck he’s doing. 

Is he mad that they got the drop on him? You bet your sweet ass he is, he’s supposed to be the one victorious at the end of all of this, he’s supposed to have his walk-off into the sunset moment. Sure, it’s tempered a little bit by the fact that yeah, okay, game can recognize game and that was good. 

Is he mad that he doesn’t get to keep any of the eggs? Again, you bet your fucking ass he is. He did so much of the work to get those eggs, he fucking unearthed deep-seated childhood trauma for this shit, and no payoff? Rude. 

Is he mad that the stupidest, easiest lie in the fucking world is the one he fell for? 

Does he even need to say it this time?

Nolan clenches his jaw and tries to ignore the press of his forehead against the bark of the tree. It rasps against too-sensitive skin and doesn’t do anything to alleviate the sting of the cool metal cuffs. 

He tries to tell himself that this is fine, that the lie isn’t as stupid and entry-level as he thinks it is. Hartley may not have actually worked for the FBI as a profiler, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have the skills. Hell, he’s worked as a circus performer and he didn’t even have to pad out his CV that much. Hartley knew him, better than he’s let most therapists know him, and adjusted the lie accordingly. It was tailored specifically for him, that’s why it worked so well.

Never mind that it’s impossible to get that much stuff without actually talking to someone, never mind that it’s almost insulting how easy it was for him, if that was the case, it means they looked him up and did the job they knew he would fall for. 

Of course they did, a traitorous part of his brain whispers, they’re con artists. That’s what you do. 

Nolan grits his teeth and tugs at the cuffs again. It’s useless, he knows, he’s actually going to have to work to be free of these blasted things, but his hands aren’t working properly right now and he’s still too distracted by the pain blossoming in his chest. 

He wonders if Hartley knowing how badly he wanted to believe the lie was a part of how they came up with it. 

Who is he kidding, of course it was. 

Hartley’s words still ring in his head. Worthy of your father’s love. That had been the first time he’d conceded to the big hunk and he…he’d honestly thought it might be the last. But it hadn’t. 

Not when he’d gotten caught right next to him and found that not only is the man strong, he’s smart.

Not when he’d actually been hurt when he’d heard the fake snore coming from underneath him. 

Not when he’d watched him about to handcuff the Bishop only to stop, an actual fond smile coming to his face before sharing what might be the most tender kiss he’s ever seen with the woman who was supposed to be their greatest rival. 

His greatest rival. 

Nolan resists the urge to slam his head against the branch. Barely. 

We. When did this become a ‘we’ thing? When did he start thinking of this operation not as Booth and some agent he’s dragging along, but Booth and Hartley? When did he start to care that someone else was here, to the point where he left the fucking egg?

As with all good cons, the target can’t point out a singular moment where the switch flipped. It’s a slow burn, the kind where you put a frog in water and it doesn’t jump out even when its skin starts to peel off. 

How hot was the water when he heard Hartley laugh for the first time? Like, genuinely, I’m-not-shitting-you, you-genuinely-caught-me-off-guard laugh. His whole face had broken out into this smile and Nolan hadn’t been able to look away for a second. 

How hot was the water when he’d heard Hartley gasping for breath behind him and his chest had seized, trying to make him spit out the information just so he could get Sotto Voce to stop?

How hot was the water when they’d both been scrabbling around in the dirt like children, their sides pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, until the heat was almost unbearable?

He’d been boiled alive at the bottom of the waterfall. 

It doesn’t matter what you do, only what they think you’ve done. 

It doesn’t matter that the gasps he heard from Hartley made his throat cry out in agony, only that he lied to Bishop about where the last egg was. It doesn’t matter that his hand shook as he fitted the watch into place on that Nazi bunker, only that it worked to get inside. 

It doesn’t matter that his heart feels like it’s tearing itself in two, only that he got them what they wanted. 

The cuffs jangle as he yanks on them. 

Hartley…with his gruff voice and short sentences and jokes that slid just underneath Nolan’s skin. Even when they’d been fighting, he’d never hurt Nolan, not really, not badly, and the way they just seemed to match each other. Even with their insults and when they’d been squaring up in front of guns and technology and behind enemy lines, they’d been—he could look at Hartley and feel some sort of security. 

And Bishop…god, where does he even begin? The attention she’d paid him, the way she said his name, the way she’s crafted the narrative of them together as art thieves, even the way they teased Hartley for being so Johnny Law…

He tries to observe his own flaws with the way he does others, if only to make sure he can account for them when he goes to work. He knows he has a need for validation, for attention, but god had he underestimated how much he’d turned into a fucking lapdog. 

The pit in his chest opens a little bit more and two hands twist the knife. 

Whoever said that true friends stab you in the front because it’s quick and painless is a filthy liar. 

Of course they knew. Of course they knew. They’re too fucking smart not to know. He knew as well, that this was just a game. This was a game of them trying to one-up each other, seeing who could get the other to give up a weakness first. He knows he lost. He knows he’s lost badly and he’s a gracious loser. But that doesn’t mean it’s painless. 

He wonders who figured out he was starved for affection first. His money is on Hartley, just because the man is the one who figured out how to walk the line between giving Nolan enough to make him follow the crumbs like a stupid pigeon while still believing it was all his idea. But Bishop…oh, Bishop did so well with toying with him that he has to believe she knew it too. Little boy, perfectly molded into what they needed him to be by a daddy who didn’t talk to him for over a year and there he was, a pawn they moved effortlessly across the board, hand in unlovable hand. 

Another lie he told himself, another lie he knows he won’t ever be able to believe. 

Thank god he’s tied up in a jungle. The breeze ripples through the trees and insects whine like it’s their job to suck his brain out of his ears and he’s panting as he pulls at the jangling cuffs. It’s not quiet, it won’t ever be, not here, and he’s just a little bit grateful to them for that. 

“Do you ever shut up,” Hartley had grumbled on the flight to Argentina, “or am I cursed to just put up with your noise?”

“Aw, don’t complain, sweetheart, I’m sure I’ll make plenty of noise for you if you just ask nicely.” Never mind the fact that he would, he knows he would, if only that shamed and shunned part of him weren’t so buried. 

Hartley had glared at him. “I’m sick of you.”

And unbidden, Nolan had laughed. Genuinely laughed. “You think you’re sick of me? I have to listen to me all the time, even when I’m not talking.”

Hartley had given him another look, one that he now knows means he’s filing that information away to be turned into a weapon later, wielded by him or the Bishop, it doesn’t matter. Back then, he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, it’d been something like…regret? Compassion? Something?

Nolan isn’t sure that Hartley knew what he was saying. 

I have to listen to me all the time, even when I’m not talking. 

The worst thing about prison is the silence. Of seeing so many people and knowing they’re there and no one saying anything. Of being ignored because of course he’s there to be ignored. No one cares, no one will, and he will drown in silence until he can’t hear himself scream. 

Maybe he should. 

His throat closes up and aches to be let free and he wants to, he wants to, but the lingering fear that someone might hear him keeps a lock on it. 

Because he’s under no illusions that he’s saved face, but he has some pride left. 

He settles for the most pathetic whine he can think of as he buries his face into the bark of the tree. There’s no one but himself here to lie to, not in the safety of his own head, and he knows better than to try right now. 

He thought his legs were going to give out when he realized what had happened. He’d stared at them looking so smug, so perfect, so annoyingly perfect when they revealed what the jig was. And then to see them comforting each other, reassuring each other, apologizing to each other because they cared about each other. Seeing the fake warmth fade to genuine affection and fondness as they proceeded to treat him like a wall. He wasn’t there. He didn’t matter. He never did, he was just the Bishops’ pawn, and he would never be anything more than that. 

Nolan’s eyes squeeze tighter. He’s not going to cry alone in this jungle, handcuffed to a tree. He’s not. 

He’s not going to think about how stupidly condescending that last speech was. He’s not going to think about the part of him that still yearned to reach for Hartley during that moment when he said they had nothing but respect for him. He’s not going to think about how much he felt like a kid again, begging for scraps of anything from a father that wouldn’t give it to him. 

He’s not going to think about how easily they moved around each other. He’s not going to think about how, even when they were still supposedly enemies, they moved around each other as easily and comfortably as only intimate lovers could. He’s not going to think about how well he could see that in how they took turns tearing him apart. 

He’s not going to think about where they’re going now. He’s not going to think about the Bishop in some extravagant evening gown with Hartley taking her arm, the power couple they are. He’s not going to think about how much they care for each other, how much they depend on each other, and how little of anything they ever gave him was or could have been real. 

Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t real. It won’t be real. They don’t think of him. He is nothing to them, not in the way they could be to him. 

So he’s not going to think about it. 

He’s not. 

He’s not. 

Nolan Booth ducks his face between his elbows as tears squeeze themselves from his eyes. 

He can’t stay here. Das is going to come looking for him. He’s going to be escorted back to prison and he’s going to have to deal with this. He has to plan. 

So he lets himself have this. He slumps against the cuffs and lets them dig into the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists and he lets the ache in his chest send him almost to his knees. Because the second Das finds him, the game is on and he’s going to need all of his strength for what comes next. 

He has to rest now. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he wants to scream, he has to rest now. 

He’s as silent as he can be in the middle of an abandoned jungle. 

He lets Das and her men throw him roughly into the back of a truck. He lets his restraints be fastened so tight his circulation is about to be cut off. He lets himself be shoved into the back of a silent truck that means he can’t hear anything other than his own breathing and the blood rushing in his ears. 

He lets the boat spray hit him too hard in the face as he rides it out to the yacht in the middle of the ocean. He lets his shoulders ache and protest as he squeezes himself into a too-small space. He lets the sounds of passionate, real love and affection nestle into some soft part of his brain and stay there. 

He lets Hartley look at him like he’s a pest. He lets his words that say I don’t give a single fuck about you and you wish I cared enough to be angrier strike him where Hartley knows it hurts. He lets Bishop persuade her partner—her partner—to take the score because Booth can be a valuable asset and Hartley trusts her, one hundred percent. 

And he never again lets himself believe that, even for a second, any affection they show him could possibly be real.