#NO PLEASE ITS ALREADY CONFUSING ENOUGH WRITING ONE HE/ THEY THE FIC WOULD EXPLODE IF THERE WERE TWO OF THEM

[remma-demma]

It has come to my attention that a lot of the g’raha shippers / stans I follow didn’t like G’reen Tia. For shame.

[light-yaers]

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter Two

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: Once again I am showing off how I have zero self control when it comes to creating stable fic uploads! I simply write another chapter and then upload it immediately. I’m so sorry when this will eventually start to die down, but for now let’s enjoy the start of the story, I guess? I’m astounded at the immense love this got! Thank you all so much!

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 4k

Chapter Two

Inej returned with three glasses of whiskey. Kaz was sat opposite you at his desk, crow-headed cane secured in one of his leather gloved hands. Inej put the glasses on the desk, before picking up and handing one to you.

“Thank you,” You said politely. Despite the few weeks you’d had to acquaint yourself with the types of people that Ketterdam housed, Inej seemed different. She was a fighter, you could see that clearly, but she also seemed... soulful. Like she had a heart, bursting to the brim with kindness and care, despite the Wraith she had to become living in a place such as the Barrel.

“So, what, the Darkling took you in?” Kaz asked, impatience all over his voice. He grabbed his glass sternly, tapping the sides with his covered fingers.

“This is only the beginning of this story,” You replied.

“Well, get to it,” He said quickly.

“I told you it was a long story, Mr. Brekker. It’ll probably take us most of the night. Can your business wait that long?” You raised a brow at him knowingly. There were men such as Kaz in the Little Palace—impatient, to the point, needing answers immediately.

“Listen, Kaz,” Inej spoke up. “I have a feeling we’ve only skimmed the tip of the iceberg,”

You regarded Inej, taking in her petite frame, the glint of the knives on her body; you counted them quickly, efficiently, until you’d added up fourteen in total. Knives for days, and you’d wager a bet that she knew how to use each one to its full advantage, as if they were an extension of her body.

Kaz breathed out shallowly, shooting Inej a stare. She accepted it gracefully, not even flinching from the obvious tension that had begun to float between them.

“Your sister,” Kaz spoke, his eyes still on Inej, until he finally turned to you once more. He nodded once, sternly and quickly, but you got the message loud and clear—I’m sorry. You swallowed uncomfortably, thankful for the small comfort the tumbler of whiskey gave you as you gripped it in your hands.

“Right, where were we?”

The Little Palace, 1 Year Ago

You woke in a bright room, unrecognisable from where you’d been before—in the snow, the ice, shrouded in a darkness that the Darkling seemed to gravitate towards himself involuntarily. You looked at your hands as they shook; dirt was under your nails, dotted with dried and muddied blood—your sister was still on your very skin.

That’s when you shot up, your heartrate exploding suddenly. She wasn’t here, her body wasn’t on the floor at your feet, nor in the bed next to you. You were trapped inside four walls of creams and golds, with décor that you’d only dreamed of ever seeing.

It was unmistakable—you were in the Little Palace, the one place you’d begged the Darkling not to take you to. He’d done it anyway, after you passed out from your extreme exhaustion.

Now you started to panic, as you looked out of the grand windows of the room. A courtyard was down below, empty of people and carriages. It was still early morning by the sun placement; the palace was quiet. The Grisha lay sleeping in their rooms, the General was in his own—

You were alone.

And saints, you weren’t going to stick around. Not with your sister’s body still lying in the Fjerdan snow, waiting for wolves to find her.

You jumped out of bed, ignoring the way your muscles were screaming at you to return to the pristine sheets. Your feet were bare, and one glance at the floor showed you your shoes had been taken. What for, you didn’t know. Maybe they thought that would be enough to prevent you running.

You almost laughed, imagining the spoilt Grisha deciding to remove your boots—She won’t run with bare feet. She won’t. Little did they know, you’d run with bare feet before. And you’d easily do it again.

You tiptoed to the bedroom door, making as little noise as possible. At the last second, before your fingers curled around the handle, you decided to drop to the floor. You lay on your stomach, shoving your skull to the floor and shutting one eye—there were two feet shaped shadows under the door.

One guard, stood on watch.

This complicated things just a tad, but you were already hatching a plan by the time you stood up again. You gave yourself a few moments to stretch your poor limbs, feeling the adrenaline course through your blood and spur you forward. Without hesitation, you curled your fingers around the handle to your room, and yanked it open—

The guard whipped his hatted head around to you immediately, but he wasn’t quick enough to get into a defensive stance. You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him aggressively into your room, before you twisted him round and placed him in a headlock.

The two of you flopped to the floor, but that allowed you to secure his body to the ground with your legs, wrapping them around his torso so he couldn’t wind his way out of your grip. That’s when you tugged—hard against his windpipe.

He struggled and flailed like a freshly caught fish, but you knew it wouldn’t be long until he passed out and went jelloid. You kept your grip on him tightly, keeping him glued to the ground and his neck secure between your chest and forearm, being pulled taut by your other arm.

Eventually, he stopped fighting. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, his body slipped into a state of sleep.

You left him on the bedroom floor then, opting not to take his uniform in case he woke up while you did, and left the room. You clicked the door shut behind you, before beginning a tiptoed journey through the winding corridors of the Little Palace.

Saints, if you had the time, I’m sure you’d have appreciated the décor. It was splendid; all bright whites and creams with accents of shining gold. There were golden curls on blank white walls, intricate designs of Grisha imprinted in the wallpaper and grandiose windows that let the light flood inside.

You felt that, perhaps, the décor made up for the fact this was effectively an army base. The Grisha brought here were trained non-stop. They couldn’t leave, they didn’t have a choice. You’d heard horror stories of this place, back when you used to be safe in Novyi Zem.

“Zowa adawe,” Your neighbour had said. She was an old woman, living a quiet life on her farm. You called her Nana.

She was stern, but often times soft spoken, with her glorious Zemeni skin and gorgeous personality. When you’d found asylum after an unfortunate incident in Kerch, you and your sister had settled in her barn; parentless. She was kind, she ran the farm and let out the barn next door.

She became a grandmother figure immediately, up until the day she died.

Zowa adawe—Grisha fight. Grisha had to fight if they were sent to the Little Palace. There was no getting out it. Nana had said that your powers were beautiful, but she’d always said it with a hint of distain on her lips, as if you were running out of time.

You turned corridor after corridor, praying that no one would see you creeping around this early in the morning. All you had to do was get outside, and then you’d be able to run—run like Hell. Not stopping to look back or even worry if General Kirigan was on your tail. You’d outrun him, even if it killed you.

When you heard voices and footsteps, you flushed yourself against the corridor wall. You didn’t know where they were coming from, or who they were, but with the rags you were wearing the mud dotted over your skin, they’d know you weren’t supposed to be wandering around.

You held your breath, praying that they’d leave, that you’d get out of this fortress unscathed; and then you started moving again. The next corner you turned welcomed you into a large landing. A spiral staircase was before you to your left, only a few metres ahead of you. You lunged quickly, ducking down as not to be seen through the large windows out to the acres of land that surrounded the palace.

“You,” You stopped, swivelling round as your eyes laid upon two Grisha—one in a purple Kefta and one in white. The lady in white had yelled, but neither got into a defensive stance as you faltered backwards, constantly creeping back to the staircase as your heart threatened to bombard out of your chest. The lady in white shot her gaze down the staircase quickly, while the man in purple next to her all but looked confused.

That’s when her gaze tracked back to you once more, her jaw clenched. “Kirigan!” She boomed. You raised your hands quickly.

“Please—just—,” You pleaded in a whisper.

“Kirigan!” She yelled once more, and as the bash of doors sounded from down the stairs, you knew he’d heard loud and clear. The smack of boots ascended the spiral staircase, until the fresh face of General Kirigan hit your own. He slowed on the stairs, overseeing the commotion, before his expression softened.

He raised his hands calmly, widening his eyes in some kind of silent language, meant just for you.

“Now, just calm down,” He said calmly. You shot your gaze from the two Grisha at the end of the corridor, back to the General, before taking in your surroundings. You were blocked in from both ways; there were no doorways on your side of the grand landing.

But, there was an empty corridor, dotted with closed doors, and at the end—

A window.

It was as if Kirigan could sense the cogs in your brain whirring. As soon as your eyes lay on the window at the end of the free corridor, he began bounding up the steps. “No!” He yelled, reaching out for the flowing fabric of your blouse, but you were already running.

You pumped your arms and moved your legs as quickly as you could, storming towards the window at full pelt. Your heart was in your throat, your limbs screaming for relief, but all you could think of was your sister—alone, cold, left in the snow in a land that had never been kind to her.

That’s when you jumped, flying with all of the momentum you’d charged up from the run up, crashing straight through the window with all of your force. You ignored the sting of shattered glass as it ripped through your clothes and skin, the pain of the wood panelling breaking apart as your body slammed through the window—

And then you were falling, falling, falling—but you never hit the ground.

You brought your hands together with your eyes clamped shut, mustering your remaining energy into creating a cushion of wind to land on. It circled beneath you, spiralling around your body and stopping your free fall comfortably, until you balled your fists and the winds dissipated.

You landed in a large courtyard outside, shaking shards of glass out of your hair as you stood. You dared to look back at the mess you’d made, staring up at the broken window—

Kirigan stood above you, gazing down at you eerily.

You thought he’d be more frantic at the fact you’d just smashed through a window and were still standing. You thought he’d be rushing to get you back inside, but he wasn’t. He was calm and collected, looking at you as if he’d already worked you out completely. And that was the scariest part of this entire ordeal.

You broke into a run, not looking back as you pumped forward. You could feel his stare on your back the entire time, but you chose to ignore it—even if it all felt too easy.

Before you could make it to the tree line, you started to wane. Your limbs felt like lead, your heart felt like a bowling ball in your chest, and all of a sudden it was far too difficult to suck air into your lungs.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest as you glanced around the clearing. Before your vision began to blur, the unmistakable colour of red hit you. Red and black, with hands dancing before them. A Grisha—a Heartrender.

You struggled against the obvious magic that he was using upon you to slow your heartrate, to stop your muscles working properly. That’s when a blob of black strolled up beside the Grisha, placing his arm upon his Heartrender.

“Enough, Ivan,” Kirigan said, but you could hardly hear him.

“Heartrender...” You stuttered out, as Kirigan began to approach you slowly. “Playing dirty,” You said, as the rest of you collapsed to the floor. The sky above you circled sickeningly, your vision seeing double. Kirigan stepped above you, his face distorted as you fought against the power of Ivan.

“You’ll soon learn that I’m not the enemy here,” He said softly, as he descended to one knee. He slipped his arms beneath you, before rising. You were cradled in his arms, to incapacitated to fight against him.

“Darkling,” You muttered. You would have added more, but even talking was too much to handle.

General Kirigan carried you back inside, as the doors of the palace were bolted shut by his Heartrender. There was nothing you could do—you were powerless, and you were stuck.  

You didn’t fall asleep, but everything felt like a dream. The walk back inside, being carried to a room that wasn’t the one you awoke in, feeling the strength of Kirigan’s arms holding you up without as much as a grunt of exertion.

Kirigan gently dropped you into a large armchair, letting your head fall back against plush leather. He straightened himself, going to sit in a chair opposite you. He picked up a small bell from the table between you, ringing it once, before putting it back down and leaning back in his own chair.

You blinked away the double vision, trying to gain back your composure.

“It’ll ease. Ivan slowed your heart into a death state,” Kirigan said calmly. You were getting annoyed at the way his voice filled the air around you, floated into your ears smoothly. You didn’t want to listen. “That was quite a show,”

You think you scoffed, or maybe you tried too, because the corners of Kirigan’s mouth upturned ever so slightly.

“I told you not to bring me here,” Your words were slurred, almost as if you were drunk. You fought against the want to drift into a sleep, but he was right—it was easing with every passing minute.

“You never told me why,” He replied. You forced yourself to look at him, as your eyes adjusted. There weren’t two of him anymore; just one man. One man who’d dragged you here against your will, leaving your sister alone on Fjerdan soil.

“You left my sister there to rot,” You said, stronger this time. “How could you think I’d stay here when you left her?” Kirigan’s expression didn’t change, but he did look around when someone entered the room, carrying a pot of tea with two cups and saucers. The tray was placed on the table silently, before the attendant left immediately, clicking the door shut.

Kirigan poured two cups of tea, pushing one set towards you and taking one for himself. He didn’t take a sip yet.

“What do you have against the Little Palace?” He asked. You couldn’t help your scowl from devouring your entire face.

“The King hoards Grisha here like he owns them, like they owe him something. It’s a prison disguised as a lavish life. It’s no worse than the whore houses in Ketterdam,” You replied bluntly.

“Yet you were trying to get to Ravka, weren’t you?” Kirigan was quick to the mark, leaving nothing unturned.

“For my sister,” You said, clenching your jaw. “She’d be safe with the First Army,”

“And you?”

You finally looked in his eyes. They were dark, piercing your very skin, but the way they reflected the light gave them the illusion of warmth. You didn’t want to ever admit that the Darkling was a warm individual, not from the stories of his bloodline that you were taught from a young age.

“I was going to lie and stay with her. My abilities have never offered me much,” You said honestly, but you didn’t know why you were being truthful with this man. You swallowed uncomfortably, telling yourself to stop being so open.

“You killed those druskelle. You protected yourself,” He said. He was right, but you felt sick to your stomach. You saved yourself, but you couldn’t save her. You didn’t. “Your power is unrefined, unpredictable, but strong. I’ve never seen a Squaller summon a storm such as what we saw from the Ravkan border. It’s what lead us to you,”

The General finally took a sip of his tea, daintily rising the cup to his lips, before setting it down slowly on the saucer. You glanced at your own cup, wanting to take a sip too, but you couldn’t make yourself reach for it; not yet.

“We train Grisha here for the King, you’re right,” He continued, when you kept your mouth clamped shut. “But we also allow them to refine their abilities and hone their craft. This is a safe place for Grisha, when there are many out there who would try and take advantage of such power,”

“I never asked for this power,” You said quickly.

“No. But you can control it,” He replied, stronger this time. He had a smile on his face, leaning slightly forward, as if he truly wanted you to know why the Little Palace was good. “Wouldn’t you feel better? If you could truly harness your power? Bend it to your exact will?”

You swallowed once, frowning as you looked in his eyes. You wanted to say that you didn’t trust him—and never would. You wanted to splash scolding tea across his treacherous face, but you did neither.

“I’d feel better if I’d buried my sister, before you gave me a life sentence,”

Kirigan stood then, turning his back to you to stand before the window behind him. His hands were together behind his back, his chin high and shoulders broad. He wore all black, but you’d expect nothing different from a man who went by the Darkling.

He thought in depth, calmly, quietly, while you debated having some of your tea. It was steaming and warm and calling out to you. You knew it wasn’t poisoned because he’d already taken a sip, but you were still wary.

“How about a proposal?” He said then, turning back to look at you. You scoffed.

“I’d rather marry a horse than you,” You let out. It was an obvious joke, but you hadn’t expected the words to spill from your lips. Kirigan raised his brows, almost boyishly, taking you by surprise.

“We have fine horses here, I’m sure we could find you a great husband,” He hit back with. Saints forbid, he’d joked back. You hated to admit it, but your shoulders relaxed then, as a small giggle burst from within your gut. He came to sit opposite you once more, taking another sip of tea.

This time, you mimicked him. You picked up your own cup, bringing it to your lips and sipping heartily. Warm tea cascaded down your throat, bringing more strength back to your muscles.

“You train here,” Kirigan began. “You train here and learn to fully control your powerful Squaller abilities, with the help of myself,” You frowned slightly as he mentioned himself, but nevertheless let him continue. “And then, when you’re ready, I’ll... let you slip out undetected,”

That’s when you choked on your tea. You placed the cup back down on the saucer messily, spilling tea on his table.

“You’d let me out?” You stuttered. “No. No fucking way would you let that happen. I know the stories, General. The stoic man, damaged by his bloodline and his image,” As you spoke, Kirigan’s jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t let a Grisha slip out of your ranks,”

He cleared his throat slightly, straightening his shoulders. “I will, if it means you’ll let me train you first,”

You furrowed your brows at him, the cogs in your brain whirring. “Why are you so interested in my abilities? I’m no Sun Summoner, General. I can’t destroy the Fold—,”

“This isn’t about the Fold,” He interrupted you. “This is about you,” He said it with such surety that it almost took your breath away. You were silent, pondering what to say from your rapidly firing thoughts. “Squallers are never as powerful as you have proven to be,” He leaned forward on the dark wood table, coming in close to you. You were too frozen in place to move, too stubborn to back away from him. “I want to see what else you can do, with the right training,”

You stood abruptly, after he’d finished talking. You ignored the disastrous way you looked, with shards of glass still in your hair and small scratches all over your bare skin. Your feet were bad; you could tell just from the way your soles felt; but you pushed through.

“This is a deal,” You said strongly. “A proper deal—a vow,”

Kirigan stood then, too, strolling round until he was face to face with you.

“I’m a man of my word,” He said plainly, before he stuck out a strong hand. You stared at his wrist, his fingers, before slipping your own hand into his. You both shook on it, cementing the deal that he’d offered. If you felt he was lying at any moment, you wouldn’t hesitate to break out of the Little Palace and slip through his fingers.

“Fine,” You said, pulling your hand from his grasp. He looked down at you with an air of knowledge, but his eyes showed you something else; a softness, excitement, sadness. It was so intense that you simply had to look away.

“Your sister,” He said then, causing you to flinch as you scowled back at him. “Men have already been sent to the border to collect her,” He said it so plainly that you were sure he was making it up, but your heart panged as he kept talking. “They’ll bring her here in two days’ time. She will have a proper burial,”

You could have cried, if your body wasn’t on fire. You would have screamed and sobbed if you weren’t stood in front of someone such as General Kirigan. In this world, crying was always a weakness. Emotions were meant to be felt in private. Pain was only to be felt behind closed doors. You wouldn’t give up that ingrained way of life so quickly, as much as you wanted to collapse on the floor when you thought of your sister.

You tried to find the words to say something in response to General Kirigan, but nothing came out. All you could muster was a curt nod, to which he reciprocated with his own.

“Rest. Eat. Drink. You have today to recuperate,” He said sternly.

“Before the Grisha here eat me alive,” You whispered. Kirigan let out the smallest huff.

“Show them your power, and they’ll leave you be,” He said, before his hand curled around your forearm tightly. You gasped at his touch, expecting it to be cold, dark, hostile—but he was just a man. He was just... a fucking man.

With eyes and a nose and a mouth. With shining hair and stubble and broad shoulders. With hips that dipped to his thighs and knees that met his calves.

It was scary, to say the least. You knew what this man was capable of. You knew what he could do, but instead he promised you freedom. He promised to train you, to bury your sister, to keep you safe here while he could.

But that didn’t mean you trusted him. That didn’t mean you weren’t wary—

If only you’d stayed this on edge, this untrusting. Maybe things would have been different.

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I’m sorry if your tag doesn’t work-- I don’t know why they do that sometimes!

[i-is-a-fan-weeb]

first off:Happy Birthday Percy!! And second:thank you to @percydarling for giving me the inspo for my first fic here! So here we go(also i set this in Percy's fourth year so yea) also TW in the tags

Penny walked into the empty Great Hall and spotted Percy sitting at the end of what is normally the Slytherin table,reading on of his many books on mythology.

"Hi Percy! What mythology sre you reading today?" Penny plumped down next to Percy

"Chinese." Percy simply replied,not looking up.

Percy has always been into mythology,ever since his Uncle Gideon brought a book on Greek myths when he was 4 and Percy read it while Gideon,Fabion and Molly talked downstairs. After that,the onky thing Percy wanted for his birthday and Christmas was a book on Greek mythology,before he branched out to other mythologies and muggle religions when he was 10. Then he asked for books on any myths and religion(Arthur got him an actual Bible on his 11th).

This year,Penny,Oliver and Marcus were planning to do more than that.

"Ooo,Chinese. You're so lucky your parents let you read mythology and explore other religions at home." Penny always complained about not being able to read mythology at home because her parent were over-religious muggles and it took her mother everything to not have her father disown her for being a witch. Penny also wasn't allowed to visit or write any of her friends over breaks either.

Out of nowhere,Oliver and Marcus sat down across from Percy and Penny.

"Hey Perce." Oliver took one hand away from Percy's boom and kissed the knuckles. Then he took the book away from Percy.

"Hey!" Percy cried out,reaching for his book,but Oliver,whose much faster,managed to keep it away.

"Na-ahhh. You're not getting this back until we're done." Oliver said,closing the book shut(but not before taking Percy's bookmark and putting it in Percy's place in the book)

"Done with what?" Percy asked,narrowing his eyes at his friends(and boyfriend)

"We have sonething to ask you." Marcus said

"If it's about me being tiebraker for whatever Quidditch match is coming up,the answer will always be no." Percy said,slowly sitting back down.

"What? No. The next Quidditch match is in November." Oliver said increduosly

"We wanted to ask you if you're ok with surprises." Penny tiredly said,already done with Oliver.

"Huh?" Percy asked,confused by this.

"Are you ok with surprises?" Marcus questioned,bored.

"Um,yeah I guess. I live with Fred and George so I got used to surprises pretty early on." Percy suspiciously said.

"Cool." Marcus said,before getting up and leaving,Oliver and Penny following behind.

Percy looked after them confused,before leaving himself.

A week passes,and Oliver comes into his and Percy's dorm,with two random people.

"Hello Penny,Marcus." Percy greeted his friends who are under the influence of Polyjuice.

"Come on." the boy on the right-who is Marcus-said inpatiently.

"Wha-"Percy didn't even get to finish his sentence before the girl on the left-who is Penny-grabbed his arm and pulled him downstairs,followed by Marcus and Oliver.

"Where are we going?" Percy asked as he got dragged by Penny

"You'll see." Oliver whispered in ear teasingly,kissing his cheek.

"Can you save all that romantic sh!t for when you are alone?" Marcus asked.

"Oh shut up."Oliver said said

"All of you shut up!" Penny whisper-shouted,and ponted to Filch and Mrs.Norris up ahead of them.

"The h3ll are we doing?!" Percy whisper-shouted back.

"Shhhh!!" Penny shushed him,and threw out what Percy presumed to be a dungbomb at Filch and his cat.

The dungbomb exploded and Filch and the cat ran away,Filch yelling about who knows what,Mrs.Norris yowling.

"Ok,coast is clear." Penny gestured,and she,Percy(still being dragged by Penny),Oliver and Marcus went in the direction Filch was previously(covering their noses) and out the grand doors.

"Where are we going?" Percy choked out,struggling to get his inhalor out of his pocket*

"I said you'll see." Oliver offhandedly replied

The four of them were walking out towards...Hogsmead?

"Why are we going towards Hogsmead? It's not even close to December!" Percy asked Penny,who didn't give him an answer.

Penny stopped outside of the Three Broomsticks,the Polyjuice finally worn off.

Penny dragged them inside(but not after Marcus took another small dose of Polyjuice).

"Hello,Madame Rosemerta!" Penny gleefully greeted

"Hello,youngsters. Your room is ready,and so are your guests." Madame Rosemerta said,vaguely gestering upstairs,before retreatingto the back room.

"What does she mean by that?" Percy asked,fed up with them keeping these secrets. No one gave him an answer,instead they went upstairs and went all the way down the hall to the very last room.

Marcus went up,the Polyjuice now officially worn off,and knocked some sort of special code.

A little boy with light brown hair and big brown eyes opened the door.

"Hey! We've been waiting!" Cedric Diggory held the door open,and Percy saw birthday decorations,a cake on the table in the middle and a bunch of presents in a corner.

"W-what?" Percy asked quietly.

Penny,Marcus,and Oliver went up and joined Cedric and Adrien Pucey around the table,and they alk started singing "Happy Birthday".

Percy just stood there amazed and confused.

"But-but it's not my birthday?" Percy dazedly said

"We know its not you birthday,which is why we did this!" Adrien said

"We wanted to do something for you because we can't celebrate with you." Cedric said excitedly

"So,you all snuck out of the castle and risked getting expelled,for 𝘮��?" Percy asked

"You act as if we haven't done it before." Marcus snorted

"Yeah,but that's different. Penny and I know which rules to break and how to break them. This is breaking who know how many rules,and Cedric is only a First year,he can't get expelled already." Percy protested.

"Just sit your cute a$$ down and eat some cake." Oliver grabbed Percy by the wrist and sat him down around the table.

"Madame Rosemerta said she'll cover us,as long as we pay for the Butterbeer." Cedric said

"What about this room?" Percy asked

"Madame Rosemerta said we could use it anytine we wanted,no charge unless we damage something." Penny said

"So you and lover boy over here can do what you want behind closed doors." Marcus added

"We have a dorn for that." Oliver countered

"Ew!" Adrien and Cedric exclaimed at the same time

"This is a private room Percy,no one except us and whoever we want to invite can come in." Penny quickly explained

"So,this is some sort of late birthday treat-for me?" Percy asksd quietly

"Yes for you." Oliver said,kissing his boyfriends cheeks

"Can you not do that while I'm here?" Adrien asked,while Cedric stuck out his toungue in disgust.Oliver rolled his eyes.

All of them had a good time eating cake and drinking Butterbeer.

"Here." Oliver handed a gift to Percy.

"What is it?" Percy asked after opening thebpresent which turned out to be a sort of old book.

"It's a Qu'ran. It's another muggle religion book." Oliver explained. Percy's pale,icy blue orbs widened in excitement,almost childlike.

"Here! Here's mine!" Pennt excitedly gave Percy another book-shaped present. Percy opened it,and it turned out to be a empty notebook,with a dark purple cover.

"I put a charm on it,so we can all communicate without having to tire our owls! And I can talk to you all over breaks!" Penny was practically jumping on the tips of her toes in excitement

"Perfect!" Percy exclaimed,and looked up to see everyone pulled out colorful notebooks;Marcus had a dark red,Oliver's was bright green,Penny's was a cheerful yellow,Adrien's was a deep pink and Cedric's was a dark blue.

Percy opened up the rest of the presents-Marcus got him two books,one on how to get away with mûrd3r and the other on how to hide a body.Cedric got him a book on how to speak Latin,a book on how to speek Greek and a book on Russian folklore. Adrien had gotten him a book on Italian myths and superstitions.

"Thank you. Thank you guys so much."

"Don't mention it." Marcus wrapped his arm around Percy,giving the ginger a small grin.

"No,seriously don't mention this to anyone. We can't let the whole castle know that us Slytherins are hanging out with the all of you." Adrien said in a serious yet still sad tone.

"And Fred and George would go the extra 10 miles to make Percy's life even more miserable than the already do." Oliver said grimly

"Enough of this sadness! It's Percy's late birthday and we are going to celebrate it happily!" Penny stomped.

Everyone murmered their agreements and went back to celebrating Percy.

They stayed for another hour before they decided to leave.

As Cedric and Adrien downstairs,Oliver,Percy,Penny and Marcus stayed behind.

"Soo,you wanna do a slumber party?" Marcus asked

"Ok!" Percy exclaimed giddily.

"Who's turn is it?" Penny asked.

"I think it our turn." Oliver gestured to him and Percy

"Ok." Marcus said simply and went downstairs,Penny following him. Leaving Percy and Oliver alone.

"We should-" Percy was cut off by Oliver smashing his lips onto Percys. Percy was at first in shock,but quckly melted into the kiss. The two boys stayed like that for what felt like forever before Oliver slowly pulles away,not really wanting to let go.

"Happy birthday,Percy." Oliver said,putting his face into the taller boys chest.

"Thank you." Percy murmered into the Keepers soft,brown hair.

"Ahem." Oliver and Percy quickly jumped away from each other at the sudden sound,but relaxed when it was only Madame Rosemerta leaning against the doorframe.

"I know you two have hormones and stuff,but please not in my private rooms." She said

Both boys muttered their apologies and quickly walked out

"You forgot your presents!" Madame Rosemerta called out. Oliver quickly ran back up the stairs and ran back down with Percy's gifts.

"Thank you for letting us use this room!" Percy called up to Madame Rosemerta

"Of course! I know what it's like having to hide a relationship!" Rosemerta called down from inside the room.

Percy and Okiver walked the rest of the way back down the stairs and met Penny and Marcus outside.

"What did you think,Perce?" Penny asked,now her and Marcus back to their Polyjuice forms.

"It was great. Honestly,thank you." Percy said gratefully.

"No problem. We know ever since Fred and George took the spotlight,your birthday has been forgotten about." Marcus said grimly.

"What did I say about sadness today!" Penny stomped her foot angrily in the ground.

The four walked back to the castle in a comfortabke silence,snuck back in with no problems and manage to get into Gryffindor tower with out a hitch.

"Here." Percy handed Penny and Marcus some spare pajamas that they all kept in their dorms for whenevr they have sleepovers.

After Penny and Marcus changed and brought out the blow-up matresses that they also keep in their dorms,they all stayed up late and talked and ate some junk food and got drunk off of Firewhisky and Brandy that their House Elf friend Dottie had brought. They stayed up and laughed and had a great time. They all eventually fell asleep at different times(Marcus being the lightweight he is fell asleep first).

Percy will never forget that day.

*Ok so i headcannon Percy to have allergic asthma(if u dont know what that is look it up,i aint google) and that he has like a crap ton of allergies bc who else doesnt like torturing their comfort character? Also before anyone asks,i do have a headcannon that a student that was way before Molly and Arthurs time,much less Percys,also had asthma but couldnt bring her inhalor bc it was muggle technology,so she petitioned for muggle health devices be allowed into hogwarts,and evetually they were allowed but only for health purposes. Im not telling you who that student is tho hehe.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PERCY WEASLEY! And once again thanks to @percydarling for giving me this suggestion!

[wrathandgreed]

(I hope requests are still open) So ive been thinking. How about the brothers reaction to MC taking a large step away from them when ever one of them raises their hand up. It could be as simple as a high five. MC used to be in a abusive relationship and is paranoid about getting hit

Note: (For the record, I don’t know if you sent me this on purpose - I’ve never done requests; I’ve literally just put out my very first OM headcanons. But I figured I could try. I’ve never been in an abusive relationship, but a number of my friends have. I really hope I can do this one respect - if anything about this is not on the level, please let me know! Also, if I missed a trigger warning in the tags, or tagged this wrong, let me know. Also, for the record, I tend to like soft!Brothers and I really wanted them to try and be better - not put the onus on MC to “get over it” or anything.)

Second note: After writing this, I’m not sure that most of these guys would be a good choice for an abuse survivor! 

Third note: I am NOT good at keeping things short and, as usual, I went overboard with Asmodeus. Like, it should be its own fic at this point. But write what you want to read, right?

Warnings: references to domestic abuse, both physical and verbal. References to suicide baiting. Uncensored swearing.

~5K words

Lucifer

A strange choice; his perfectionism and exacting behavior sometimes make you remember how it was back in the human world; everything had to be JUST SO….or else.

And he’s threatened to kill you. Twice.

But there’s something inherently decent about him - and you live for the rare moments he laughs.

His perfectionism usually isn’t even about you, so you just kind of….ignore it.

You’re doing some of your RAD homework in Lucifer’s study.

It’s quiet there.

And, while he won’t do the work for you, he’ll definitely help when you’re stuck.

Also you can give him tea and soothing when he (inevitably)  gets upset at his paperwork - Mammon’s bills, Asmo’s bills, Satan’s bills (hey, dark magic books are expensive).

You start hearing the shifting and muttering that herald the beginning of the rant.

You gather the tea and walk towards his desk.

“Devil’s sake!” Lucifer suddenly snaps out, slamming hand on his desk as he reads yet another ridiculous piece of paper.

It’s not at you, the anger isn’t at you, you KNOW it’s not at you, but you freeze anyway.

Slammed hands on desks, punched holes in walls, hands on you, always hands - 

The cup of tea hits the floor and you’re out of the room before Lucifer can even look up.

He’s seen it all in your paperwork - the police reports, the restraining order, the lists of injuries - so he puts it all together before his study door closes behind you.

He knows better than to go after you immediately. You’ll want some solitude, some quiet on your own, to steady yourself a little.

If he goes after you now, it might frighten you more. Looks like hunting.

You need to know he’s calm, that he’s not acting or reacting out of emotion.

He takes his time cleaning up the spilled tea, straightening his papers.

When he shows up at your room, he has a mug of hot chocolate.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before he can say anything. You made a mess in his study, and he’s such a stickler for everything being neat. He was angry before, but he’ll be even more angry now.

“No, I’m sorry,” he returns, and offers you the chocolate.

(You blink once. Has the Avatar of Pride ever apologized before? If so, it was never in your hearing.)

The two of you talk quietly for a time. He insists that you don’t need to apologize - ever. He insists that, while he appreciates the tea-and-break routine, it’s 100% not your responsibility to control his anger. It’s his. He says that his anger isn’t good for him anyway (just look at Satan) and he needs to take a break when that hot feeling starts. 

Maybe he should start scheduling breaks; setting timers on his D.D.D. so that he no longer works long enough at once to let it all get to him.

He doesn’t want you afraid of him.

Mammon

Mammon is pretty much the only demon who HASN’T threatened your life. He often sounds irritated, but he’s never even sounded angry at you.

If anything, he’s a mush and an abuse victim himself. So he gets where you’re coming from, and tries really hard.

So you shouldn’t be afraid of him.

But….he moves too quickly. He’s constantly jumping from one idea to another, one topic to another, one emotion to another. And that’s just emotionally.

You can’t trust where his hands will be. Ever. And that’s not a sex thing.

Sometimes, his protection of you makes you feel safe. If anyone hurts you, Mammon will hurt them a thousand times worse.

He’s funny, and his hands on you are gentle, and once you tell him about your past, he tries really hard not to go back to his “stupid human” habit, because it hurts your feelings.

But sometimes, his protection feels like obsession. Why were you talking to that guy? C’mere, you’re MY human.

Then, inevitably, the tug on your hand or arm or waist, pulling you closer.

It starts simply enough.

You’re playing video games in his room. He’s not as much of a gamer as Levi, but he enjoys them.

Especially ones where you can be competitive or drive cars really fast.

He’s been getting more and more excited, coiled like a spring. And it’s from enjoyment, not anger, but that level of energy, in your experience, explodes at some point.

You get quieter, but that only makes him more boisterous. He wants you to join in the fun! C’mon MC, did you see that?! It was awesome!

After a really impressive win, he shouts in triumph and suddenly his hand is in front of your face for a high-five.

You recoil and hit the floor, crab-crawling backwards before you can stop yourself.

His look of complete confusion, in different circumstances, might be funny. He actually looks at his hand like he doesn’t recognize it.

He drops to the floor too, “Babe? What’s wrong? Y’okay?” And he reaches out a hand towards you.

When you flinch, he gets it.

He sits on the floor, stuttering out apologies, not even finishing one sentence before starting another. He makes sure he’s cross-legged, leaning back on his hands - non threatening, leaning away, hands not hidden, but not prominent, and in a position it would take him time to move from. 

When you start crying, he can’t maintain that pose and crawls towards you, pulling you into a hug.

If you resist, you know he’ll let you go. And that’s why you just curl into him instead, crying out on his shoulder while he holds you close - but not tightly.

“I jus’ need ya to talk to me….let me know if I’m gettin’ to be too much. I know I’m loud. Just….. jus’ remind me, I’ll never be mad.”

Leviathan

Boy already has anger problems.

Envy’s kind of prone to it, you know?

On the one hand, he literally attacked you over a piece of TSL memorabilia.

On the other, he’s generally harmless the rest of the time.

He’s meek and shy and terrified of touching you - so, 95% of the time, you feel super safe with him.

When you wake with a nightmare, when something jump-starts your fear response, he talks you through it, easily abandoning whatever game or anime he’s involved in.

He’ll only touch you when you ask, or when you reach for him first.

But then there’s the MMOs.

You know you should leave when he starts getting mad. Not in a victim-blame sense, but for your own mental health it’s probably not a good idea to be around him when he raids.

He ALWAYS gets mad.

You’re sitting in his room, so involved in your handheld that you forget it’s his raiding night.

(Usually you make study plans with Satan, or shopping plans with Asmo on his raiding nights. You don’t want him to give them up; he enjoys them, but it’s not good for you to be around.)

After finally completing a tough level, you pop your headphones off just in time to hear Levi swear loudly.

You go still as a string of swear-filled trash talk fills the room. Things you’d never expect shy, needy Levi to say. 

You know it really is just trash-talk - the threats of violence are just too absurd. Rip off their arms and use their own fingers to bowl their skull like a bowling ball? Really?

Also this is LEVI. Levi? The demon who needed you to taunt Mammon about his credit card because he couldn’t do it himself? He might be Admiral of Hell’s Navy and all, but he’s not exactly threatening.

You get to your feet, a little shaken but ready to just walk out of the room. It’s raid night, and this is why you don’t hang out on raid nights. You’re not comfortable around other people’s anger.

You’re halfway across the room when Levi suddenly shouts in frustration and throws his controller on the floor.

And you’re out the door.

Levi just glimpses you as he’s reaching to pick up his miraculously-unshattered controller from the floor.

“Henry?” He calls out, just a second too late.

With only one moment of hesitation, he logs out of his raid and goes to follow you.

You had less than ten seconds head start, but it takes him almost twenty minutes to find you, sitting out in the garden, gazing at nothing.

“MC?” He calls quietly. He doesn’t want to sneak up on you.

A single blink, and the tiniest flash of fear - he left his game to follow you. 

Calculation: extreme concern - or extreme anger. 

Conclusion: Undetermined.

So you wait.

“Are you ok?”

Okay, so not mad. “Aren’t you raiding?” You ask, instead of answering. You’re not ok, but you’re also not in the mood to talk about it.

“I, uh, h-had a, uh, power outage?” Even he doesn’t sound convinced, and you snort. Levi only has three modes: simple, stuttering, and verbose. Thankfully he goes with simple. “You ran out. I was worried.”

You debate brushing his concern off, but he deserves better than that.

“I’m not good with anger. Even if it’s not directed at me.”

“Oh.” Levi pauses as he considers. He knows the basics of what’s happened. “I - I mean, I could, you know, NOT - “

“No,” you say quickly and lean in to kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to change anything. Do your raids, make stupid threats to stupid players. Just….warn me to leave first?”

Levi nods, but he skips the rest of his raid to stargaze with you in the garden, arms wrapped around you from behind as he points out different Devildom stars and constellations to you. You get a lecture on how Devildom stars are used in Devildom sailing. It’s actually kind of interesting.

Satan

Okay, seriously? The Avatar of Wrath? Author speaking here, I literally can’t picture a worse combination than an MC who’s still recovering from domestic abuse to date the AVATAR OF WRATH.

Like, yeah, he has good control over himself, but he also loses his temper in a moment’s notice.

He has CANONICALLY tortured people for calling him strange.

He flips out with no warning and destroys parts of the house and his brothers just let him do it because he’s too powerful to control when he rages.

I can absolutely see MC falling for the quiet intelligence, the consideration, and so forth, but witnessing one (1) single rage should be enough to tell them that this relationship won’t be good for their mental health.

Let’s not even talk about the (again, canonical) desire for domination, power play, pet play, etc, that kind of defines our boy.

I mean, I love Satan. Out of all the bros, he’s the only one I could imagine legit dating in real life.

But I’m a little ball of rage myself, and I have no problem with anger, mine or anyone else’s.

And the fandom (including me) can totally play cute and love on their “soft little angy boi” all they want, and he definitely has soft, sensitive sides, and I may actively choose to ignore the whole domination/power play/etc when I fic or headcanon because I really love soft!Satan….. but he’s not.

I can’t even make a headcanon, because I cannot picture a situation in which this is actually GOOD for MC.

Because no matter how hard he’ll try and control it, and how much his rage probably won’t be directed at them, I just keep picturing “It won’t happen again” except it will, and it’ll just wind up being flashbacks to the number of times “It won’t happen again” ended in black eyes or an ER visit back in the human world.

And MC walking on eggshells for eternity to avoid setting him off, and how is that healthy?

Asmodeus

Another decent choice for MC, at least on the surface.

King of consent over here, at least how I picture him. Especially for someone he cares about.

Always accepts “no” about literally anything. Don’t want sex? We’ll cuddle. Cuddling a little confining? Holding hands is cool. Really don’t want to be touched at all right now? Gossip and tea! 

You were coming to really care about the Avatar of Lust, and you believed what Simeon said about him - how much he desperately needed love and affection. You got it; you needed some, too. 

I mean, even if he’d been a bit of a jerk, he’d warmed up significantly since the pact, so new that it still burned on your skin, was formed.

But even Asmodeus wasn’t without faults. However much he focuses on love, he can sometimes, really be….mean.

You’re standing on a balcony in Diavolo’s castle, having escaped for a few moments.

He’d always been catty, gossipy, filled with drama, but the genuine affection and likability of him sometimes made you ignore it.

His constant mocking of Luke you could put down to the whole angel/demon conflict. 

His occasional snapping or poking at his brothers you could put down to being stuck in the same house with the same people for literal eons.

The only thing that might make up for your awful existence is if you just ended it.

The words haunt you as you stand looking up at Devildom’s endless nighttime.

How many times did you hear similar words yourself? How useless you were, how much of a burden, no way you’d survive on your own without him, and he didn’t even want you that much. Why didn’t you just go kill yourself?

Dammit, you think to yourself as Asmo steps out on to the balcony.

“Darling! Why are you out here all alone? Or are you waiting for some company?”

When he goes to put his arms around you, you just say “no.” Simply, quietly, emotionlessly.

Asmo circles around to look at you. “Something wrong, sweetness?”

You take a breath. Another. You consider swallowing it, again, don’t want to start a fight. Back down, put on a smile, ignore it.

But realize you can’t. You spent years dealing with this crap, and you’re not going to do it again.

“You’re mean, Azzy.” Your voice is quieter than you expected. You look up into the demon’s eyes. To his credit, he looks deeply confused and, as you take a step away from him, hurt. Before he can open his mouth, you continue, “How could you say that to Mammon?”

“Are you defending MAMMON?” He asks, torn between incredulity and anger.

“Right now? Yes. But also Luke, Lucifer, and everyone else you talk shit to. Or about. He’s your brother. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear that out of someone you love?”

Dismissively, “Oh, if it actually bothered him, he’d - “

“What? Beat you up? That’s not like him. So he takes it. And takes it, and takes it, until, because it’s all he hears, he believes it. And then why fight back? Why defend yourself, if you’re such a piece of shit? You deserve it, after all, right?”

You don’t even realize it, but you’re crying by this point. And you’re mad. All the mad you couldn’t fling at your abuser before is filling you now. You don’t even know if you’re talking about Mammon or yourself anymore. Maybe both of you.

“And even though he’s beaten down, you keep going. When he won’t respond to the usual anymore, when that doesn’t seem to hurt him, rile him up, you go worse. You told your brother, who you claim to love, to kill himself. We’re barely even friends. So what happens when I annoy you? Should I just go die now, save you the trouble of telling me to do it later?”

You step right up to him, into his personal space, almost nose to nose, and stare directly into his red-yellow eyes. “Is this who you are, Asmodeus?”

Asmo has gone from defensive; incredulous and angry, to baffled, hurt and worried in just a few minutes. But at your last, pointed question, he jerks his head back as though you slapped him. Not knowing what to say or do, he reaches for you again, but you dodge his hand and brush past him back into the castle.

You get Solomon, the only one who won’t ask questions, to switch rooms with you. (Luke is thrilled; teaching him to play gin rummy actually cheers you up a little.)

For a few weeks, you and Asmodeus pass each other in the House without speaking.  Then, one evening, there’s a knock on your door and Asmo slides into your room.

He looks….well, not awful; he could never look awful. But the glow is gone from his skin and, unless you’re mistaken, he hasn’t bothered doing his hair. He looks like he’s missed some sleep.

You look up from your homework and watch him. Silently. It’s not your job to fill the silence anymore.

More than most of them, Asmo despises being vulnerable. But it’s fix this or not, and the pact is pushing him to be on good terms. At least, he blames the pact. It’s easier than acknowledging how much the weeks of silence have worn on him. How awful it was watching you walk to class with Mammon instead of him. 

And no matter what, he values honesty in his relationships, no matter what kind of relationship. So he would be honest.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly.

Lean back in your chair, hands folded. Waiting.

“I don’t know….if that’s who I am. Maybe it is.”

“Why are you here, Asmo? What do you want?”

“I want you to stop ignoring me!”

Steady face. “I spent too many years having someone talk to me the way you spoke to your brother. The rest of it - the gossip, the side comments, the cattiness…. it’s not your best side. In fact, it’s pretty unattractive when it’s mean, but I could handle it. But I can’t handle cruelty. I don’t want to be around it anymore.”

A pause. “What is my best side then?”

Disgusted, you chuck a pen in his direction. “Fuck’s sake, Asmo. Get out.”

“No! Not, not that. If that’s my bad side, the **unattractive** part, then what’s the other half?”

You search his face, but he doesn’t seem to be fishing for compliments. If anything, he looks….lost. Confused. And you wonder if anyone’s ever said anything to him, good or bad, about who he was; not what he looked like or how he fucked. 

It’s not your responsibility to psychoanalyze a demon, you think to yourself. But you’re not someone to walk away. You wonder how it’s possible for someone to be thousands of years old, and know less about themselves than you know about yourself in just a few decades. And you have nothing to lose by being kind.

“You can be wonderfully kind, Asmo, and generous. You want to see the beauty in everyone and everything. As nasty as you can be with it, I’ll give you points for honesty. You connect with people, and the times you’re actually genuinely interested in them is….charming.”

He’s silent for a few minutes. Then he nods, as if he’s made a decision. “Okay. Tomorrow, after RAD, do you want to go for bubble tea?” At your confusion, he just smiles and continues, “It’s like skin care, isn’t it? Attractiveness requires effort, darling, until it becomes habit. If I want to be attractive inside as well as out, I’ll have to practice the good things, so they outweigh the bad. I can’t do that alone. I need a practice partner who won’t tolerate failure, right? At least until it’s habit.”

You feel your entire brain have to reboot before you can give a coherent response. 

“Tomorrow. One hour. I have papers due.” You wait until he leaves your room before you smile.

Beelzebub

Probably the best choice for this MC.

The most emotionally intelligent of his brothers.

Also the most sincerely kind and gentle.

But also, like Satan, prone to sudden outbursts and rages. They’re all food-related (or, rather, lack-of-food-related), but they’re there.

A smart MC always carries snacks while dating Beel. Phone, wallet, keys, fried bat wings.

Strangely, though, the food-induced rages don’t really bother you. It’s not anger, really, and it’s never once been directed at you. And, unlike back in the human world, there’s a concrete way to help: feed him.

Today you have a whole backpack full of snacks.

You’re with Belphie, watching one of Beel’s games at RAD.

(You’re not sure Belphie wants to be there, but you’re not allowed out alone, and Belphie decided to take you - keep you safe and support his brother. Two birds, one Belphie.)

Belphie tends to nap against your shoulder any time the ref goes to make a call, but he’s somehow always awake to clap for his brother. 

(You stand on your chair and cheer, but that’s you.)

The game is a close one; double overtime. Even Belphie is too tense to sleep towards the end.

And at the end of double overtime, Beel manages the single extra goal that results in victory.

You cheer yourself hoarse for your demon boyfriend.

The whole stadium is crazy, so you hang back and wait. Belphie hates crowds and you’re not keen on them yourself. It’s going to take awhile for Beel to make it through the crowd to you anyway.

You’re standing in the aisle, scrolling through your phone, when suddenly there’s a loud shout and arms wrap around you from behind and lift you up.

You gasp, and your scream strangles in your throat so what comes out of you is nothing more than a squeak. Your phone goes flying.

You’re frozen for a moment as panic surges. You want to fight and you’re fighting your own brain to push the panic into your limbs so you can fight for yourself.

You vaguely feel a tugging and you hear someone - Belphie? - insisting that you be put down and then your feet are on the ground but there’s no such thing as your legs and you start to fall before the same arms help you gently sit. The ground is gross, but you’ll only care about the damage to your skirt later.

Everything is fuzzy and confusing; you’re not even sure of what you’re looking at until your vision is filled with blue and violet.

You know that swirl of color. That’s a SAFE color, and you start feeling your poor brain start to work again.

You blink into your boyfriend’s blue-violet eyes; you realize he’s cupping your face with his hands and the weird underwater noises start to sound like his voice. You realize, very belatedly, that what probably happened was Beel lifting you up in a victory hug.

“M’okay,” you say, but it sounds robotic. It takes a few more seconds - you don’t know how many - for all of your senses and brain to actually begin working in sync again. You start hearing the sounds of the crowd departing the stadium, and you hear Beel continuing to say your name and trying to get you to answer questions. You almost smile; but smiling wouldn’t make any sense.

“I’m okay,” you say, and you must sound a little more convincing this time because Beel looks relieved. He shoots a few more questions at you, and you realize they’re the kinds of questions people get asked when someone thinks they have a concussion or head trauma.

Your answers satisfy him, so Beel helps you to your feet. 

“What was that?” He asks. “Low blood sugar? Are you hungry?”

You have to smile at his very-typical diagnosis. A little sugar wouldn’t hurt, though. For some reason, eating grounds you after something like this. You dig a chocolate bar out of your Backpack of Snacks (Snackpack?) and hand the rest to him.

He impatiently takes a bag of chips out of it but doesn’t open it. He looks at you expectantly and you realize he won’t eat until you do. So you take a bite of the chocolate and he looks more relieved.

“So what the fuck WAS that?” Belphie asks as the three of you move towards the exit.

“Later.” You haven’t yet found a reason to really tell Beel (and, by extension, Belphegor) about everything. You do later that night. 

Beel swears he’ll never surprise you like that again. He’s a lot more cautious about touching you for a few days, but eventually things go back to normal between you.

Belphegor

Author note: Dude fucking murdered you, deliberately, in cold blood, and taunted you for your gentleness and desire to help as you died. But let’s say you can get past that - or try to. Probably the second-worst choice, after Satan, for this reason.

You started dating Belphie for the strangest reason: you could trash-talk the shit out of him.

He kept trying to be around you after you made the pact (which, let’s face it, you made so you could MAKE SURE he never hurt you again). Until, after politely dodging him wasn’t working, you told him to take his emo-boy routine and fuck off somewhere else.

You flinched, waiting for retaliation, but he just blinked at you and told you to stop being a brat.

And he was smiling.

But it wasn’t a mean smile - it was a smile that shared the joke.

Your lips quivered into a returning smile, and you threw another insult at him.

He topped it, and hurled one back.

Before you knew it, the two of you were screaming obscenities at each other in the middle of the common room and laughing like hyenas.

For some reason, Belphie calling you a dumb bitch wasn’t an insult. It was a mark of endearment. And it didn’t hurt your feelings or make you afraid.

It was empowering to call him a dickhead if he did something you didn’t like and have him simply laugh and amend his behavior. Nothing bothered him.

He didn’t move quickly; in fact he didn’t move at all if he could help it.

But you would remember, sometimes, the way his hands felt on your throat, or how cold his eyes had been. And you couldn’t say it was a momentary madness, because he’d planned it. He’d been imprisoned because he wanted to kill humanity.

You put it out of your mind. It was something you were good at, after all.

Until the two of you sat down to watch a movie one evening. A simple plot hole sparked a discussion that wound up being….not an argument, but definitely a difference of opinion.

As usual, insults were flying fast and furious when suddenly Belphie laughed and smacked you with his pillow.

It wasn’t an angry move, and it wasn’t hard enough to hurt. It wasn’t a hard blow at all! But the surprise had you falling back on the couch. And the fear had you curling into a ball, arms wrapped around your head protectively, legs curled up to guard your middle.

There is dead silence.

“Hey, Brat?” Belphie asks. When you don’t answer, he calls your name instead.

You slowly, very slowly, begin to uncurl yourself from your position. It takes time for the residual fear to leave, but enough is gone to leave room for embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” you mutter. 

“I get it,” is the answer.

Cue awkward silence.

“I figured you were still afraid of me.”

“I’m not!” When he just stares blandly at you, you sigh. “Okay, a little. If you wanted to hurt me - again - you’ve had a ton of opportunities. So I don’t think you want to. But…..”

“It’s a hard thing to get over.”

“Yeah. And not just you.” Hesitantly, you start to tell him. You want to just give him the basics, but once you start talking, you can’t seem to stop. He doesn’t interrupt, barely seems to blink, just watches you. A blank vessel to help you empty the poison that fills you sometimes.

You see his jaw tighten as you go on, but you know the anger isn’t at you.

When you finish, he’s silent for a few moments. Then he gathers you up to him. “I’ll never hurt you,” he says.

You look up at him with the same bland look he gave you a moment ago.

“Again,” he amends. “I’ll never hurt you again.”

You let out a watery laugh and he hugs you a bit tighter.

“You’re still a brat, though.”

[fanfics4all]

Picture

Request: Yes / No hello! im sorry if this is too specific😭 just had this idea can u write a draco x fem reader where they’re like best friends but fancy each other and one day she’s on his bed and somehow he notices or sees she’s wet and teases her abt it but she’s like that bc she just saw a hot pic of him on her phone or sumn? and then he quickly took her phone and finds out its bc of him? and then SMUT PLEASE😭 we love details😼 thxx i love your writing!!! Anon

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 2451

Warnings: Smut!

Y/N: Your Name 

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Draco’s POV

I was in my room studying for the upcoming OWL’s and Y/N, my best friend, was sitting on my bed looking through her phone. She was supposed to study with me, but of course she just ended up on her phone. It was a little annoying, but she somehow always got amazing grades anyway. 

“You know we’re supposed to be studying and not on our phones.” I said, turning to face her. She rolled her eyes and continued to look at her phone. 

“Oh please Draco, we both know I’ll be perfectly fine.” She said and I rolled my eyes. 

“It would be nice to have someone to help me.” I mumbled. “You’ll be fine too Draco.” She said, not paying attention to anything I was really saying at this point. I watched her adjust her position and saw that I could see up her skirt. I blushed slightly and went to look away, but I noticed that she was wet. 

“Somethings got you all hot and bothered ay Y/N/N?” I asked and she looked at me with wide eyes. She quickly closed her legs and blushed deeply. 

“What on earth could have you so turned on at this moment?” I asked with a smirk and walked over to her. I reached for her phone, but she moved it out of my reach. 

“Piss off Draco!” She said, still blushing bright red. 

“Let me see!” I said with a huge smirk. The two of us wrestled over her phone for a few moments, but I ultimately won. I unlocked her phone and found what she was looking at. It was a picture of me. My eyes widened and I looked up to find Y/N blushing an even deeper shade of red. 

“Y-You were getting turned on because of me?” I asked, still in shock that my best friend since we were kids was actually getting horny because of me. 

“You’re very attractive Draco, you can’t blame a girl…” She mumbled. 

“You think I’m attractive?” I asked with a smirk. 

“Shut up! This is embarrassing enough already!” She said and I chuckled slightly. I placed her phone on my bedside table and sat next to her on my bed. She looked over at me, a blush still clear on her features. I gently pulled her face to mine and kissed her. At first she was shocked, but she recovered after a moment and kissed me back. Her lips tasted sweet, just the way I always thought they would. I gently pushed her back onto the bed and deepened the kiss. I pushed my leg in between hers and smirked when I felt her wetness on my knee. She moaned as I pushed my knee into her a bit and held me closer. 

“Please Draco…” She whimpered when we pulled apart for air. 

“I need you to do something for me first.” I said and sat up on my knees. I undid my belt and pushed my pants down along with my boxers, to reveal my erection. Her eyes widened at my size, but smirked. 

“I see I turned you on too.” She said and leaned down so her mouth was only an inch from my mouth. 

“You did, now it’s time you take care of it.” I said and she smirked up at me. 

“Yes sir.” She said and immediately doce her head down and took me into her mouth, no hesitation. It was incredible, but I never, ever thought this would be happening with her. What excited me even more was that I had this beautiful girl that was intent on pleasuring me. I was the focus in this moment. I was the one being taken care of, but of course I was going to return the favor. 

I watched as she bobbed her head up and down my dick. Then it really started to set in how amazing this was actually feeling. Y/N knew how to suck cock, but to my knowledge she’s never done anything with anyone before. Yet, here she was, sucking me like a pro. She had started off bobbing her head quickly, but then started slowing down. Suddenly the pressure around my cock grew immensely. She hollowed out her cheeks and was going nice and slow, but kept deep down my shaft. The sensation was overwhelming! I couldn’t hold out much longer and I placed my hand on the back of her head to let her know I was going to cum soon. She responded by taking me deeper into her mouth, going further up and down on my cock and almost taking it all. Finally I couldn’t hold on any longer. 

“Bloody hell Y/N! I’m going to cum!” I moaned and added a second hand on her head, gripping her hair roughly as I held her mouth deep on my cock. She moaned as I exploded into her waiting mouth. She managed to gulp it all down as I pumped pulse after pulse of my cum down her throat. I never felt an orgasm as amazing as this before. 

When I was finally done, I released Y/N’s head. When she pulled away she opened her mouth and revealed that she had managed to save some of my cum. It was so hot! Then she closed her mouth and swallowed, then opened it back up to show me that every last drop was now down her throat. 

“That was tasty.” Y/N said with a devilish smile. 

“Was I a good girl?” She asked and I smirked. 

“Yes you were, now shut up and kiss me.” I said. 

“But I’m supposed to clean your cock.” She said with a slight pout and started leaning down to do so. I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back so she was forced to look up at me. 

“That can wait, I said I need you to kiss me now.” I said. The lust in her eyes was no doubt shared in my own. I pulled her face towards mine and my lips pressed to hers. For a moment I just held her there, our lips motionless against each other. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. Then she put her hand on my face and the two of us let our dance together. I moved to sit down properly on the bed and pulled her into my lap. Her arms locked around my neck and we started passionately making out. My tongue found hers and I was able to taste myself, but I didn’t care. I was more interested with the way her tongue was battling mine. I didn’t want to stop kissing her. I could feel her pull me, silently telling me that she wanted more of this. Of course neither of us were quiet, our moans filling the room. Eventually our fingers found their way to each other’s clothes. One moment the two of us were clothed and the next we were completely naked. I don’t quite know how it happened exactly, because I don’t remember our lips ever leaving each other. However, once we were naked I laid her down on my bed. My cock seemed to know exactly where it was meant to go, because I felt her wet pussy and pushed inside. 

That’s when I realised I was inside her. I was inside Y/N. I was inside my best friend. My best friend that got turned on because she finds me attractive. Then it hit me what was happening. I didn’t ask her if it was alright. I needed to stop. I pulled out of her and regrettably parted my lips from her. She let out a whine. 

“No, please Draco don’t stop, love me.” She said. I smiled slightly and felt my heart skip a beat as she begged me to love her. 

“Sex isn’t love. However, I intend to make love to you, which is why I stopped.” I said and she looked at me confused. 

“You aren’t making sense.” She said. 

“You just pleasured me orally, it’s time I return the favor.” I said and she smiled. I dove my face into her sweet wet pussy and started licking away. I have to say, she tasted amazing. I could eat her all day. 

My tongue worked her like I never have before. I had given most of my few girlfriends this treatment before, but this time was different. This time was going to be more special. This girl I truly cared about and wanted to hear her pleasure. I hit every spot I knew would excite her. My lips trapped her clit and I began to tase the tip with my tongue. That got her moaning loudly. Then I started kissing the edge of her lips. My kisses migrated to her amazing thighs and I kissed and sucked her beautifully smooth skin. Her moan increased and I was beginning to worry that someone might hear her. However, that didn’t stop me, I moved from one thigh to the other. Y/N getting louder and louder. Finally I went back to her pussy and once again sucked her clit, flicking it with my tongue. She moaned loudly again, but I wanted to give her more pleasure, so I pushed two fingers inside her. As I pumped them inside her while sucking her clit, I started to hear her moan in a low tone. I lapped away at her wet pussy as her hand gripped my hair. 

“Draco!” She moaned. Hearing her moan my name gave me some encouragement and I began licking faster, adding a third finger inside her. 

“Oh Draco!” She moaned again. I increased my efforts, pushing my fingers as deeply as I could inside her as I traced her pussy lips with my tongue. She just kept moaning my name. 

Using my free hand I started working her ass, pulling it to me so I could bury myself deeper into her. For a moment I removed my fingers from inside her and pushed my tongue as deeply inside her as I could manage. Y/N started moaning my name louder, so I know she was enjoying herself. When I started to tire out my tongue from trying to push it in as deeply as I could, I moved back to her thighs. This time I gently nibbled at her legs which got a very positive response as she gripped my head harder and moaned louder. Eventually I dove my face back into her sweet pussy and pushed my fingers back inside. Once again she let out a loud moan as I fingered her and licked her clit. She moaned louder and I felt her tighten around her fingers. Once she came she started gasping for air. 

“Draco please stop, I already came!” She said and I pulled away from her. My face was soaked in her juices. I smiled with a slightly cocky expression. 

“Did you enjoy that?” I asked. 

“Yes, you got me twice.” She said and my eyes widened slightly. 

“What?” I asked. 

“You made me cum twice. I tried to tell you but you made me feel so good, I couldn’t find the willpower to stop you.” She said and I chuckled. 

“So that’s why you were saying my name.” I said and she giggled. 

“Yes.” She said with a slight blush. 

“I’m glad you liked it.” I said. 

“I loved it.” She said. For a moment the two of us just stared into each other’s eyes. Then it dawned on me, I wanted to fuck her, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. 

“Now, love me.” She said and pulled me back on top of her. I lined my cock up to her pyss, but before I pushed into her I looked into her eyes. 

“I do love you.” I said and her eyes widened. 

“What are you saying?” She asked. 

“I’m saying I love you. I’m in love with you, it’s always been you.” I said. Part of me worried that saying it would ruin everything, but she proved one of the many reasons why she was my best friend. 

“I love you too Draco, I always have.” She said without hesitation. I knew she meant it. Somehow, something that we had never realized about each other had suddenly clicked for us. We were in love with each other. All these years we thought we were just best friends, we each secretly wanted more. 

I smiled and gave her a quick kiss before pushing myself inside her. We stayed that way for a little while, just me inside her. We were connected in the most intimate way and we weren’t about to go back. Slowly I started to pump my hard on inside her. It wasn’t long before we understood each other’s rhythm and we were moving together in sync. We loved each other and it only heightened the sensation of her pussy moving over my shaft. Our hands began to wander, pulling at each other, clawing at each other, showing that we desired each other. Every move we made as we had sex was to make it to that we were closer to each other, even if it was only a millimeter closer. We tried to pull each other as close to one another as we could as I thrusted faster and faster. 

Excitement increased in both of us as our climaxes began to stir inside us. My thrusts bagan getting sloppy and I knew I was close to cumming. 

“I love you.” Y/N whispered. 

“I love you too.” I said. 

“I’m cumming!” She moaned. 

“Me too!” I groaned. The both of us reached out orgasm together. My cum rocketed inside her and she let out a moan. It was then I realized I hadn’t worn a condom. Slowly out orgasms came to an end and we slowly calmed down. When we stopped moving I looked into her eyes and could see the love she had for me. I wondered how many times I had missed that look. I brought my head down and kissed her softly. I loved this girl, this beautiful girl, and she loved me. 

Eventually our lips parted and I pulled myself out of her. Regret sat in. I had cum inside her without a condom and now she could end up pregnant. 

“I-I’m sorry.” I said and she looked at me confused. 

“What do you mean?” She asked sitting up. 

“I didn’t use a condom…” I said and she just smiled. 

“It’ll be fine Draco, don’t worry.” She said and pecked my lips. 

“What if-” 

“Hush, don’t ruin the moment.” She said cutting me off.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie​ @tashy-bear​ @ashwarren32​ @hollie-blogs​ @schisbro87​ @lover-of-books-and-teas​ @nerdygaloresposts​ @teenwolfbitches2​ @genius2050​ @drw0301bieber​ @lady-of-lies​ @ravenmoore14​ @ravenempress101​ @cillianchamp​ @rowanthomasknapp​ @rachelxwayne​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​ @accio-rogers​ @sambucky8​ @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @vanessa-kom-skaikru​ @dracoswhvre​

[hailbop1701]

Curing a Rainy Day

A sort of five times Star Trek gen fic for your viewing pleasure. I mentioned I would write it but please be aware that I wrote this on my phone late at night and I has no beta. Typos and mistakes will be found. 🤣

-H❤🖖

Word Count: 2,166

Sulu:

Leonard McCoy wasn’t a huge touchy-feely type of man. Well, that’s what he really wants folks to think anyway. He was a doctor and that meant it was his oath-bound duty to cure what ails his patients. Whether it was from a physical malady or an emotional one. The first time he initiated his “Rainy Day Cure” --title courtesy of his daughter-- to one of the command crew he was surprised that it was Sulu of all people. If Len were being honest he thought it would have been Jim. Sure he had hugged the kid in the past but he always let Jim be the one to initiate contact. The reason why is complicated and a story for another time. 

When he found him the young pilot was huddled alone in Observation Room Five, his shoulders hunched, his down so his eyes were hidden and mind lightyears away. Leonard had a feeling he knew where. The chaos after Khan and Marcus had caused a lot of damage, and not all of it was physical. They were all still healing even a year later. They had left Kronos not three hours ago and according to the mission report, Sulu’s younger sister was…

Not who she claimed to be. ‘Yuki,’ McCoy recalled her name lamely as he made his way loudly over to the depressed man.

She revealed that she worked for Section 31 and was determined to fix the Federation the right way. Though the term “Right way” is skewed for many folks. War was almost started, again and the Enterprise had to stop it, again. Section 31 now had the last little pebble of Red Matter and was holding it like a…” Nuclear deterrent” as the old saying goes. 

Shaking his head Leonard pushed recent events to the back of his mind and continued on his own mission. Plopping down on the couch that faced the giant window of stars, McCoy leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. 

He didn’t offer his apologies or sympathies, he knew Sulu didn’t want them. So they sat in silence. Sulu just shook his head and looked up at the doctor with confusion and betrayal in his eyes. “I don’t - I” he stopped swallowing and the helmsman looked so young Leonard didn’t even think about it until after he had already done it. 

He wrapped an arm over Hikaru’s shoulder and squeezed. Sulu stilled for a moment before relaxing and saying what needed to be said, a weight slowly lifting off his shoulders and his chest. 

Scotty:

Leonard and Scotty were both having a terrible terrible time. The cold sucked in Leonard’s opinion and being trapped on an ice ball of a planet only confirmed his feelings. Looking over at the Enterprises Chief Engineer, Leonard had a feeling that he wasn’t alone in his thoughts and feelings. 

The Scot was curled into a tight ball up against the last running console the entire ‘Fleet base had. He was shivering and muttering to himself, glaring at the distress signal he had rigged up. There was nothing they could do but wait. Rubbing his hands together to warm them Leonard moved toward the console and slid down to the floor next to Scotty. Touching shoulders with Scotty, McCoy tucked his hands under his arms and sighed. There was nothing he could really say to ease the engineer’s anxiety -- which stemmed from Delta Vega no doubt --  so he simply let his presence be enough. 

Scotty glanced at Leonard to see that he was looking back at him with calm understanding. Grunting Scotty curled himself closer to the CMO and let the man wrap an arm around his shoulders. They didn’t speak a word and only moved when they heard the sounds of the rescue party on the other side of the sealed doors. 

Chekov:

Pavel Chekov was the youngest of the command crew, so he was automatically protected and treated like the youngest sibling of a giant family. The navigator understood that his friends didn’t mean to and that it was just sometimes a reflex but he was getting damn tired of it. Today was his birthday, he had finally turned twenty! Chekov was so pleased to find that after the incident with Khan he was being treated like he should. There was one person who always treated him like he was young and precious. 

Pavel found that he didn’t mind so much. Doctor McCoy treated almost everyone that way -- even though he wasn’t that much older than the rest of them --  in an almost fatherly manner. A true caretaker. Chekov allowed the behavior from no one but McCoy. 

Leonard walked into “Rec Room Two” taking in the crowd with a softening scowl. A small wrapped parcel gripped in his hand. He looked down at the present, weighing it in his hands carefully.  With a sigh, McCoy strode through the room looking for the birthday boy. Jim waved at him wildly from the other side of the room a huge grin on his face. Narrowing his eyes, Leonard saw that his captain wasn’t in fact drunk at all. Grunting in approval he smiled at Chekov who was hurrying over to greet him. 

“Happy Birthday Pavel,” 

Chekov grinned and his eyes widened at the present presented to him. Leonard gestured for him to open it and the young man did excitedly. The wrapping paper littered the floor a long black box in its place. Slowly opening the box the navigator knocked a silver antique pocket knife into his hands. Examining it closely he looked up at McCoy in confusion. 

Leonard shifted nervously on his feet. Clearing his throat he pulled out a similar from his belt. “My daddy gave me this one to match his when I turned twenty. I know your pa wasn’t around as you grew up and so I thought…” his sentence fell into silence. For once Leonard McCoy was at a loss for words. Pavel quickly wiped a stray tear from his eye and grinned at his friend holding onto the gift tightly. 

“Thank you doctor!” he said gratefully and Leonard understood that it was for more than just a knife. A small smile graced the CMO’s lips and pulled the kid in for a hug. 

With anyone else, Pavel would have been annoyed. This was an exception. 

Uhura:

Leonard was tired. He longed for his bed but as he looked around at all of the injured crew he pushed the longing away. There was no time for it. Rubbing the blurry fatigue from his eyes he pushed on. Triage, surgery, aftercare. He really didn’t truly stop to breathe until the middle of gamma shift when the ship was sleepy and quiet. The only noise was the soft beeps and whistles of monitors. His nurses quietly whispering and working. 

Christine hours ago told him to stop worrying and to go to bed already but something in him just couldn’t. Blinking dumbly down at the PADD in his hands he sighed and signed off on the next round of Spock’s antibiotics. During the Enterprises most recent scuffle the bridge took a hit and the science station exploded sending the first officer flying, earning him a ticket to medical. 

After the fight was over and things had only calmed down to a trickle of wounded instead of a flash flood, Nyota Uhura breezed through sickbay’s doors. She waited patiently and even helped where she could. When Spock came out of surgery and was placed in a private room she immediately went to his side and hasn’t moved an inch since. Jim would have been right beside her if he could afford to. But it appears the admiralty wanted words and had kept him busy since. McCoy had barely just convinced him to get some sleep saying that he would call if anything changes. 

That was three hours ago. 

Leonard walked -- though Nyota would say shuffled -- into Spock’s room, his eyes going straight to the monitors above the bed. The half Vulcan was resting peacefully. McCoy knew it was only a matter of time before he woke and would go into a healing trance. Something that should be monitored anyway. Leonard quietly wondered who he would grant the opportunity to slap Spock awake this time…

“Leonard!” 

The sound of his name made the CMO snap his head in Uhura’s direction. Her eyes were fire, filled with frustration, exhaustion, and worry. McCoy winced, “Sorry Nyota, guess my mind wandered a bit,” he said somewhat sheepishly. Her expression softened a flash of guilt passing through her features. 

“You need more rest. You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this rate,” she scolded half-heartedly. McCoy gave her a small smile and a shrug, 

"I'll rest when I'm not needed." He whispered and badly covered up a yawn. The hidden meaning behind his words wasn't lost on the linguist though. She pressed her lips into a tight line deciding not to comment. Instead, she rested her gaze on Spock once more her hand inches away from his. 

So deep in thought, Nyota hadn't even realized that McCoy had left and come back, a tray with a couple of hypos in his always unwavering hands. Catching her eyes he gave her another encouraging smile. He took care to tell her everything he was doing and how it would help keep infection away. Leonard knew he didn't have to explain but he felt it necessary to fill the quiet with "Illogical chatter" as Spock would surely call it. 

Uhura was so tired and so frazzled that she was startled to find the CMO crouching in front of her with concern all over his face. "You need to get some rest Nyota. I can have a cot brought in if you'd like…" 

Uhura, let a few tears fall before she bottled it up again. She shook her head wiping her face, "I'm alright Leo. Everything is just catching up to me…" she mumbled with a watery chuckle. Leonard snorted at the nickname she had given him, 

"Just let me know darlin' " 

And without truly thinking about it he pulled her into a hug. It only took Uhura a second to process what was happening before she wrapped her arms around him tightly. A genuine smile breaking across her face. The first time in hours she felt content, safe, and able to truly breathe. 

Jim: 

James T. Kirk was a touchy-feely type of man. Leonard supposed it may be from a less than stellar childhood. So whenever Jim would pull him into a one-armed hug or slapped his back or even leaned up against him, McCoy would let him. He would definitely bitch but only half-heartedly, Leonard needed to keep up appearances after all. 

So when they found Jim partially dead, hanging from his wrists in a cave all smirks and charm…

Well, no one batted an eye when -- after he made sure that the man would live -- Leonard pulled his best friend in for a hug. Jim just laughed, laid an arm over McCoy's shoulder, and leaned into the hug. 

"I only had to get tortured and offered to an alien God for you to hug me. Good to know," 

"Shut up Kid," 

Spock:

No one ever thought the words McCoy, Spock, and hug would ever be uttered but stranger things have happened on the Enterprise. 

No stranger than an alien device that turned back time. In a physical sense anyway. Leonard looked down at his adolescent hands and sighed with a heavy eye roll. "Not this again," he grumbled with a shudder. 

Looking around the room he saw Jim shouting at Mudd who had bought the alien weapon and decided to point it at him and Spock. McCoy tilted his head, his eyes going comically wide. 

Spock! 

Where was the green-blooded rugrat? Leonard looked around and sighed in relief at the sight of the first officer. He was hidden under a rickety wooden table. Crouching down Leonard gave Spock a small smile, he waved and gestured for the Vulcan to come closer. Apparently the younger you go the further your mind goes with it. Spock had a mentality of a...of well, a toddler. He couldn't have been more than two. 

Spock stared at Leonard intensely before darting out and crashing into his legs. McCoy stumbled a little before he got his footing. Spock looked up at him with wide scared eyes, tears threatening to fall. 'Must have gotten all Vucan-y at four or five,' Leonard thought as he picked up his friend. 

Leonard pulled Spock close, hugging him to his chest whispering softly. Spock seemed confused for only a moment before he buried his head into the young CMO's neck. 

Jim of course saw it all and later under the threat of meeting his end via an airlock kept his mouth firmly shut. The only thing the Starship Captain said -- which everyone agreed-- Doctor Leonard McCoy could absolutely cure a rainy day. 

Tags:

@lauraaan182, @chickadee-djarin, @cowenby2, @bluesclues-1234, @sayuri9908,

[i-am-infinite]

Guilt (Part 1): The Rescue

(Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Fem!Reader)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Slight Chpt 12 and 13 spoilers. Read at your own risk.

Description: Moff Gideon has found someone else to run his experiments on and word gets back to Din. Will he take his son far away and try and find somewhere safe? Or will the guilt of an innocent being put in his son’s place eat away at him? (No Y/N or ___ used)

Word Count: Slightly over 4K

Warnings: Mentions of blood and needles. Broken glass. Fainting. Blood loss. Canon type violence. Possible bad writing (first fic pls go easy on me). If I’m missing anything please let me know, I’ve never done one of these before. 

A/N: This is my first fanfic I’ve written so it might be really bad but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here it is. I also made up a planet/system and don’t know if star wars has alarm clocks but i wrote it in anyway. I also wrote this in Word first and then realized I couldn’t copy it over so I tried my best to type it over in here. 

Normal. That is what was used to describe your life. Nothing out of the ordinary. Life wasn’t boring per se, but it definitely wasn’t compelling enough for your tastes. Studying to be a healer help keep it somewhat interesting but not enough. 

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz. Crust littered eyes creak open as your face unsticks from the textbook scattered across the desk. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz. Your stiff neck cracks as you finally sit up. Fell asleep studying again. You loved learning about healing, you really did. But the long nights and barely sleeping was enough to make your head explode. Looking over at the clock with bright red numbers blinking at you. 8:15. 

8:15! I’m late! You think as you force yourself awake. No not again! Being a student means you need to do hands on hours down at the nearest medcenter. All the late night studying also means that you oversleep most days. Grabbing your work bag filled with a change of clothes, in preparation of these events, you run out the door.

Your feet hit the wet cobble stones as it echos through your little part of the city. Vendors lining up the street ready to start their days. Passing the shop you went to yesterday, your mind too preoccupied to notice that it’s empty today. You know that theres is a faster route to the medcenter, but is it a path you really want to take today? Dark and windy path that you can barely see five feet in front of you on mornings like this. Too foggy and muggy for your liking. You’d rather stick to the main road where there’s people, where if anything were to happen, people would see, they would know. Regardless, it shaves fifteen minutes off your commute. You loathe having to be late for another shift. Making the sharp turn in between tow booths, you pace quickens to get through as quickly as you can. While not having much visibility, you swear you can see a pair of eyes in the dark. Has to just be my imagination, you convince yourself, I just need to keep going. It’ll be fine. 

Footsteps echo behind you. Hands grab your shoulders. A scream rises in your throat, but no sound comes out. Everything goes dark when you feel something hit the side of your head. 

.

Sigh. “Grogu get back in your seat.” The little baby waddles down off the controls and into his father’s lap. “Not what I meant,” Din grumbles with a smile hidden under his helmet. He grabs Grogu by his little robe and places him in the seat to his right and tells him to buckle up as a holo comes through from Greef Karga. 

“Mando, we’ve just got word that Moff Gideon might have been seen in the Braic system. It looks like they found a substitute for the baby for the time being. I would use this time to go find a hide-out and lay low. He could still come back for the little one. Be well,”

Din goes to start the ship and find coordinates to stay out of trouble for a while when he hears the baby whine. Looking back at his adoptive child, all Din can see is Grogu, then a nameless kid, lying unconscious on a metal table, trapped underneath a contraption. Din starts breathing heavy and feeling sick that he ever gave his son up to those Imps. All he can hear is the beeping of the machine he’s hooked up to. Anger boiling back to the surface as he hears himself yell at the doctor all over again in his memories. No, he tells himself, He’s here with me. He’s fine. He’s safe. He shakes himself out of it and goes to fly the Razor Crest off planet. 

Before he even gets off the planet, all Din can think about is that innocent person in his son’s place. They were going to kill Grogu, just for his blood for their experiments. Din can’t bring the kid anywhere near those people, he can’t risk losing his family, not when both of them have formed such attachments to each other. But he can’t stop thinking of this person who is in the that position now. He should’ve made sure Gideon was dead. Because of that now more people are going to get hurt. 

Without thinking he turns on his holo already asking, “Where is he taking them?”

. 

Feeling groggy with heavy eyes, you are able to open them just a bit to a blinding light. Reluctantly closing them again, you lift your arm to rub your eyes, but only they don’t move. What? The rest of your senses start coming back and you can feel the cool metal against your back, the same metal wrapped around your wrists and your ankles attached to the table. Finally bracing the light and opening your eyes, lifting your head slightly off the table and oh no the room is spinning now. There is an IV in your arm drawing your blood out into some odd machine, explaining the dizziness. Second time in two days you’ve had to deal with your own blood. 

Walking through the shops on your one day off, you pick up a flower hair pin. The glasswork is so intricate and entrancing, you can’t help but turn it over and over in your hands. A pearl bead sitting in the center of iridescent gray and white petals. Placing it back in its place, your had scrapes against another glass design that is not yet finished, slashing open your palm. “Oh, dear let me help you with that,” the lady running the stand says. She looks you with her white hair barely covering her forehead. Tattoos liter her arms. A design peaks your interest as you swear you know but can’t quite place. 

“It’s fine, I can take care of it myself,” you state already inspecting your hand. No shards in it so thats good. 

“Oh no I insist. It happened at my booth, let me help clean it,” she declares taking your hand in her own. It feels like she squeezes the wound causing you to wince in pain slightly. Knowing she should just be cleaning it and wrapping it, you’re a little confused. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to tend to these sort of things, not wanted to embarrass her at her stand, you keep quiet. She finally gets a clean rag to help blot away at the blood on your hand. You didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it appears she has put it in a bag to the side. 

“I don’t have any gauze to help wrap it up,” the stand lady says. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I have plenty of my own,” you mention, “It will be fine until I make it back to my place.” Smiling you walk away. Without looking, you can feel her move the piece you cut your hand on into the bag. Must just be because it’s a dangerous piece, you think, not knowing there’s still some of your blood on it too. 

Closing your eyes again, you try to wonder why that is so significant to you right now. It was a harmless thing in passing, so why is it at the forefront of your mind? You are strapped to a table and all you can think about is that little cut you got the day prior. If your head didn’t feel like it was a spinner top right now, you would have laughed. Opening your eyes again you see men all in white armor and helmets guarding the door to your room, while a man in a white coat is working on the machine where your IV is attached. I thought the empire was dead. The same symbol that keeps going through your mind is the same one sewn into the man’s white coat. Your breathing gets shallower as you feel the panic rise in your chest. I’m never getting out of here, you realize as your vision becomes black once again. 

. 

You’re losing a lot of blood. You know that. You can feel it when noise wakes you up and your eyelids feel like lead. All the noise is muffled, as if you’re underwater. Frankly it feels like you are. It would be so easy to let the waves of darkness just wash over you right now, to let the water take you under. No, you can’t give up the fight and drown into unconsciousness just yet. You force yourself to stay awake. 

Barely getting your eyes open, bright red lights flood your vision. You imagine you’re still in bed, or at least asleep at your desk, with the alarm clock blaring, not here with blaster fire. Wait, blaster fire? You attempt to turn your head to the side to look, or to dodge, you aren’t to sure in your current state. The fast action causes you to feel like you’re spinning, or it might be the room, either way your eyes can’t focus on what is going on. Closing your eyes again to make it stop, you hear voices surrounding you. They sound so far away at the moment but finally, after what feels like ages, one voice sounds clearer. 

“Please help us. Help us get out of here. Her m-counts aren’t nearly as high as the child’s. They’re demanding more blood. She’s already lost 2 liters, I don’t know how much longer she can last.”

Child? They wanted to do this to a child? You’d choke down a sob if you could just thinking of that poor baby. What did he even say about what-counts? What the hell are those? All these questions are making your head spin more and more. Taking most of your energy to open your eyes, you’re met with a chrome stormtrooper trying to unbind you. Wait no, not a stormtrooper. You’ve heard stories about him and his people. What were they called? For the life of you, you can’t remember right now. 

“You’re going to need help getting her out of here,” you realize that the man in the whit coat was the one who spoke before and is now pleading with the metal man, “Please Mandalorian take me with you and I’ll help you get her out of here.” 

That’s it. He’s a Mandalorian. He gets your wrists free as the doctor takes the IV out. Pushing off the table to sit up, the world starts spinning again. You don’t even realize you’re about to hit the table again until the Mandalorian grabs your shoulders to keep you semi-upright. You hear some sort of static come from his helmet. “Fine.” he grumbles, “help me get her out of this thing.” 

With a flip of a switch, the rest of your body is free from restraints. Eager to get out of there, you swing your legs over the edge of the table, hands finding the arms of the Mandalorian with his hands still on your shoulders. Nauseous and woozy, you try to use the cold metal of his pauldron to ground yourself, to get the room to stop spinning. He can see you start to sway and wraps his arms around your waist as he lowers you from the table. Your feet hit the floor and black dots start to cloud your vision. Blood pounding in your ears trying to tell you to stop and lie back down. Muffled voices come from beside you again as you feel another arm wrap around you from the other side. Your feet dragging against the floor as both men on either side of you go towards the door. 

You feel the heavily armored man to your left let go. Eyes that are still fuzzy and unfocused sort of see him peak out the door with his blaster drawn. He leaves the room and all that can be heard is the pew pew pew of blaster fire. Vision start to come back the tiniest bit, you can see him standing in the door way waving his hand as to say Come on. 

The three of you hurry as fast as you can down the corridor to get to an exit. Lots of twists and turns, just for you all to come up at a dead end. So much for rescuing, you think to yourself as the doctor still holding you up, leans you up against a pillar as the two of them survey the situation. More of the Mandalorian assessing the situation and the doctor just frantically pacing back and forth. 

Sitting down now that the adrenaline of being kidnapped and “rescued” die down, you feel your breathing getting shallower and harder to breath. Eyelids getting heavy again. You just want to lay down and go to sleep, hoping that will fix things. Starting your descent from your upright position to close your eyes, two hands grab your shoulders and jerk you up. It takes a second to realize this modulated voice was talking you you. “Hey, you got to stay with me now,” he pleads, one hand going to the side of your face. Pain spreads across your features due to being struck there earlier, a bruise starting to form in its place. Pulling his hand away like seeing the your face contorted burned him, he continues, “I’m going to get you out of here, you just have to stay awake.” You open your mouth to speak, but your throat feels like it’s filled with sand from Tattooine, so you just weakly nod your head yes. “Okay good,” the shiny man says after letting out a deep breath. 

Still holding your shoulders, he helps you stand up and tells the doctor to take you and go further down the hall. Taking something small and circular out of his belt and placing it on the far wall, he speed walks back toward you two. It starts blinking red as his arms come and cage both of you in. Peeking over his shoulder, you see the wall disappear. Well explode, but one second ago it was there and now it’s not. When the explosion first rings in your ears, you reflexively reach out for the Mandalorian’s arm and feel him tense under your touch. 

When he deems it safe to move again, letting go of his arm, he hops over the rubble to the outside world, blaster drawn. Looking out you think it looks like a desert, but one you’ve never seen before. You have no idea where you are, even what planet you are on. You eyes go to where the chrome man is stalking towards. It seems he found two speeder bikes that the troopers use, sans the troopers. Your feet hit the gravel and you realize you aren’t wearing shoes anymore. How long was I out? You begin to question when you see a stormtrooper take aim at your rescuer. Right when he pulls the trigger, you reach your hand out and scream, “NO!” 

You could’ve sworn it was going to hit him. It should’ve hit him. But at the last second it bent and went in another direction. You knew stormtroopers were bad shots, but nothing like that has ever happened. The Mandalorian whips around at your scream and shoots the trooper down. He goes back to what he originally planned to do, but not without turning to you. You see his chest plate heave up and down a few times before turning back around. After a beat, the only sound you can hear is the Mandalorian starting up the speeders and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The doctor helps guide you to the bikes and as you’re about to get on behind him, the Mandalorian picks you up bridal style and sits on his own respective bike. You make a noise of discontent at the sudden action and are then seated in front of him, yet again caged in by his arms with your legs draped over one of his. You can hear him breathing through the modulator as he states, “Just in case you pass out again. Can’t have you falling off the back of the bike.” You go to adjust how you are sitting when he takes off. 

Gasping in shock, you hug your arms around his neck with you head in his cowl as you take panicked breaths. His hand touches your back as you hear him shout over the noise of the engines, “Put your legs around me, you’re slipping off.” He holds your waist as you sling your right leg around and hook it with your left one behind his back. Not the position you thought you’d end up in as a blush creeps up on your face, but neither the less here you are. His hand lets go of your waist and back to the handlebars as he steers. 

Suddenly getting the feeling like you’re being followed, you say into his neck cowl, “Go left!” You don’t know why, but you just get a gut feeling to go that way. He follows your lead, not without a brief hesitation. The doctor follows on his speeder in the same direction. Finally looking up you see two stormtroopers in the distance. I wish their speeders would just stop or something, you plead with yourself and you think back to what happened with the blaster. Testing the waters, you unhook one of your hands from Mando’s neck and hold it out and... nothing. Okay focus, you close your eyes and picture their speeders stopping, or malfunctioning, or anything at this point. 

The sound of a crash comes ringing into your ears. Opening your eyes, you can see the troopers flip over their handlebars as if their engines just died. You slightly chuckle to yourself as your eyelids feel heavy again. You try to get them to stay open, but sleep just feels so much better at the moment. And with that, you’re out like a light. 

. 

Din feels you go limp against him. His arm once again going to grab you by your waist to keep you in place. He wills his speeder to go faster, to get back to the Razor Crest sooner as he’s panicking thinking he somehow made the situation worse. He exposed you on the bike by having you sit like this. Your arms, legs, and head were all exposed to possible blaster fire. Have you been hit? He heard a crash but couldn’t look back without moving you more, risking leaving you more unprotected. His blame for himself spirals as his grip on you grows tighter. He can’t explain why he’s so distraught over a stranger, but still every time he blinks, he swears he sees back on that table. The next time he swears he sees his son on that very table again. First he gave the kid up to those people, now he didn’t finish Gideon off and let you, an innocent stranger who he is now clutching onto for dear life, get in the crossfire. Too many people have gotten hurt because of this. Because of him. He needs to make it right. 

Finally Din and Dr. Pershing arrive at the Razor Crest where Din is already lowering the hatch and carrying you in. Kicking some crates together, he gently lowers you down onto this makeshift bed. He uses his thermal setting to see your body temperature, to see how you are recovering from the blood loss. He isn’t thrilled to see it still low, you were getting your energy back slowly before, along with more body heat, bit not enough to Din’s liking. Turning his helmet to Pershing, the doctor says, “She’s going to need more blood.” Din, already standing ready to run out and get some, not even knowing where or how to do  that, is stopped by Pershing telling him that he’ll go get it, that it would look less suspicious. Agreeing, Din sits by your side while using his comm-link to tell Greef that he could bring Grogu back to the ship. How Din always finds someone to babysit still surprises him. 

. 

You wake up with a start. Eyes not yet adjusted to the lights overhead. Looking down you can see an IV in your arm again. Now towards the side, you can see the same doctor from before asleep up against a wall. Please tell me it wasn’t a dream, tears well up in your eyes as you think you’ve made the whole thing up to cope. It wasn’t until you felt your hand come to wipe away your watery eyes that you realized it just might not be a dream. The IV isn’t taking blood this time, it’s giving it. 

Finally looking around, you realize you’re on a ship that feels like it’s moving. Confused by this, you try and sit up. Not nearly as dizzy as before, you slowly swing your legs off the wooden crates you’re lying on. Noticing your still barefoot as a chill gets sent up to your spine by the cold metal floor, you grab your IV bag off what appears to be just a hook poorly attached to the ceiling. You venture around the small area of the ship, noticing there isn’t a lot besides these boxes and what appears to be two storage type of units. You don’t even tempt to look in, too intrusive. You do however see a ladder going higher up on the ship. Taking the IV out and ripping a piece of your shirt off to wrap around your arm for pressure, so you can use both hands to climb, you start your ascent up. 

Once you finally reach the top, you hear cooing? Didn’t that doctor say something about a child earlier? Looking forward into the cockpit, you see your savior flying while looking to his right at one of the co-pilot chairs. Clearing your throat to get his attention, two little eyes peer at you from the seat. A bright smile appears on this little green things face and you can’t help but stifle a laugh because its ears are the size of his body. 

Distracted by this cute baby, you don’t notice the way the Mandalorian swivels his chair to face you. Finally looking at the man who saved you today, your breath hitches. You don’t know how to thank him for what he did, so you sort of just stand and stare for a second. He stands up and lightly grabs your arm with your homemade bandage on it. Tilting his helmet to the side you hear static coming from it. Did he just sigh at you? “You were supposed to keep it in your arm,” he finally states, with a tinge of annoyance. 

Eyes not wanting to meet the T of his visor, you direct your gaze to the ground. “ I jus- I-,” you stammer, not able to find the right words. “Thank you.” It comes out more hushed than you’d like, but he still hears you. He just gives you a slight nod before releasing his arm and heading back to his seat. All your muscles turn to stone as you stand there not knowing if you should leave or not, until he cocks his head towards the seat to his left. On shaky legs you find your way to the seat. Before even sitting down fully, the little green child is already trying to get into your lap. Giggling to yourself you let him up onto your lap. 

Once you do the strangest thing happens. You can feel what he’s thinking, his emotions, his past. How he was trained with the special abilities, much like the ones you just displayed before. How he was scared and in hiding until the man sitting in front of you found him. How he thinks of him as a father, his dad. Your chest tightens at that one. Still confused as to why the same people who wanted this child, Grogu, for his powers, also wanted you, you pull him to your chest to comfort you both. You finally speak up again and ask, “Did they want me because I might have the same abilities as this one?” You meant it to sound strong, but it just came out sounding weak. 

Without looking at you, the Mandalorian replies shortly after a pause, “Yes.” You swore you can see his grip tighten on the ships steering as he says that. Turning to the two of you finally, he says in the sincerest voice you’ve heard out of him, “They wont get to either of you again. I can promise you that.” Your chest swells at this statement and Grogu looks up at you with a smile as if he felt the way your heart fluttered. You wish you were the one wearing the helmet right now because you can feel your cheeks heat up. To ease the situation in the best way you can, awkwardly, you clear your throat before asking, “So where are we headed now?”

Swiveling back in his chair to hit a few buttons, you’re confused not knowing what they are supposed to do until he pulls up a map and points a place out. He tells you that he’s going to drop off Dr. Pershing at one of the squiggles you see and then try and figure it out from there. “So, I guess thats where I get off too?” You meant it to come out more as a statement than a question, but after what you just went through, you’d rather not be left to fend for youself. 

“If that’s what you want,” he finally utters after a while. “ But they’re not going to stop coming after you. Either of you. It might be safer for you to stay here with me, us.” The last part comes out so quiet, it’s almost as if he didn’t want you to hear, out of fear of your response. 

Trying to not answer too quickly, you take a deep breath and finally say, “Yes. I’d like that a lot.” With a curt nod, he turns back around. Warmth fills your chest yet again at this stranger’s kindness. It’s just because I have the same abilities as his child, you try to convince yourself. But deep down you’re hoping it’s more than that. The child in your lap grips your fingers tightly and coos, as if he’s trying to tell you your hopes might not be too far off. 

Oh, it’s going to be an interesting adventure with these two, you smile to yourself. 

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

Diff person- bUT I really loved how you write the sick inumaki!! I wonder can I ask abt the second years but as the first year where it is their first time dealing w/ inumaki injured throat? And he also got a bad fever and fatigue as a side effects. Thank you!

Aw, thank you, you're so kind!!

TW: blood & injury, suffocation, fever.

1.1k words, Gen.

ーーー

If Cursed Speech worked on himself, Inumaki would definitely use it now. He'd force himself to stop, to leave it to the others or engage hand-to-hand combat. Instead, command after command, he fights on, restless, determined to get the job done with minimal damage to his surroundingsー a small but populous neighbourhood near the hillsー and to the citizens.

Maki and Panda are not far, busy fighting against a horde of minor cursed spirits that must be stopped nonetheless.

But the one in front of him doesn't relent. Which doesn't make sense. Inumaki's ability has never failed to hit the target, not once, it has never slipped out of control. He curses under his breath, mouth filled with copper as he spits some onto the pavement. 

His vision is tunneling, swirling horribly, whole body shaking as Inumaki's grip onto consciousness is rapidly fading, weak, the tether thin. He doesn't, not yet.

Distant, his friends' voices call out his name, distracting the spirit with their presence. The young sorcerer takes advantage of the split second of confusion and lunges at the threat, grabbing at its head, nails sinking into the muddled skin, the creature's anthropomorphic body lanky but so very strong, much stronger than him, physically at least.

The cursed spirit futilely tries to wiggle out of the teen's vice grip, but there's only so much it can do when Inumaki all but smashes his forehead against the spirit's.

"Explode!!" he yells, crimson pooling in his mouth, choking him.

He lets go of the thing, taking a couple of tentative steps back before he trips and falls, back colliding with the floor, hard.

Chunks of dead meat fall from the sky, and he realises that at least his last attempt was not to no avail. His relief is short-lived when Inumaki comes to the painful, chilling realisation that he can't breathe.

He coughs and sputters, eyes wide and glassy, his lips tinged in blue and red as he desperately makes an effort to roll over, failing at the task.

He feels like he's drowning. He's fairly sure he is, actually. He chokes, sputtering, face up as tiny specks of his own blood get spat at the sky and fall back onto his ashen, cold face. Lilac eyes shift out of focus, the sky fading out, pale orange clouds melting in the endless emptiness above him, one last glance at them before he gets dragged down into the void.

It doesn't last.

Vertigo claws at his guts as his whole body is propped into a sitting position, strong hands hitting his back and making a sliding movement from the bottom of his spine to the base of his neck, repeatedly.

And Inumaki heaves rivers of thick blood trickling out of his respiratory system and onto his own uniform pants. Voices fill his ears, but the boy doesn't quite remember how to function now, how hearing noises and understanding their meaning is connected, how it must be processed.

He vomits the blood, already-pale complexion grey, skin damp and clammy. 

It's only an eternity later, or what feels like it, that whatever has gotten ahold of him lays him down, onto his side. Inumaki pants, breathing through his mouth, his lungs on fire, drained. 

"...ge, Toge!! Hang in there, okay? We called Gojou-sensei, he'll be here soon. Alright, buddy?" 

Inumaki lets his gaze shift, squinting. He coughs, harsh, immediately hissing at the pain. His throat stings.

Warm tears trail down his cold face and onto the blood-stained floor, but he blames the overexertion. Definitely not the near-death experience taking a toll on him.

"Can you sign?" Maki asks, crouching next to Panda, in front of Inumaki, "It's okay if you can't, or don't want to. Focus on breathing." she adds, softer.

"I can." the movements are clipped, shaky, "I'm okay. My throat is injured. It's my ability's fault."

"Oh. Is this... an ordinary occurrence?"

"Yes. It will heal. I'm tired."

"So you're sure you're not bleeding internally?" Panda frets, facial features scrunched up in worry.

"I'm sure. It's my throat. I'm sleepy."

Maki and Panda exchange a few hushered words, and Inumaki decides to let himself drift.

ー

"Oh. You're up."

He glances around, confusion washing over him. Inumaki's in his own room, in his own bed, in his own pajamas, too. Hastily, he sits up, chest tight in panic.

The world tilts and swirls horribly around him, and a pair of strong hands push him down onto the thick pillows.

"Idiot, don't. You're running a high fever, and the painkillers are bound to make you feel dizzy. Lie down." 

Inumaki takes a deep, steadying breath, then another. Maki's blurry form is sitting on the edge of his bed, her hand stretched out to fix the cold patch on his foreheadー he hadn't noticed it upon waking up, which, he realises, is probably a good, reliable indicator of how out of it he is.

"Fever?" he signs, eyebrows arched in confusion.

She nods. "39,7°C last time I checked. You also did a number on your throat, and Ieiri-sensei prescribed you enough painkillers and lenitive syrups to take out a horse."

Maki then gets up, getting closer to him. She adjusts the pillows so that her friend is sitting up a bit more, and hands him a glass of cold water.

Inumaki takes it gladly, but when he gulps down the water he realises that it tastes like copper, he cringes, setting the half-full glass down. A hand absentmindedly shoots up, fingers brushing against his throat, almost scared to make contact with his own skin.

"...I'm sorry." 

"And you should be." Panda's voice comes from the door, and he steps in, holding a transparent bag filled with yoghurts and jelly packets. He lets it fall. "Why didn't you warn us!? Why didn't you tell us aboutー whatever that was!?"

He hesitates, eyes low. "I don't know." 

After a second, he raises his hands again, still shaky. "I never thought I'd have to go that far. I'm sorry."

"It was really fucking scary to watch you puke blood, man." Panda pushes, "I thought you'd died. You almost choked to death on your own blood!!"

"Panda." Maki's stern voice leaves no place for arguments. She returns her gaze to Inumaki, "Panda is right, it was scary to watch. But... I think it was scarier for you. So, we will talk about it once you're ready and well. Right now, all you need to focus on is recovering your strengths."

She pauses, shooting a knowing look at Panda. The Cursed Corpse hums.

"We're... glad you're okay."

"Yes, we are."

Inumaki smiles. He feels like he's floating, body light, head empty, filled with clouds, aware that he will have the chance to see them again.

ーーー

Let me know what you think of this, please!! Also, if you have ao3 and want this fic to be gifted to you, let me know.

September 5, 2021.

[sociallyawkward--fics]

Last Christmas

Here it is, lol. The fic I wrote last night with Wham!’s “Last Christmas” on repeat for literally Three Hours Straight lol. It is entirely unedited except for me having a friend read it over briefly and them go “you’re missing a period here” and nothing else lol. Please be kind though, I have not written for months and any Christmas fics I’m posting are more just warm-ups to get me back to the level of writing I was before I accidentally took a break, cuz no way I’m jumping back into my Big Projects without getting myself back up to par lol

ALSO, I know Jaskier seems like,,, really aggressive towards Yen in this fic. She's not meant to be a villain! Jaskier just is jealous and sad so he takes it out on her a little bit, which is definitely not the right thing to do but I think it's a very human thing to do. After this I imagine them going for coffee or smth and just lovingly trash-talking Geralt and realizing "wow we can actually be decent friends" lol

------------

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types; Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game); The Witcher (TV); Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski

Relationship: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg; Triss Merigold; Zoltan Chivay; Iorveth (The Witcher); Eskel (The Witcher); Vernon Roche

Additional Tags: eskel triss iorveth and roche are barely-there btw; Jealous Jaskier | Dandelion; Mistletoe; Getting Together; Misunderstandings; Miscommunication; Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg; Alcohol; Drinking; Smoking; (very briefly) - Freeform; Communication; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings; Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion; Mutual Pining; Kissing; Hugs; Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers; Alternate Universe - No Powers; Holidays; Christmas; Christmas Party

Word Count: 3614 words

[ao3 link]

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It took an embarrassing amount of time for Jaskier to work up the courage to leave his car. Instead he sat there, heat off and car growing increasingly frosty, forehead against the steering wheel as he bemoaned his own very existence. He did not want to go to this party, which was very out of character for him.

But Jaskier couldn’t take another repeat of last year’s holiday party. And he knew the second he saw Geralt, he would be back there again.

They had both been decently tipsy, which was their first mistake, but Jaskier knew that neither of them were drunk. That’s why he had been so shocked when Geralt made the first move, pressing him up against the wall to the men’s room and ravishing his mouth. They’d gone home together to Jaskier’s flat and had a wonderful night together, but Geralt had been gone come morning.

They never spoke of that night. And by the next week, Geralt had been back in his on-again, off-again relationship with Yennefer.

Jaskier thought he’d gotten over it. As much as he didn’t regret it, it was clear that Geralt did, and he wasn’t going to push his feelings onto the man when they were so clearly unwanted. It was a miracle their friendship survived it, with how testy they had been with each other for weeks afterward.

Jaskier took a deep breath and tightened his scarf around his neck, finally leaving his car to make his way into the hotel ballroom that Foltest had booked for the night. At least their work holiday parties weren’t held in the offices, Jaskier wouldn’t have been able to force himself back to work after last year if they were.

Jaskier’s traitorous eyes immediately sought out Geralt the moment he walked in. He wasn’t hard to find, with his striking silver hair and refusal to wear anything but black. He stuck out like a sore thumb, in the sea of red and green and gold. But god, did he look good. Unfortunately, he was already occupied with the only other person in the room who refused to wear color: Yennefer. 

Jaskier forced his eyes away, directing them instead towards the makeshift bar. Zoltan was already there, and, judging by the red on his cheeks, already several drinks in. Jaskier couldn’t exactly judge. He was going to need quite a few drinks to get through this night as well.

“Good old Dandelion!” Zoltan crowed as he approached, words only slightly slurred.

“Zoltan,” Jaskier greeted with an easy smile, nodding at the bartender. “When are you ever going to give up on that silly nickname?”

Zoltan snorted. “You’re the one who calls himself a flower, Julian.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Soon enough, Jaskier had a drink in his hand and an earful of Zoltan’s voice, accent only growing thicker and harder to understand the drunker he got. He was barely following what Zoltan was talking about, anymore. Something about his ex father-in-law’s business tanking? He seemed rather pleased by it, in any case. Jaskier probably would be to, if he wasn’t still so anxious.

“What’s got a stick up yer ass?” Zoltan asked after a while, winding down from his latest story.

“Just… not in a partying mood, I suppose.”

Zoltan laughed uproariously. “You? Not in a party mood? Never thought I’d see the day!”

Jaskier gave a half-hearted smile, knowing Zoltan was too far gone to notice that fact, and let his eyes wander the crowd. After a few drinks, he was beginning to feel pleasantly tipsy. The idea of lasting out the party was actually beginning to feel manageable, though he still felt like giving Yennefer and Geralt a wide berth. They always exploded at these things, and Jaskier didn’t want to be caught in the middle of that.

Again.

That was one fight their friendship almost hadn’t survived, and it was the worst six months of Jaskier’s life. And that was including the past twelve months after the last holiday party.

“Come on, Dandelion,” Zoltan said, and Jaskier’s attention was drawn back to the bar. “Sit down for a game of cards with me! Or perhaps a round of dice?”

Jaskier laughed, his first true laugh of the night. “I know better than to gamble with you, old friend. It’s about time I mingled, don’t you think? Give the masses what they desire.”

Zoltan laughed again and gave him a sloppy wink. “Go get ‘em, tomcat. I’ll find some other poor fool to swindle.”

Jaskier grinned. “I don’t doubt it.”

Jaskier slipped away from the bar and into the crowd. He greeted people with hugs and kisses on the cheek, making them laugh and shove him away with teasing grins. He twirled between groups of people in a carefully perfected dance, muscle memory even with the alcohol in his system.

Unfortunately, that muscle memory rather quickly led him to Geralt’s current circle of companions. Yennefer and Triss were there, clearly making an intense effort to not be at each other’s throats. Eskel was there, which wasn’t surprising: as much as a sweetheart as he was, Eskel’s social skills definitely needed some development, and he tended to use Jaskier and Geralt as a social crutch (despite the fact that his brother was even worse with people than he was). Iorveth and Vernon Roche were on opposite sides of the little circle the group had formed, and Jaskier dreaded that disaster waiting to happen.

Really, how did Geralt attract such dramatic people to him so easily?

Despite how suddenly off-kilter Jaskier felt being so close to Geralt, last year flashing through his mind, he knew he couldn’t show it. Geralt would notice, and then it would be awkward for them both, and Jaskier would never forgive himself for ruining Geralt’s Christmas two years in a row.

So he flitted around the group, being his charming self. His smile felt forced as he gave Iorveth and Roche (very awkward) one-armed hugs. His stomach churned as he kissed Triss on the cheek. His balance felt off as he waltzed into Eskel’s arms for one of his patented bear hugs (though that was likely the alcohol, now that he thought about it).

“How is it that you’re already drunk, Jaskier?” Geralt said as Jaskier pulled out of Eskel’s arms.

Jaskier shot him a cheeky grin. “Not drunk, my dear--friend. My dear friend. Merely tipsy.”

“With a stutter like that forming?” Yennefer teased, holding out her hand.

Jaskier indulged her dramatics and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, chest burning white hot all the while. His smile was probably slightly too-sharp when he stood back up again, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

“The heavier side of tipsy, perhaps,” Jaskier replied, smoothly sliding in beside Geralt to drape himself over Geralt’s shoulders.

A chorus of titters and chuckles went through the circle and Jaskier furrowed his brow. He rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair, searching for imperfections but finding none. He then looked toward Geralt for an explanation, but the poor man looked just as confused as Jaskier was.

“Aren’t you wondering why none of us were standing all that close to Geralt?” Triss asked, that coy smile Jaskier was all-too-familiar with making its way onto her lips.

And now that she mentioned that, it was odd. Yennefer was usually glued to Geralt’s other side, and Triss was almost always trying to butt her way in. Her jealousy tended to be a great deal more obvious than Jaskier’s, deliberately trying to provoke the two of them. Jaskier simply got drunk and wrote songs about unrequited love, he knew better than to try and put himself between them.

Roche rolled his eyes as Jaskier and Geralt still just stared at the group rather dumbly. He pointed upwards and their eyes followed his finger.

Geralt, very unfortunately, was halfway into a doorway. Taped to the top of the frame of said doorway was a little sprig of green. Jaskier felt his heart stop. He had to swallow to keep the bile from rising up in his throat. He pulled away from where he was leaning on Geralt. The group was still laughing and teasing good-naturedly, but Jaskier felt like his world was crashing down around him. He looked toward Eskel for help, being the kindest of the group.

Only Eskel just shrugged with a grin. “It is tradition.”

“Oh come on, now,” Yennefer said, her voice twisting around Jaskier’s throat like a noose. “We’re all adults here. Just get it over with.”

Jaskier slowly met Geralt’s eyes. He was impossible to read, even moreso than normal, and Jaskier felt that familiar pit open up in his stomach. He needed to get this over with and then smoothly make his escape. Perhaps claim he’d had more to drink than he thought and needed to call a cab.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked quietly, barely more than a whisper.

Jaskier gave him a small smile and leaned forward. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the scruff of Geralt’s cheek before pulling away, his heart not able to take much more than that.

Jaskier couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he walked away.

Jaskier’s kiss was a barely-there peck to the cheek. Before Geralt could even hope to respond, he was gone.

The group’s teasing had quieted down, and Geralt dared to look up. Iorveth and Roche seemed confused, not close enough to the rest of the group to be caught up on the drama. Eskel seemed torn between beating himself up and beating Geralt up. Triss seemed guilty.

And Yennefer was just smug.

Geralt found himself grinding his teeth. Of course she was behind this (though it was clear that Triss had some hand in it, as well). Their most recent breakup, for once, had been amicable. The past few years had been hell for them, trying to make their relationship work even though they both knew it was never going anywhere. Jaskier was Yennefer’s last straw.

Geralt was more horrified that Yennefer had so easily picked up on his feelings for Jaskier than hurt by the breakup. If she had picked up on them, then surely Jaskier had?

Is that what that hauntingly sad smile Jaskier gave him before he kissed him was for? Did Jaskier pity him? Was he trying to let Geralt down easy?

“Go after him,” she said simply.

“Yen, this isn’t one of your games--”

“No,” she replied, voice suddenly terse. “So stop treating it like one and act like an adult, Geralt. I think we’ve all had quite enough of you two being like this, and it only got worse after last year’s party.”

“Which you still won’t talk about,” Triss chimed in, raising an eyebrow.

“So go talk to him.”

Geralt resisted the urge to growl. “Fine.”

Jaskier wasn’t hard to find, when you knew him as well as Geralt did. He liked to be high up when he was upset, saying it made him feel like he was getting some perspective on his problems. Geralt liked to joke that it was because he was more at home with his head in the clouds.

Jaskier was on a balcony overlooking the city, a pack of cigarettes sitting on the railing. A lit one rested between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air and entwining with the condensation trailing from his lips thanks to the cold air.

“I thought you quit,” Geralt said quietly.

Jaskier turned his head, not far enough to face Geralt but far enough to let Geralt see the wry half smile on his lips.

“You know how the holidays are,” Jaskier replied, taking a long drag from his cigarette and turning back to the cityscape.

Geralt moved forward to lean against the railing next to him, letting out a heavy sigh and watching the white vapor twist into the air. He didn’t know how to have this conversation. Between the two of them, Jaskier was by far the more emotionally intelligent one. With him shutting down like this, Geralt didn’t know what to say.

“Are you… okay?”

Jaskier snorted. “Yeah, Geralt. I’m great.”

Geralt considered the words for a few moments, turning around the tone of voice in his head. “Sarcasm,” he decided. 

It was much easier to decipher when he himself was using it, rather than try to pick out when others were.

Jaskier sighed, hanging his head. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Geralt shook his head. “What’s going on?”

Jaskier took another drag of his cigarette. “Nothing, Geralt. Don’t worry about it.”

Geralt let out a frustrated growl, not sure how else to express himself in the moment. He snatched the pack of cigarettes off the railing (breathing out a sigh of relief when only one was missing -- the one between Jaskier’s fingers) and ripped the lit one out of Jaskier’s hand, tossing both items over the edge of the balcony.

“What the fuck, Geralt?!”

Geralt stared at him. “You told me last time you quit to not let you start up again.”

Jaskier groaned and put his head into his hands. “Shit. I did, didn’t I?”

Geralt hummed an affirmative.

“Aside from saving my lungs, was there something you needed, Geralt?”

Geralt leaned back against the railing, clasping his hands together. “To know what’s had you acting so weird all night.”

He felt Jaskier’s eyes on him, could see him staring out of his peripheral, but Geralt kept his eyes on the lights of the city. With all the light pollution, it was probably as close to stars as they would get without driving out to the mountains.

“You really want to know?” Jaskier asked eventually, his voice low.

“Yes.”

“Tonight I was pressured into kissing the man that broke my heart, about a year ago now.”

Geralt flinched back, finally looking over toward Jaskier. Jaskier was still staring at him, his blue eyes almost seeming to glow in the dark of the balcony.

“Who--Who broke--”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, face remaining impassive.

Geralt hesitated. “I broke your heart?”

Jaskier sighed and turned away, looking toward the horizon. “Last holiday party, we went home together. We made love for hours. I told you I cared for you deeply. And when I woke up, you were gone.”

Geralt wanted to say something, wanted to defend himself, but his voice felt like it was glued in his throat, unable to escape.

“Barely any time had passed before you were back in Yennefer’s pocket, not a thought given to us. And we never talked about it.”

Geralt swallowed. “I didn’t realize--”

Jaskier threw his hands up in the air, a frustrated laugh escaping his lips. Geralt’s frown deepened when he saw Jaskier’s eyes glistening.

“Didn’t realize what, Geralt? I thought I was being pretty obvious about the fact that I’m in love with you!”

“Yennefer and I broke up,” Geralt said, deciding to tackle the topic he knew how to talk about first.

Jaskier snorted, leaning his back against the railing and crossing his arms. “What else is new?”

Geralt shook his head. “For good, this time.”

Jaskier only stared at him. Geralt huffed out a breath as he searched for his words, running a hand through his hair.

“You know how… Sometimes, you can have a great friendship with each other, but when you try to date you end up being really toxic and horrible to each other? That’s me and Yen.”

“Could’ve told you that three years ago. Oh wait, I did.”

Geralt sighed. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t listen, Jask. I just… I wanted it to work so bad, we both did. Even though we knew it never would.”

Jaskier looked down at his feet. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping like that.”

“It’s okay.”

Jaskier looked back up at him. “So what was the final nail in the coffin? What sealed the deal for you two?”

Geralt looked away, choosing a specific building to look at and staring at it intensely. His fingers itched to fiddle with something, but he forced them to stay still, clenching the freezing metal of the railing.

“I love Yen. But she and I both realized that I would never love her as much as I loved you.”

The silence stretched on for far too long and Geralt could feel his skin prickling with anxiety. His throat felt like it had swollen shut, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to get any words out. He wanted to look at Jaskier, see his reaction, but his body was locked in place.

“And if you love me so much, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice even more icy than the balcony railing leeching the warmth from his fingers, “why did you leave me?”

Geralt gave into the urge to fidget, reaching up for the pendant on his chest. His fingers were clumsy and numb from the cold, making him fumble, but the action was still soothing.

“I didn’t realize you meant it. Jaskier, you flirt with everyone. You’ve probably slept with half the company, and while I don’t judge you for that, I couldn’t help but feel like I was just the next notch in your bedpost.”

Jaskier dropped his face into his hands. “God, Geralt, I only slept with most of those people to try and get over you. You had Yennefer, and I was just me. I knew you would never choose me over her.”

“I am now.”

Jaskier stayed silent for a moment. “And if I decide that it’s too late?”

There was an uncomfortable burning feeling behind Geralt’s eyes and he did his best to push it back down. 

“Then I would respect your decision, and hope we could still be friends come tomorrow. I don’t want to lose you, Jask.”

Jaskier didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I’m sorry I was so blind to your feelings.”

“And say we did do this,” Jaskier said, his voice still guarded. “What about Yennefer?”

Geralt shook his head. “There’s nothing left for me and Yen. We’re done hurting each other for a relationship that will never feel good.” Geralt couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips as he tacked on, “Plus, with the looks Triss has been shooting her, I don’t think Yennefer will be too lonely.”

Jaskier shot him an incredulous look. “Triss and Yennefer hate each other!”

Geralt chuckled. “Yeah, when I was involved. Yen can, quite frankly, be a jealous bitch, and Triss certainly wasn’t letting up on the flirting.”

Jaskier searched his face. “And Triss?”

“There was never going to be any me and Triss, and she knew that. Honestly, I think her flirting these days has been more to toy with Yen than to actually try and woo me.”

Jaskier turned his gaze toward the night sky, a muddy brown-black-orange that ruined any hope of seeing the stars “Huh.”

“They both know there’s only one person I’m looking to woo me, anyway.”

Geralt watched Jaskier break out in a goofy, giddy smile, clearly involuntarily based on the way he quickly bit his lip to try and suppress it. Slowly, carefully, Geralt reached out for one of Jaskier’s hands, tugging gently until his arms came unravelled.

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve said something.”

“Can I hug you?”

Jaskier’s goofy smile was back and Geralt felt his heart clench. He hoped to see that smile so much more.

“Only if I can kiss you,” Jaskier replied, bouncing on his toes a little.

Geralt grinned. “I find that an acceptable trade.”

Jaskier laughed then, pulling him into a tight hug. They stayed like that for a long while, sharing heat and just soaking in each other’s presence. Slowly starting to accept that this was real, that this was happening. Geralt clenched his hands tightly into Jaskier’s sweater.

And then, some long minutes later, they pulled back from the hug just enough to press their lips together. It was soft and chaste, but by no means short. Geralt decided that kissing Jaskier felt like coming home.

They slipped away after that, deciding not to head back to the party. Their friends would assume things, sure, but they didn’t care. They had lost time to make up for, they could make up for not saying goodbye later.

Geralt drove them home, back to Jaskier’s flat just like last year. Jaskier fiddled with the radio as the streets blurred around them, trying to find an appropriately-themed holiday station. He burst into cackles the second he found one.

“Tell me this is not Wham!,” Geralt begged.

Jaskier was laughing too hard to reply.

“I hate it,” Geralt said, despite being on the verge of laughter himself. “I hate it so much. Stop laughing, it’s not funny.”

“It’s so funny!” Jaskier wheezed, clutching his stomach as he doubled over in his seat.

Jaskier had only just barely calmed down by the time they got to his flat. They curled up on his ratty old couch with some hot chocolate and put on a Christmas movie, but it became more background noise than anything. 

Instead they talked. They talked about their past together and how it hurt them, and their future and how they would prevent that from hurting too. They talked until Geralt’s throat was sore and Jaskier was nodding off on his shoulder. Geralt couldn’t find the energy to carry him to bed, so he simply readjusted their position on the couch to be something more comfortable and settled in to sleep himself.

“L’ve ‘ou” Jaskier breathed out against his neck.

Geralt smiled, closing his eyes. “Love you too, Jaskier.

[akutagawasbitches]

Can you do a short a fic where the reader confesses to Yukichi? 🥺👉🏾👈🏾 He gets little to no recognition in the fanfiction world

Aaah! Of course my lovely. This is such a cute idea. I hope you enjoy it!

You had been working for the Agency for a few months now. About five to be precise. You were recruited as a secretary for Yukichi Fukazawa and you enjoyed your job immensely. Your boss was a kind and understanding man, but also calm and composed. Sure, he was quiet and rather stoic at times but he always was polite and listened to you. You loved the Agency and everything it stood for. Having a safe place for gifted people to help out non gifted people made you happy as it was a cause you strongly believed in. You personally weren’t gifted, but you always admired gifted people, viewing them as superheroes when you were a child up until now. You couldn’t lie when you first arrived, you were a little overwhelmed by all the chaos, but you soon settled in with Yukichi’s guidance and patience. You two bonded over your love of cats after he found you outside having a panic attack and he talked to you about cats and their healing properties to comfort you. He knew you liked cats since you had a small cat outline tattoo on your wrist which he had seen before. Slowly from there your feelings grew for him. The way he cared about the agency members so deeply that he used his ability to protect them, how he took in Kyoka and Yosano after they suffered horrible trauma, how he always was calm and composed even in a difficult situation. At first you thought your feelings were simply feelings of admiration for your superior but soon you realised it was much more when you noticed you started to slightly blush whenever he smiled at you. IT was actually Naomi who pointed this out to you after she noticed your slightly flushed cheeks after Yukichi thanked you for your hard work with a smile.

“Oooh Y/N are you feeling hot? You’re blushing! Do you have a crush on the President? Nyehhh that’s so cute!” she commented

“Hah?! No no no I don’t I just am feeling hot that’s all.” You replied, blushing even harder.

“Mhm your face is certainly. You’re practically bright red!” she laughed.

You quickly harried away with an excuse about paperwork needing to be filed, still blushing after she laughed at your bright red face. Ever since then you fund yourself thinking about Yukichi more and more, and how nice it would be to hold his large hands with your small ones. Or how soft his lips might be and how wonderful it would feel to kiss them amongst other thoughts that were inappropriate to think towards your employer. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t ignore your feelings any longer. You had to confess. It was getting in the way of your work. Just the other day you practically jumped and dropped files everywhere when he said you name. So, it was decided. You were going to invite him out to lunch at the local cat café where he might be distracted enough to not notice your blushing face or what you say. Then you would of confessed and he wouldn’t know so everything could go back to normal. “I wonder… if he likes me back…” you thought to yourself but as wonderful as that would be, its impossible. He is your employer and senior. It wouldn’t work out.

Swallowing your pride, you knocked on his office door and entered.

“Ah Y/N is something wrong?” he asked, his face confused. You only entered his office when it was an emergency, or your job required you to.

“N-no sir. I was wondering if you would join me for lunch. There’s a new cat café and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me. We could maybe find a cat to adopt. F-for the Agency I mean!” You exclaimed, your face turning pink.

“I would enjoy that, when would you want me to join you?” He replied, his voice calm as ever.

“I was thinking maybe right now? There’s no time like the present” You nervously laughed out. God you were so nervous. Yukiche blinked in surprise but nodded.

“Okay let’s go.”

 This was a bad idea. You were so nervous you couldn’t speak, and you were practically sweating buckets. Yukichi was walking next to you, seemingly in his own thoughts or just being quiet. You wanted to say something to break the silence, but you couldn’t. Before you knew it, you both arrived at the café, the window filled with cute cat stickers. Swallowing you squeaked out “Uh we’re here.” He gives you an odd look. Fuck he knows. “Why did I have to sound like a squashed dog toy?” You thought to yourself, embarrassed at your voice. Yukichi already walked in and was holding the door for you. “What a gentleman.” You thought yourself as you thanked him. You both entered and were overwhelmed by the number of cats around you. Big cats, small cats, old cats, kittens, black cats, ginger cats. They had all the cats you could possibly think of. Yukiche stood there silent staring at all the cats around him. “Maybe this was a bad idea…” you thought before he slowly walked over to one cat and picked him up, staring right at the cat’s face and then hugging the cat. You giggled, thinking about how cute he was. Your heart swelled and it felt like it was going to explode. Before you knew it you blurted out

“You’re adorable please kiss me!”

Shit. He heard you. Yukichi turned around, still holding the cat and stared at you.

“What did you say Y/N?” his face unreadable.

“I- uh said that you’re adorable.” You muttered. You never wanted to the ground to open you up and swallow you whole this much before.

“No. After that.”

“Please kiss me?” you answered sheepishly. You felt his eyes bore into you as if he was reading your soul. Before you could even speak, you felt his hand gently cup your face and press his lips to yours, kissing you.

Pulling away he smiled and said, “That’s what I thought you said”.  You blinked in shock at what just happened.

“Wait why did you do that?” you asked confused.

“Because I have had feelings for you for quite sometime now Y/N and well I never approached you with any advances because I thought you weren’t interested but you just proved me wrong so I thought I’d give you what you asked for.” He said, with a rare smile gracing his lips. You blushed and smiled at the same time.

“You- you like me? In a romantic way?”

“Yes, I have done for sometime now.” He responded chuckling at your reaction. You threw your arms around him, kissing him with all the passion in the world. He smiled and kiss you back, gently pulling you close by your waist. After the two of you pulled away, you were both breathless, breathing heavily. Yukiche held you hand in his and asked

“Will you let me take you on another date Y/N? Maybe dinner? Tonight?”

“I’d love to!” You grinned, a light shade of pink blooming across your cheeks. Before he could respond, you kissed him. The two of you kissed and stayed in that café for hours playing with cats and spending time together as the newly formed couple.

Thank you again for sending me this request I loved writing it!

[cyn-00]

Moreid one shot, 8 - "how much"

Season 8, episode 18 "Restoration" (It's the one where the team is in Chicago and the unsub was one of the kids molested by Carl Buford, so Morgan is obviously really involved. At the end of the episode, after Derek finds out on the jet that Buford is dead - *yay*)

I have to say a couple things, since apparently if I don't write at least 20 lines of useless information before the actual fic, the Earth threatens to explode: 1) this is kinda obvious, but I always specify the episode and season so if you haven't watched that episode yet you probably shouldn't read the fic cause it may contain spoilers! 2) this is not obvious but highkey useless, I always imagine Reid having long hair (like season 4/5 or maybe a lil shorter), because FOR ME that's his best look (that's why you'll nearly always find expressions like "he tucked his hair behind his ear" even though for ex. in season 9 that wouldn't be possible lmao)

Update: goes unsaid that I partially re-wrote this as well as many others

Read it on AO3

-------------

"Yes. Uh uh. No I understand, thank you for keeping me posted. I appreciate that."

Silence, following that call. Everybody looking at Morgan, waiting for him to say something - anything really. The look on his face was indecipherable, a mix of relief and uncomfort, and wanting to cry or break something or preferably both.

"...Buford is dead."

That was all he said. Not when, not how.

He kept his look out of the window of the jet, like meeting his friends' eyes could trigger an emotional response way too overwhelming for any of them to handle in that moment.

They all stared at him without making a single sound, not knowing what they were supposed to say, what he was expecting to hear from them. Not even Reid: his eyes remained glued to him for a while, unable to get back to reading his book with that lump in his throat suffocating him.

-

As soon as they got off the jet, Morgan vanished. Everyone thought he'd probably quickly got to his office to pick up his stuff and head home, without talking to anyone. But when the rest of the team entered the bullpen through the glass doors, they saw him, not in his office, but sitting at Reid's desk; elbows on his knees and eyes stuck on the floor.

Reid stopped walking and stared for a while from afar, frozen, deciding what to do; while the others headed to their desks and offices silently, not even able to small talk after what Morgan had announced.

Spencer felt a light touch on his shoulder. He turned around.

"He needs you, Spence." JJ's soft voice spoke sense into him. "It only works with you."

That last statement left Spencer a bit confused, but he nodded anyway, replying with a sad but grateful smile as she walked away.

His friend's encouraging words and a few more minutes of waiting were enough for Spencer to finally gather the nerve of walking toward the man.

-

Once he'd approached his own desk, he stood still and carefully looked down at his boyfriend, hunched on himself; waiting for him to notice his presence. But Morgan didn't move a single finger.

"...I thought you ran home." he said, softly.

Derek finally tilted his chin up to face him, straightening a little in his seat: he wasn't crying, but he did look upset. Still: the crack in Spencer's heart couldn't but widen at the damaged look on his usually warm, handsome face.

"Yeah I thought of that, but I- I feel like I need to...talk. To you."

Few seconds of silence.

"You really don't have to talk to me about it if you don't want to..." Spencer pointed out a bit nervously.

Derek didn't answer. He just stood up from the chair with his hands in his leather jacket pockets, staring straight into the other's brown eyes, with a look that said: "Please". Spencer answered with a nod.

Except for Hotch and Rossi, both in the former's office, the rest of the team had quickly got home: it was 11:30 pm. As for the other employees, they simply didn't have such a crazy schedule, so the bureau was empty. However, Morgan didn't feel like talking there, so he headed toward his office, Reid following without questioning.

-

Derek closed the door behind him, not bothering about the blinds, nor turning the light on. He sat on the black leather couch in the corner of the room, looking down at the floor as his elbows dug further in the holes they'd already carved earlier in his thighs.

Spencer put his satchel on the floor and stood there, 5 ft from him, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket: he had a feeling it was going to be a few minutes before Derek could feel like talking. But that was ok. That was the point: being there, silently or not.

The complete but slightly discomforting quiet, the dim light pervading the room coming from the bullpen, but most of all the presence of Spencer that made him feel like he was allowed to finally let go, weren't helping Derek from trying not to burst out crying. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and face down in the attempt to avoid that.

He accidentally let out a sniffle that gave Spencer the final clue that he was, in fact, about to cry. He buried his face in his palm, failing to stop the tears from falling any longer: he got "caught", there was nothing left to hide, at that point.

Spencer gulped. Before that, he had admittedly failed to pick up on how uncomfortable his boyfriend must have felt and how serious that situation was. He just wished he had the power to hug him tight and put the outer world on a pause while Derek let himself crumble down into smithereens; and then whisper comforting words in his ear while he fixed him, piece by piece, bit by bit, until he was somewhat whole again.

"Derek..." he murmured, feeling like his knees were wobbling under his weight at the sight of him like...that.

Spencer finally sat down next to him on the couch, not too close neither touching him. He knew the odds of Derek reacting well to physical comfort right after he exposed himself crying were few. He ran the statistics in his mind. Plus, he knew him. So he just sat there.

-

"I don't know why I'm reacting like this to the death of the man who ruined my childhood." Derek finally managed to say, a bit coldly, still eyeing down at the floor.

"I should be happy or at least relieved. That's what you're probably thinking." he added, pulling himself together just enough to find the courage to face Spencer; a deeply concerned but attentive look on his face.

"I'm thinking that you shouldn't beat yourself up for feeling whatever you are feeling right now." he answered reasonably, and quite frankly Derek wasn't expecting it.

Receiving no answer, Spencer continued. "I think," he paused, clearing his voice "I think that there's no right or wrong way for you to feel about it, because..." he paused again, contemplating whether he should mention Buford's name or maybe it was better not to.

"...cause Buford was never just an unsub for you." He mentioned him anyway, but stopped right there, staying vague, without openly addressing the fact that Buford had in some way been a father figure for Derek, when he was a kid. He didn't know how Derek would react to that: if he'd agree and see what his point was; or accuse him of justifying Buford's actions, in a small percentage.

Morgan didn't retort. He knew what Reid meant, and that what he meant made sense; nonetheless he couldn't erase those feelings of guilt and frustration and sickness that were possessing him. He nodded briefly and got back to facing the ground.

Spencer thought that it was the right moment for him to finally touch him without the risk of him flinching back. So he gently put his hand on the back of Derek's neck, stroking it with his thumb and looking at him with sad eyes.

The second Derek felt the comfort of his soft touch, he felt like crying again, like he had pressed some kind of vulnerable button. He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, letting out a heavy breath accompanied by a faint whine that he'd been trying so hard to keep buried down in the pit of his lungs.

"He should've rot in prison. What I said to the press gave him a way out." he paused and faced the other way, looking at the empty bullpen through the blinds. "It's- it's like he got what he wanted from me for the millionth time." he concluded, his voice hoarse and shaky.

Spencer understood, from his choice of words - he got what he wanted from me - that he was comparing that to the specific act of the abuse. The way he said it and the change in his demeanor - usually strong, both physically and emotionally - made Spencer's heart ultimately shatter and its fragments fall down to his stomach; and his eyes tingle. But he couldn't let himself go like that - he had to suck it up and support him. That's what Derek needed him to do in that moment; that's what Derek was always ready to do for Spencer, so it was only fair that he at least tried.

Reid switched position from sitting on the couch to kneeling on the floor right in front of him, in between his legs, so that he couldn't avoid his gaze anymore. He cupped his face in his hands to make their eyes meet again.

"You know that's not true." he asserted, pausing to let him process such statement and wiping off with his thumb a tear that managed to escape from one of Derek's eyes.

"He stopped getting what he wanted from you the moment you got out of that block and started becoming the man you are now. Catching people like him."

"He doesn't have to spend the rest of his life in jail now, does he? I did him NOTHING but a favor. And I didn't even notice, just like when I was a kid." Derek instantly blurted out.

"Derek why are you being so naive right now??" Spencer asked, though he wasn't really expecting an answer. He saw the man in front of him imperceptibly flinch at his tone, so he took a deep breath and explained.

"Don't you understand that if you hadn't made that speech to the press, his true identity would've remained secret to everyone? He was counting on restoring his reputation by becoming someone else. You SAW that, Derek." Spencer paused once again to lower his voice further - he didn't wanna come off as aggressive, but he wanted so hard to make him see what his eyes weren't seeing; clouded by his own trauma doubling back to him like a punch in the guts.

"The only person you did NOT do a favor to with what you said, it's him." he concluded.

Derek knew he was right. But - despite him being the one always talking sense into everybody - when it came to the abuse he suffered as a kid there was a small, hidden part of him that just couldn't help but feel guilty and subdued and victimized all over again.

He gently took Spencer's hands, still cupping his face, and put them down, looking at the floor. He felt in some way sorry for him, wasting his time, trying to convince him of the falsity of things that were so deeply rooted in his mind that not even his purest and most unconditional demonstration of love and support could conceal. But he knew it wasn't Spencer's fault and that he in the first place didn't have that kind of demand.

Spencer was hurt, but swallowed the words before they could come out. He figured that gesture meant he had to come to terms with the fact that there was nothing more he could say to him, to make him feel any better.

-

"Is that how I won?" Derek mumbled after a while, his deep voice piercing through the thick silence.

Spencer frowned apprehensively. "What do you mean?"

"I- I won because he died ? Was his death the only possible way for me to find a crumb of...I don't even know, of- of peace ?" Derek explained, looking straight into his eyes again, searching in Spencer's caramel irises for those answers that he already knew but needed someone external to say out loud.

"You won the second you realized you were no longer scared of letting other people know about what he did to you." Spencer replied lucidly, with no hesitation what so ever. "The first time being when you told us, and the second when you told the press. And the third exactly 23 minutes ago, when you chose to wait for me to talk about it instead of going home and closing me out." He paused. "and I honestly don't know how you did any of that but-" he swallowed and waited a second for the courage to say it to arise in him. "but I'm so proud of you I- I don't think you realize how much I am."

Spencer's hand instinctively made its way back to the other's cheek, stroking it with his thumb; uncaring of how it had been rejected earlier.

"You won when you finally understood that you are worth healing." he concluded in an almost whisper; eyes becoming glossy at the slight changes in expression on Derek's face.

Spencer wanted to do more than just brush a digit on his cheek, he wanted to hug him but guessed it wouldn't be the smartest choice. So he just stayed like that, gazing into Derek's eyes, with the other hand resting on his own thigh while his knees started to get sore from being in that position for the past 10 minutes.

-

Derek was speechless. After a seemingly endless silence, he reached his hand out to gently tuck Spencer's hair behind his ear.

"I- I love you. And I don't think you realize how much I do." he finally murmured, with watery eyes, purposely half-quoting what the other had just said.

Spencer's heart melted when he felt his touch and those words coming out so genuinely and uncensored. He slightly tilted his head to lean into such warmth, putting his hand over his and kissing his palm without breaking eye contact.

Derek craned to inch closer and made Spencer do the same by pulling him slowly toward him, with his hand placed on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and softly pushed his lips into his, finally allowing himself to fully seek comfort in his touch.

He shifted forward so that he was sitting on the very edge of the couch, to eliminate whatever inch of air was left between their bodies, letting Spencer's arms slide up his torso and end up wrapping tight around his waist underneath his leather jacket, left unzipped; as if he was afraid Derek would let him go and run away - which he would never do. He would never let him go.

Both his hands on Spencer's jaw, Derek could feel it unhooking, which he took as a silent permission to let his burning tongue find its way into his mouth, melting when it collided with his; sinking in the warmth of only his slim body in a way he didn't know he needed and didn't know he could.

Spencer shifted slightly to lower his head and let it rest on the other's shoulder, nuzzling his nose and lips against Derek's neck; while Derek soothingly ran his fingers through his curls, tilting his own head to lean into the shock of brunette hair.

Spencer slid a hand up front to place it on Derek's chest; slitting a narrow gap between their bodies as a sign to stop, being completely out of air.

They looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds; arms still tying them together even if not so breathlessly tight as a few seconds before.

"You scared me." Spencer's whispery words blowing warm air on Derek's skin.

"I know. I didn't mean to." he answered in a heavy sigh; Spencer's head cradled by the up-and-down movements of the other man's chest as he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

-

They stayed like that for a while, for as long as it took Spencer to start wondering what time it was. He gently let go of him - not that he got tired of it - and checked his watch: midnight.

"Wow. It's late." he stood up, helping himself by holding onto Derek's knees. As soon as he got back on his feet, his face wrinkled in a faint grimace of pain.

"Look what you did to me. I can't feel my legs anymore." he said jokingly, realizing only after a couple of seconds that that wasn't the usual context in which he used such phrase...would've been better if he hadn't let that slip out, he thought.

"Alright. My place? Is that enough to make it up to you or your legs?" Derek asked mockingly as he stood up too, finally showing him that smile of his that Spencer was starting to miss like oxygen in his lungs; confirming that his previous - stupid - comment had either gone unnoticed or hadn't bothered him that much after all.

Even though Spencer was definitely not one to like change, he clearly preferred staying at his boyfriend's place rather than his own. His house was more comfortable and obviously way less messy, but those were just a couple of superficial reasons, he himself couldn't quite put his finger on it - despite his profiling skills, which just gave him answers that didn't sound accurate enough in his heart.

After a few seconds of hesitation - not due to indecision, rather to the brief short-circuit his brain was put through when he saw Derek's blinding smile - he grinned back and nodded, picking up his bag while the other opened the door.

-

Right in the moment they got out of the room, they saw that Rossi had just exited the bullpen, heading to the elevator. God knows what kind of conversation had taken him so long with Hotch, still in his office and probably not even halfway with all the paperwork.

During those couple minutes Derek took to search for the office keys in his pockets and lock the door; Spencer stared at him, leaning with his shoulder on the wall, fiddling with the buckle of his leather satchel.

Derek put the keys back in his biker jacket pocket and raised his eyes to look at him.

"...What?" he asked, feeling his gaze on him.

"Nothing." Spencer answered shaking his head and dropping his eyes, standing straight again.

He tried not to smile, not only failing but moreover making Derek slightly smile too, even being yet clueless to what he was going to be told.

"I love you too."

[lady-hammerlock]

Of Masks and Concealer (Watch Dogs - Marcus x Wrench)

Summary: Marcus has a perfectly normal male name on his face, hidden beneath a liberal coat of concealer. Is it Wrench's name? He hopes it's Wrench's name. A Wrencus soulmate AU with a liberal dose of angst and fluff. 

AN: What is this? Another Watch Dogs fic from me? In truth I discovered this in my writing folder a little while back. I had completely forgotten that I had written it, but it was mostly finished, so I figured it should go out into the world. I hope you all enjoy. :)

As usual, the full story is under the cut. The only real warnings for this one are for mild violence/injuries and Wrench having really big self-esteem issues.

A MASK AND CONCEALER

Marcus Holloway had a rather unique soulbrand. The name itself wasn’t all that strange; just a perfectly ordinary male name. Any confusion that might have caused in him disappeared when he started to hit puberty, and realised that he found plenty of men just as attractive as women.

No, it was the position of the soulbrand that was weird. Plenty of people had them on their arms or legs, and he had heard of soulbrands being on people’s backs a few times. He even had a cousin whose soulbrand was on the sole of her foot. Marcus’s soulbrand however was right below his eye on his right cheek.

As a kid it hadn’t really mattered. For the first couple of years of school he had gone around with it uncovered. The writing was small enough that half the kids couldn’t even read the name of Marcus’s soulmate without getting real close to him.

Marcus soon realised that most other people kept their soulbrands covered up however; both the kids at school and the adults he knew, or at least the adults that hadn’t already met their soulmates and settled down with them. The kids at school hadn’t started to pick on Marcus for his weird soulbrand, but he definitely didn’t want them to start.

Covering up most soulbrands was easy enough. If clothing didn’t naturally cover it up then surely a pair of gloves or a scarf or whatever would do the job.

Marcus’s required a little more creativity. For a while there he went to school with a brightly coloured Band-Aid under his eye, which drew more attention that the soulbrand itself had done. When he grew a little older his Mom started to cover it with concealer. As Marcus grew older he learned how to apply the concealer himself. He’d still wear some sort of Band-Aid when going swimming or whenever the concealer was likely to rub off, but on most days he carried a little container of concealer around in his bag.

By the time he joined Dedsec he was a fucking pro at applying the stuff, which was good, because if there was ever a reason to conceal your soulmate’s identity from everyone and everything then going up against groups like the ones Dedsec regularly picked fights with was it. There was little doubt in Marcus’s mind that groups like !nvite or Blume could find some devious way to use the name of a person’s soulmate against them.

As for the soulmate himself, Marcus didn’t really give the guy much thought. Growing up there had been plenty of guys and girls in his class that had obsessed over finding their other halves. Marcus had met a couple of people who he had even thought for a moment might be the one, either based on name or the sight of a similar patch of concealer or adhesive medical strip on their face, and sure, he had been disappointed when it turned out that they weren’t the one (or in one case, really fucking relieved that they weren’t) but mostly Marcus figured that whoever his soulmate was, he would meet him when the time was right.

--

Wrench was, without a doubt, one of the coolest, most interesting people Marcus had ever met. They flirted and bonded and got excited over the same dumb shit, and bit by tiny bit, Marcus realised that he was falling in love. 

He knew that it was stupid, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping. After all, Wrench’s face was covered, so there was a tiny chance that somewhere beneath all of those spikes and leather the name ‘Marcus’ was branded on Wrench’s cheek, the twin to Marcus’s own soulbrand.

Marcus always ended up scoffing at himself whenever he caught himself daydreaming about such things though. Sure, Wrench might be awesome and perfect and the exact sort of person that Marcus would want to have as his soulmate, but that didn’t mean shit.

For the first time in his life he actually gave a shit about the identity of his soulmate, and it was mostly because he desperately, hopelessly wished that it was Wrench.

--

Everything seemed to be going pretty well at the moment, both for Dedsec and for Marcus. Swelter Skelter had brought them all back together and they were beating Prime_Eight into the ground. Marcus was on his way back to headquarters after taking down their most recent Prime_Eight target, on a motorbike that he had ‘liberated’ from its former Prime_Eight owner.

Everything seemed to be looking up. The sun was fucking shining, the radio was playing a rock song he really liked and Wrench, as Wrench was inclined to do while Marcus was on longer trips, had rung him up to talk.

“So Marcus,” Wrench said, and Marcus could just hear the cheeky grin in his voice. “FMK with Jabba the Hut, Emperor Palpatine when he’s old and pale and wrinkly, or Chewbacca.”

Marcus tried to stifle the laughter that bubbled up in his throat, which resulted in it coming out as a gross sort of giggle snort. The two of them had been playing ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ for a few minutes, and while the people and characters they were playing with had started out attractive enough, they had slowly devolved until they were at this stage.

“You just wanna hear me say I’d fuck or marry Chewbacca,” Marcus replied, taking over a slow moving family van in front of him as he did.

“Aw, come on M,” Wrench whined. “He’d be a really considerate lover. Just think about it; those big strong arms holding you tight, and all that soft fur…”

Marcus chuckled. Stupid conversation like this did absolutely nothing to lessen his crush on Wrench. If anything, it was stupid geeky shit like this that had made him fall in love with Wrench so quickly.

“I thought you didn’t like animals,” Marcus shot back.

Wrench let out an exaggerated gasp of shock.

“Are you calling Chewbacca an animal?” Wrench asked. “Marcus, that’s dangerous talk man. Calling a perfectly civilised and, you absolutely have to concede, attractive gentleman like Chewbacca an animal… What are we going to do with you?”

Marcus chuckled again.

“Just please don’t rip my arms off,” he laughed, before actually giving the question some thought. “Well, straight up let’s kill Jabba.”

“Diego Luna would be heartbroken Marcus,” Wrench interrupted.

Marcus chuckled, and was just about to continue when suddenly a valve in the road in front of him exploded in a burst of scalding hot steam and a shower of asphalt. The car in front of Marcus was thrown to the side of the road. Marcus turned the motorbike as quickly as he could, and just managed to steer around the explosion in time.

He steadied himself, and then looked behind him. It was only then that he spotted the pair of Prime_Eight jerks that were following just behind him in a beat up old sports car.

“Oh shit,” Marcus cursed, kicking the stolen motorbike back into gear and hoping that he could outrun the Prime_Eight members.

“Marcus!” came Wrench’s voice from the other end of the line, immediately worried. “Hey Marcus. Buddy! You okay?”

“Shit!” Marcus said, turning a corner and just making it. “I’ve got a couple of Prime_Eight bastards on my tail. Probably ain’t too happy that I blew up their place.”

“You need help?” Wrench asked.

“Nah, I got this,” Marcus said. He had dealt with plenty of worse situations before. All that he needed was to mess up the idiots behind him and then…

He motored through the next set of traffic lights, hacking into them as he did, hoping to cause a little bit of trouble for the Prime_Eight members. He heard the tell-tale screech of tires and honking of horns behind him, and glanced back to find that his trick had worked just as well as he had hoped. The Prime_Eight van had slammed into another car. There was no way that they were going to be able to chase after him now.

He hadn’t been watching where he was going though, and when he turned his attention back to the road in front of him it was too late to avoid slamming into the side of the car that had pulled out in front of him.

He hit the side of the car and went flying, skidding several metres along the road.

“Marcus?” Wrench screamed over their phone call. “Marcus!”

The breath had been completely knocked out of him. He just lay there for a while, gasping and trying to get air back into his lungs. His arms and legs hurt. He didn’t think that he had broken anything, but his knees and arms stung where the road had torn through his clothing and some of the skin beneath.

“Shit,” he cursed when he had recovered enough to push himself up on his hands and knees.

The owner of the car he had run into had taken off, and everyone else seemed too concerned about the three car pile-up at the intersection to worry about one lone and mostly uninjured motorbike rider. Marcus could faintly hear the muffled and garbled sound of Wrench on the other side of their phone call and reached out to find his phone lying on the floor nearby.

As he picked it up he could hear the other man’s voice, frantically muttering, more to himself now than to Marcus.

“Don’t worry M,” Wrench said. “You’re not too far from headquarters. I’m going to get you. Everything’s going to okay. I’m coming to get you and you’re going to be okay and I’m going to make those stupid fucking Prime_Eight assholes pay for daring to lay a finger on you. You’re going to be all right Marcus. You have to be.”

“Wrench,” Marcus called out, his voice a little quieter and scratchier than he had anticipated.

“Marcus!” Wrench cried out.

“I’m okay man,” Marcus said. “Well, I am a little torn up, but I’ll be fine.”

“No way man,” Wrench replied. “I’ve got your location and I’m almost there now. I’ll see you in a bit, okay M?”

“All right,” Marcus replied.

He glanced back at the chaos he had caused at the intersection and began, despite the protesting of his legs, to walk away from the scene. The last thing he wanted was to still be around when people started asking questions about the crash.

--

Within minutes Wrench had arrived at the scene and the two of them had found a back alley in which they could tend to Marcus’s injuries in peace.

The scrapes on Marcus’s arms and legs weren’t nearly as bad as they felt; nothing worse than a few scratches really, but Wrench worried as though there might still be a chance of Marcus bleeding out, immediately fetching water and insisting on cleaning off the dirt and gravel himself.

“It’s really nothing,” Marcus insisted, tearing off part of his own long-sleeved shirt so that Wrench could use the fabric to help clean off the wounds and soak up the excess blood. “I mean, it stings a bit, but I’ll be fine Wrench.”

Rather than rolling his eyes Wrench pretty much rolled his whole head.

“Just let me fucking take care of you all right?” he snapped.

“Yes Mom,” Marcus replied. He joked, but inside his heart felt as though it was glowing. Seeing how much Wrench cared about him made him think just for a moment that perhaps his crush on Wrench wasn’t completely hopeless after all.

Perhaps it wouldn’t matter if they weren’t soulmates. Perhaps, if they loved one another then that would be enough. God, he wished that they were soulmates. He wished it with all of his heart. He had never loved anyone like he loved Wrench. The other man’s touch was so gentle as he dabbed the wet cloth on Marcus’s arm; far gentler than a man who covered himself in spikes and took great delight in burning things to the ground had any right to be.

“Hey Marcus,” Wrench said, breaking Marcus’s reverie by reaching out to touch the hacker’s face with his thumb. “You got a little er…”

The other man’s mask changed from question marks to wide, round flashing eyes as his thumb brushed against the spot right beneath Marcus’s right eye; the spot where the name of Marcus’s soulmate sat, usually hidden away from the world.

“Oh shit,” Marcus cursed as Wrench withdrew his thumb. “I guess the make-up rubbed off during the crash.”

Marcus rubbed at his own cheek to discover that the makeup had smeared all down his face.

“Damn it,” Marcus cursed, already reaching into his bag to fetch the container of concealer that was tucked away in there along with everything else.

Marcus was a little annoyed, not entirely because Wrench had seen the name of Marcus’s soulmate. He trusted Wrench, knew that the other guy wouldn’t blab to anyone else and definitely wouldn’t have a problem with the fact that Marcus’s soulmate was a guy.

No, he was annoyed because this would, one way or another, put an end to his dream of Wrench actually being his soulmate. While neither of them said anything Marcus could always pretend that there was some chance of his dream coming true, but now that the name of Marcus’s soulmate was right there, out in the open, Wrench would undoubtedly, in one way or another, confirm that the name on Marcus’s cheek wasn’t his, and then Marcus would be forced to face the horrible, empty realisation that no matter who his soulmate was, there was no way that they could possibly measure up to Wrench.

Damn it. Everything about this sucked. Suddenly the scratches on his arms and legs felt worse, and all he wanted to do was get back to headquarters and have a stiff drink or two.

Marcus was therefore understandably surprised when Wrench let out a garbled sound that could only be described as a squeal and stepped back from Marcus and the newly revealed name on his cheek as though stung.

“That’s… er…” the masked man muttered before finally seeming to recover from his initial shock. “Am I looking at your soulbrand Marcus?”

“What else would it be?” Marcus asked.

“Yeah,” Wrench said. “Of course M. Cool.”

His mask and words were trying to convince Marcus that everything was cool, but his voice and body language was giving him away. Something was up. Perhaps Wrench just wasn’t comfortable with knowing the name of Marcus’s soulmate. It was a pretty private thing.

Or maybe Wrench is jealous, that part of Marcus that was growing increasingly difficult to ignore began to suggest. Or maybe, just maybe, he recognised his own name?

Marcus ignored those thoughts, knowing that it was infinitely more likely that the sight of Marcus’s soulbrand had just made Wrench uncomfortable, and turned his back to Wrench as he started to apply a liberal coat of concealer onto his cheek.

He waited for Wrench to say something; anything. Maybe, if he was extremely lucky then Wrench would make his dreams come true and claim Marcus as his soulmate. If not, and this seemed infinitely more likely, he could at least allow Marcus to stop hoping. Either way, he wished that Wrench would say something.

Instead the other man was still and silent, giving away absolutely nothing except a vague impression of discomfort.

Marcus sighed, twisted the lid back on the concealer and shoved it into his bag, before turning back to Wrench.

“Hey man,” he said, causing Wrench’s eyes to light up in a pair of exclamation marks, probably more of a reaction than those two simple words warranted. “Did I cover the whole thing? I mean, I’m pretty good at covering it up by now, but I don’t exactly have a mirror on me.”

“Huh?” Wrench said, as though Marcus had pulled him out of a daydream. “Yeah, er… Yeah, that’s it. You’ve covered the whole thing. Looks fine to me.”

Wrench’s eyes smiled, but it didn’t reach his voice.

-- 

Wrench was strangely quiet for a few days following that. He seemed awkward when he interacted with Marcus as well. Marcus wondered whether he should just confront the other man and ask Wrench what was bothering him.

Meanwhile, Marcus’s own mind seemed intent on annoying him. When his thoughts weren’t depressing ones about how this probably meant it was impossible for Wrench to be his soulmate they were annoying in their hopefulness. He had thought that he had put such stupidity aside after the crash, but apparently not.

What if Wrench was upset because he had seen another man’s name on Marcus’s face and was jealous? What if he had seen his own name on Marcus’s face and just didn’t know how to tell Marcus that they were soulmates?

Yeah right. If he had recognised his own name then it was more likely that he didn’t want Marcus as a soulmate at all and was still trying to work out how to tell Marcus that.

Whatever was going on it was annoying. Marcus just wanted his friend back.

So he was grateful when, after a week or so of weirdness, they got back to normal. They continued to laugh and touch and flirt as though nothing had happened.

Marcus continued to pine and to wonder, but at least he had Wrench at his side once more.

--

The FBI had Wrench. The fucking FBI had Wrench and Marcus had no idea what they were planning to do to him. No matter how much he cursed and screamed the panic wouldn’t subside.

Even when he was sitting there, watching the FBI interview Wrench through his phone camera he couldn’t think of anything except how to get Wrench out of there, and what he was going to do to the assholes that had taken him.

It was the first time that Marcus had seen the other man’s face, and he couldn’t help but notice how sad his eyes looked. It didn’t matter what he looked like though. He was Wrench, the man Marcus was in love with, and right at that moment the FBI were interrogating him and trying to turn him against Marcus and Dedsec and Marcus wanted to reach through the camera and fucking strangle them.

“Hey, what’s that beneath his eye?”

Sitara was the one to ask it. Marcus had noticed the dark smudge of course, just like he had noticed the red patch above his left eye.

“Have they been hurting him?” Josh asked.

But that wasn’t a bruise. Now that Marcus was looking at it he had a feeling he knew exactly what it was.

His stomach had been turning itself in knots already. There was almost no room in him for the shock of Wrench potentially being his soulmate after all.

“I think it’s a soulbrand,” he told the other two. “Don’t try to make it out, all right? We’ve invaded his privacy enough as it is by getting a look at his face.”

And then fucking Dusan had walked into the room, all sunshine and smiles and promises.

“What’s this?” he asked Wrench, kneeling in front of him and actually putting his hand on Wrench’s shoulder.

Wrench shrugged the other man’s touch off immediately.

“I should have known,” Dusan said as he straightened himself to his full height once more. “That explains a lot, right?”

Wrench was silent, his face turned away from Dusan. He refused to look at the other man no matter how much Dusan got in his face, or at the cameras stationed around the room.

“Does Marcus know?” Dusan asked Wrench.

“Do you know what?” Sitara asked. Marcus didn’t answer. He was too absorbed in what was happening in the interrogation room.

“He doesn’t, does he?” Dusan asked, leaning in so that Wrench was forced to look at him again. “You haven’t told him because you know it won’t matter to him. He doesn’t give a shit about you.”

Marcus wanted to reach through the cameras, tear Dusan away from Wrench and promise his fellow hacker that the other man wouldn’t go anywhere near him ever again. He was powerless to do anything though except sit there and watch.

“You know I’m right,” Dusan said to Wrench.

And then the man told Wrench that he was free to go; that he should run off and tell the rest of Dedsec, minus Marcus of course, that any of them could accept Dusan’s deal and turn on the rest of them at any time that they wished.

Surprisingly he seemed to actually let Wrench go as well, but not without first taking his mask.

Marcus wasn’t worried about any of his friends turning on them, not even for a moment. All he was worried about was Wrench, and getting the other man’s mask back and making sure that he was okay. There was barely any room left for him to worry about the soulbrand they had all seen on Wrench’s cheek.

--

It had taken a little bit of tech, a few explosions and a lot of luck, but Marcus had gotten Wrench’s mask back. It was only when he was on his way to return the mask that he started to think of the soulbrand they had all spotted on Wrench’s cheek.

It was probably Marcus’s name. Marcus realised that now. As he walked up the stairs to the meeting place he had organised with Wrench, mask clasped between his hands, he felt his heart pounding harder and faster in his chest.

Marcus knew that he was, once and for all, about to find out whether Wrench was his soulmate. There would be no maybe this time, no stupid hopes or stupider excuses.

By the time he spotted Wrench and moved to sit beside him Marcus was a nervous wreck. He thought he was doing a pretty good job of keeping it together though, all things considered.

“Hey,” Marcus gently greeted his friend, holding the mask out for Wrench to take back.

Wrench turned his head just a little, so that Marcus could see at least some of his face. Marcus took in the scruffy blonde hair, long nose and blue eyes as pale as ice, but what caught his eye more than anything else was the black letters that sat on Wrench’s right cheek, now right there where he could read them.

‘Marcus’

Wrench was staring at him, looking as though he was only two seconds away from bursting into tears. Marcus was so used to the mask, to Wrench’s usual energy and ridiculous humour. Seeing him so withdrawn and broken was breaking Marcus’s heart. He needed to say something to the other man, but Marcus had absolutely no idea what it was that he should say.

“We’re soulmates,” he ended up saying without ever planning for the words to leave his lips. “Huh.”

Wrench’s eyes were darting around the roof nervously, first looking at Marcus and then the plants around them or the pool a few metres away. He was clearly restless.

“I mean we are, right?” Marcus asked. “That name on my cheek; that’s your real… well, the name you were born with, right?”

Wrench nodded slowly a couple of times, not meeting Marcus’s eyes as he did, his eyes instead fixed on the mask that he clutched tightly in his own hands.

“Holy shit,” Marcus said, and then, as his own thoughts caught up with him. “Holy shit. I know your real name. Not that I’m gonna tell anybody. Holy shit no. I would never tell anybody if you don’t want me to. Holy shit Wrench. You’re… We’re…”

Wrench just sighed loudly, put his mask back on and then got to his feet.

“Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private?” Wrench suggested. “This conversation… I dunno. It could get messy.”

Marcus didn’t like the sound of that. Messy was not good. Messy made it sound as though at least one of them wasn’t going to be happy with how things turned out.

“Okay,” he said though, getting to his feet and then offering Wrench his hand. “That’s probably a good idea, yeah.”

–

They ended up back at Wrench’s garage. The drive back had been far tenser than Marcus had imagined it was going to be. Wrench was not just uncharacteristically quiet; he had failed to say anything at all since they had both gotten into Marcus’s car, and had remained silent until they were both safely back in the garage.

“So…” Marcus began, feeling more than a little awkward. Should he start with the FBI thing or the soulmates thing? In the end he settled on the most important thing; Wrench himself. “How you doing in there Wrench?”

“Better, now that I’ve got my mask back,” Wrench replied. “Thanks for that M.”

“No problem man,” Marcus replied, glancing over and sending a smile towards the other man. “What are friends for, right?”

Except they weren’t just friends now. They were soulmates, and that came with a whole new host of complications, right? Wrench’s eyes were sending a smiley emoji at him now though, so that was a good start.

“So er…” Marcus began, feeling rather awkward again. “We’re soulmates huh?”

--

Wrench had wondered if Marcus Holloway was his Marcus for about two whole seconds. The name was right, but as soon as he met the man he discovered there was no soulbrand under Marcus’s right eye to match his own. There was no point in wondering. He knew that. Marcus wasn’t his.

He couldn’t completely stop himself from hoping though. He liked Marcus. He really did. And even if Marcus didn’t have Wrench’s real name on his cheek that didn’t completely rule out the possibility, right? After all, Marcus could have had the soulbrand removed because of the whole hacking thing, or perhaps he was hiding it somehow. It was possible, right?

But no. Of course it wasn’t possible. The more Wrench came to know about Marcus Holloway, the more he understood that there was no way in hell that Marcus could be Wrench’s Marcus. 

It all came down to one simple, undeniable truth; Marcus Holloway was far too fucking good for Wrench. He was not only completely fucking gorgeous, he was a really cool guy; intelligent and a brilliant hacker with a sense of humour and taste in everything that worked so well with Wrench’s own. He was just so fucking amazing that he made Wrench wish that he was better person. Perhaps then, if it wasn’t for the fucking mask and his real fucking face and his everything, he might actually be worthy of Marcus’s friendship, but he would never be worthy of Marcus’s heart. He knew that, and after a few too many vodka and Red Bulls and an hour or so of sending a few smaller electrical appliances to an early grave with the help of a sledgehammer, he even came to peace with the knowledge.

He still wanted to make Marcus proud, and he vowed to do everything he could to earn the other man’s trust and friendship, but he gave up all hope of it ever leading to anything romantic.

And then there had been that stupid fucking mission with the stupid fucking motorbike crash and Wrench had been worried that Marcus was seriously hurt and he wasn’t but then he had seen the name he had been born with on Marcus’s cheek and it felt as though the entire fucking world stopped.

Marcus was amazing. Marcus was the best person that Wrench knew. He did not deserve to be saddled with a train wreck like Wrench; Wrench, who wouldn’t even tell Marcus his real name or remove his mask so that Marcus could see his own name resting on Wrench’s cheek. He hadn’t been inclined to reveal his face to Marcus before learning the truth. He had even more of a reason to cover it up now.

He knew that Marcus was both kind and polite enough that he wouldn’t deliberately be a jerk about the whole soulmate thing. No, when he discovered that fate had been shitty enough to give him a fuck-up like Wrench for a soulmate he would smile and act like he wasn’t horribly fucking disappointed, but how could he be anything but horribly fucking disappointed. Wrench didn’t want to see that; didn’t want to see Marcus’s disappointment disguised as joy; didn’t want to be the one to let Marcus know that the universe had fucked up so badly.

And then there was the stupid fucking mission with the stupid fucking FBI. Wrench had practically been forced to reveal the truth to Marcus. Wrench didn’t know what he had been expecting from Marcus; disappointment probably. He wasn’t so far in denial that he wouldn’t admit that he had been hoping for more. In those beautiful moments during which he and Marcus just clicked and Marcus made Wrench so happy that he managed to forget how much he hated himself, he began to imagine what it might be like if Marcus did accept him. He fantasized about Marcus immediately grabbing Wrench and kissing him senseless, even though Wrench knew that the odds of that actually happening were small enough as to be non-existent. Marcus just standing there and staring at Wrench and the name on his cheek in shock? That seemed par for the course; much more understandable than any fantasies of kissing or confessions of love that Wrench had allowed himself to get lost in.

Which lead them to now; Marcus standing in front of him and saying that they were soulmates, as though it was just that simple.

“You knew that we were soulmates, right?” Marcus asked. “I mean, after that accident you had to know.”

Wrench nodded slowly. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Marcus’s face. The other man was upset, and had every right to be.

“I suspected that we were,” Wrench replied. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me man?” Marcus asked.

Wrench took a deep breath, grabbed a couple of beers and tossed one to Marcus. 

Then, very slowly and with nowhere near the amount of coherency he would have preferred, he began to tell Marcus about everything, about how he hadn’t known for sure, about how, despite knowing how stupid it was, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping, about how he hid the truth away because he didn’t want to disappoint Marcus, and Marcus stood there and listened to it all without saying a single word.

–

Marcus stared at Wrench as the other man came to the end of his tale. It had felt as though his heart had broken just that little bit more with every word that Wrench said. 

Honestly, he had been expecting Wrench to tell him that he didn’t like dudes, or that he loved Marcus, but not like that, or any one of another dozen or so reasons that ultimately lead back to the fact that Wrench had stayed quiet about being Marcus’s soulmate because he didn’t want to be with Marcus romantically.

He had not expected Wrench to be so shy, so utterly convinced about his own lack of worth. Marcus didn’t know what had happened to Wrench to make him so sure that he was unworthy of love, but Marcus swore then that he would find some way to change Wrench’s mind; to convince him that he was not only worthy, but that Marcus loved him with his whole heart, and would have even if they weren’t soulmates.

“I’m not disappointed man,” he said when it was clear that Wrench was finished.

“What?” Wrench asked, his mask quickly changing to question marks. 

“I’m not disappointed with having you as a soulmate,” Marcus explained, slowly and as clearly as he could, so there was absolutely no chance that Wrench might misunderstand him. “Hell, I’m really happy Wrench.”

The two of them were leaning against one of Wrench’s work benches, their now empty cans of beer resting just behind them. Wrench had been looking right at Marcus, but at that he turned his head and scoffed loudly.

“Not you’re not,” he said. “You wouldn’t have just stood there and stared at me as though the universe had just told you the worst possible joke in existence if you were actually happy Marcus.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus replied playfully. “Yes I am. Damn it Wrench, I was caught off guard the other night. You never said anything about maybe being my soulmate, not even after the crash, so, you know, I was surprised. It was a good surprise though; a damn good one.”

“Come on man,” Wrench muttered, a hint of what might have been self-deprecating laughter or might have been actual tears choking up his voice. “You don’t have to pretend that you’re happy for my sake. God fucking knows I wouldn’t be happy with me as a soulmate.”

“Yeah, well good thing I’m not you then,” Marcus immediately replied.

Wrench froze, even the eye-displays in his mask displaying nothing but their default crosses.

Marcus sighed, rubbed at the back of his head and wondered what it would take to actually convince Wrench that he was one of the most awesome people Marcus had ever met.

“Look Wrench,” Marcus began, hoping that he wouldn’t fuck this whole thing up before it had even really begun. “I like you man. I mean, really, really fucking like you. Hell, I think I might be in love with you.”

Wrench scoffed again in response to that.

“Hey, it’s true,” Marcus continued. “Before I found out that you were my soulmate I kind of well… I hoped that you were. After all, I couldn’t see your face, so I didn’t know for sure that you weren’t so… yeah…”

“Don’t fuck with me Marcus,” Wrench said, sighing and sounding just so fucking tired. “That’s just low, you know?”

“I ain’t fucking with you Wrench,” Marcus insisted. “I think I… No, I know that I am in love with you. I love you Wrench.”

Wrench scoffed again. This time the sound came out so broken and distorted that Marcus got the distinct impression that Wrench actually was crying behind the mask.

“Wrench?” Marcus asked, immediately moving to stand right in front of the other man. He reached out, placing one hand on either side of Wrench’s face and tilting the other man’s head up, forcing Wrench to look at his face.

“I’m not lying,” Marcus insisted. “I swear Wrench, I’ve never wanted anyone to be my soulmate more than I wanted you to be that guy, so finding out that you are? That’s like a fucking dream come true man. You hear me? I’m so damned glad you’re my soulmate.”

Another choked sound emerged from behind the mask and Marcus knew for sure that the other man was crying.

“Hey,” Marcus murmured, his fingers stroking what skin they could reach around the leather and metal of Wrench’s mask. “You okay in there?”

Wrench threw himself at Marcus then, his hands clinging to the front of Marcus’s shirt, his masked face burying into the crook of Marcus’s neck. The spikes on Wrench’s mask made it more than a little uncomfortable, but if it was what Wrench needed then Marcus would be damned before he shoved his soulmate off.

“How?” Wrench sobbed into Marcus’s neck. “How could you possibly be happy with a fuck-up like me?”

Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He wrapped his arms around Wrench’s back and held him tightly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said, meaning it. “You’ve got the same shitty taste in movies as me, you’re one of the coolest, most unique people I’ve ever met, you’re smart, funny, just the right level of crazy and drop-dead gorgeous.”

That last comment earned him a burst of laughter from Wrench.

“How can you think that?” he asked Marcus. “You only saw me for a couple of seconds in shitty lighting Marcus.”

“Well, a couple of seconds was all I needed,” Marcus immediately fired back. “I know a good-looking guy when I see one Wrench.”

That earned him another burst of laughter.

“I think you need new glasses M,” Wrench said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Marcus said with a shrug, to which Wrench immediately went still. “Ain’t no way that a man as hot as the one I saw would feel the need to cover his face, right?”

That was enough to have Wrench pulling back from the hug and playfully punching Marcus right in the shoulder.

“Hey, will you fucking stop already?” he pleaded. He was still for a moment, but when he turned to face Marcus again his LED eyes were smiling, which was definite progress.

“Look Marcus,” Wrench said, his voice still quiet and broken even if the crying had stopped. “I know I’m never going to be good enough for you. It’s… it’s okay really. I’ve come to terms with that already. I just… I want you to be honest with me, and… shit, this is so fucking cliché, isn’t it? We’re a regular fucking after-school special here, huh? I hope that… that you’ll still let me hang out with you and stuff.”

Marcus rolled his eyes at the other man.

“Did you not just hear me say I love you two minutes ago?” Marcus asked.

Wrench stared at him, frozen and silent once more.

“I love you,” Marcus repeated. “I’m not just saying it to make you happy or whatever you think is going on here. I love you Wrench. If you don’t want to be a couple then that’s cool. I’ll stop saying I love you and the two of us can just go back to being the best damn friends ever, no problem at all, but I ain’t backing down just because you think you don’t deserve me or whatever this bullshit is.”

Wrench still didn’t move. Marcus wished that he knew what was going on behind the other man’s mask. Was he freaking out? Was he happy or feeling shy or what? Without the LED emojis on the other man’s face and with Wrench as still as he was it was impossible to tell. 

“Hey,” Marcus said, his voice soft. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Wrench away again, but with what he was about to ask it was possible that he might. “Can I see your face again?”

The eyes of Wrench’s mask displayed two bright exclamation marks that flashed on and off. The other man’s hands formed into tightly clenched fists at his sides.

Marcus wondered whether he had pushed too far.

Then Wrench reached up to push back his own hood and start to pull off his mask. Marcus could tell that his soulmate’s hands were shaking.

“Hey Wrench, if you don’t want to…” Marcus began, reaching out to Wrench, although he had no idea what it was he actually intended to do.

“No,” Wrench said as he started to pull his mask off. “I should… I need to do this… You… you deserve to see…”

His voice had changed part way through removing the mask, immediately becoming quieter and less sure of itself as soon as it had lost the mask’s distortion.

Wrench clenched his mask in both of his hands and looked at Marcus, his pale blue eyes meeting with Marcus’s own. Marcus felt himself choking up at the sight of the other man’s face. He looked so scared, as though he was just waiting for Marcus to come to his senses and reject him.

He didn’t know why Wrench was so convinced that he was ugly. The angry red birthmark over one of his eyes might have had something to do with it. Clearly there was some sort of complex there, one that Marcus silently promised he would do everything he could to help Wrench overcome.

“Hey there gorgeous,” Marcus said, smiling over at the other man.

He reached out and cupped the side of Wrench’s face with one hand. That actually earned him a smile from Wrench, and before long the blonde man was pressing his face into Marcus’s touch and letting out a pleased sigh.

Marcus reached out with his other hand as well, his fingertips delicately tracing over Wrench’s nose and eyelids and mouth, and then finally his name, where it rested on Wrench’s right cheek, right below his eye.

“Marcus,” Wrench whispered. His voice sounded so different without the mask; so deep and smooth and shy. It was probably going to take some getting used to, but Marcus already knew that he loved it. 

“Hey,” Marcus murmured, already hovering so close to Wrench that he could feel the other man’s breath on his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Wrench’s eyes went wide, and then he was blushing and looking away from Marcus as though just that suggestion had been enough to embarrass him.

“Yeah,” Wrench said, so quietly that Marcus almost missed it. “Okay.”

Marcus continued to cup Wrench’s face in his hands, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against Wrench’s own in a soft, gentle kiss that nevertheless had Wrench moaning and pressing against Marcus, his hands tangling in the fabric of Marcus’s shirt and pulling him closer.

They parted before the kiss could grow any deeper, both of them panting and Marcus more turned on by a simple kiss than he could ever remember being before. Wrench’s lips had been so soft and warm and perfect.

He leaned in again for another kiss which Wrench returned even more eagerly than the first, his arms moving to wrap around Marcus’s shoulder and waist and hold him close.

Before long Marcus had Wrench pinned against the workbench, the other man’s arms and eventually legs pulling him closer and refusing to let go. Their kisses grew a little deeper, a little longer, until they were full on making out like a pair of desperate and horny teens.

When they next pulled back it was only by a couple of inches. Marcus stared at the blue, heavily-lidded eyes of his soulmate and was almost blown away by the bliss and love and trust he saw in them.

“I love you,” he whispered to Wrench, because he needed to say it again otherwise he felt as though all the love bubbling up inside him would cause him to explode.

“I love you too,” Wrench whispered back. “God Marcus, I love you so much.”

Marcus couldn’t think of any way to respond to that except to kiss Wrench senseless.

--

A few days later saw Wrench feeling the happiest that he could ever remember being. Being Marcus’s soulmate turned out to be a dream come true.

They had planned to take things slow, but they had both grown so horny during their second make-out session that grinding against one another had turned into Marcus pressing their cocks together and getting them both off. They stole kisses whenever they could, and beneath Wrench’s hoodie there was a rather large red mark that Marcus had left on his neck. They had yet to spend a whole night together, but Wrench knew that it would only be a matter of time.

Their relationship as lovers had proven to be just as easy as the formation of their friendship had been. They fit together so seamlessly, like two pieces coming together to form some sort of glorious whole.

It was so beautiful and perfect and far more than Wrench had ever expected he would have. He was head over heels in love with his soulmate, and found himself wanting to be around Marcus even more than he had when they had just been friends.

So when Marcus told Wrench that something had been bothering him, Wrench was more than a little confused, especially when Marcus refused to fully explain what he was talking about and instead dragged a still very confused Wrench to a nearby tattoo parlour.

“Marcus,” Wrench began, looking at the front of the tattoo parlour with more than a little suspicion. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“I’m getting my soulbrand tattooed over,” Marcus said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

For a moment Wrench felt like his heart had stopped; like his entire world had been turned upside-down by Marcus uttering just those few words.

Why? It didn’t make any sense. Marcus kept saying that he loved Wrench, and Wrench had thought that everything was going so well. Why the hell would Marcus want to do something like that?

Luckily the absolute terror that arose at the thought that he might lose Marcus’s love was banished when Marcus continued to speak.

“I’m gonna get ‘Wrench’ tattooed in its place,” Marcus said. “I mean, that’s your name now, right? And the original brand was way small anyway. The new one is gonna be much bigger.”

Suddenly Wrench was incredibly fucking glad that he was wearing his mask. Mostly because it only took a moment for Marcus’s words to really sink in before Wrench started crying.

“Damn it Marcus,” Wrench said, his voice breaking despite everything he was doing to try and hide it. “That’s so fucking stupid.”

“I don’t think so,” Marcus said. “Thought I was being pretty smart actually. This way I don’t have to keep putting fucking concealer over the thing. I can be open about being head over heels in love with you without worrying about giving away your identity. I’m yours Wrench.”

Wrench couldn’t take it. The other man was being too damned perfect. The idea was so stupid and so wonderful and so Marcus that Wrench didn’t know what to say or do. He just knew that he loved Marcus and that even if he spent the rest of his life trying he would never deserve someone as wonderful as Marcus Holloway.

Wrench threw himself at his soulmate and clung to the other man, nuzzling into his shoulder and trying to bury himself in the feeling and smell of the other man. It was a stupid thing to do considering he still had his mask on, and it was only when he pulled back that he realised he had torn a couple of holes in the woolen vest that his soulmate was wearing.

Marcus didn’t seem to mind though. He just smiled at Wrench. Wrench smiled back, both with his mouth and the mask. 

“Unless…” Marcus began, his smile faltering, and Wrench almost panicked when he realised that his soulmate was perhaps not quite as happy as Wrench had originally thought. “If you don’t want to let everyone know we’re together then that’s cool too. Ah hell. I probably should have cleared this with you before dragging you over. I just got so excited thinking about it man…”

“No, no, no,” Wrench said, squeezing Marcus in a tight hug. “This is brilliant Marcus. This is amazing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

Already he was thinking whether or not he should get Marcus’s name tattooed somewhere on his body that was more visible than his face. Now that he was starting to get used to the idea that Marcus did actually love him back he wanted to shout their love from the rooftops, he wanted to tell all of Dedsec… No, fuck that; he wanted to tell all of San Francisco that he had the best fucking soulmate in the entire world.

“Stay here and hold my hand while I get it done?” Marcus asked.

“Yeah,” Wrench said, immediately grabbing Marcus’s hand and holding it tightly.

He fluttered his eyelashes, knowing that would make his mask display two less than three style love hearts at Marcus. He had a feeling he would be doing that a lot over the next few weeks… or months… hell, hopefully years. They were soulmates after all. Assuming Marcus didn’t realise what a horrible mistake he had made in accepting Wrench and ran for the hills then they would be together for the rest of their lives. That was how it worked, right?

It should have scared Wrench. It didn’t.

In fact, spending the rest of his life with Marcus sounded like absolute bliss to him.

“Totally gonna hold your hand,” Wrench continued. “This is your first tattoo, right? Don’t know if you know this M, but getting one on your face? Ooh, buddy. That’s gonna sting like a bitch. I’m here for you though babe.”

And I always will be, he added silently.

[daisyannewinchester]

The End of All Things

Another picture prompt from this post. This is a sad!fic Geraskefer style. Be warned. It made me cry even just to write it. TW for blood and death.

The fic is under the cut! Enjoy!! 

It’s a bright sunny day as Yennefer strolls down the moss and algae covered path. She sighs and lets the humid air leave her lungs, hiking the skirt of her dress up to stay out of the moss. As she strolls, soulful singing reaches her ears. She follows the sound around the bend of moss covered trees and stops at the edge of a bridge. Violet eyes peer over the edge and down into the dark waters below. The building towers above her, moss covered and weathered. The singing seems to weave in and out of the windows, carrying into the daylight on humid air. Cliffs climb even further than the tower, allowing little light and loads of shadows to be cast over the scene. It is sinister and eerie, but she doesn’t deter, stepping out on the bridge without fear. It is the only bridge that allows access to the building, the rest surrounded by what she guesses is a hundred-foot drop. It creaks under her but holds without fail all the way across.

She steps into the cool air of the building and the crooning grows in volume. The words are mournful, and the lilt is familiar, she cocks her head as she follows it.

“Jaskier?” She calls. “Is that you?”

The singing stops for a moment, echoing of the empty stone walls. The rooms are barren, letting in a little musty light through the arched windows. Her skirt stirs up dust as she walks. She peers into room after room, trying to find the voice. The voice doesn’t respond but she doesn’t need him to, she knows it’s Jaskier. What’s confusing is why he’s here, in an abandoned building, supposedly alone, singing.

“Bard, this place is disgusting. What in Melitele’s hell are you doing here?” She stares around the empty cobwebbed rooms, lip curled in distaste.

“Waiting” is the resonating one-word response she receives. Yennefer still cannot pinpoint where he is. She extends her hand and places it on the dusty wall, willing the walls to speak to her. They tell her no one is here. Yennefer is more confused than ever.

She climbs up the stairs, talking to Jaskier all the while. “What are you waiting for? You alright?”

“I’m alright, Yennefer.” His voice is serene, carrying none of the snark he usually has.

“Where is Geralt then?” She peeks into rooms as she talks. As she goes down the hall a stench fills her nose. She cringes. It smells like dead animal.

“Gone.” Simple. Strange. Yennefer is sufficiently worried.

“What do you-,” her words get stuck in her throat as she enters one of the rooms, violet eyes widening as they settle on the figure in the windowsill. It’s certainly Jaskier.

The bard stands at the window, staring out of it with his back to the witch. He’s wearing a light green doublet left open to reveal a white chemise tucked into green high waisted trousers with dark green detailing around the hem and the poufs of his shoulders. From behind she can see a pool of red staining the seat of his trousers and down the inside of his legs. He turns to her and smiles, grim and forlorn. Her eyes widen as she looks up his body from his feet to his face. He’s covered in blood, it oozes from every hole in his body, dried in his ears, under his nose, out the corners of his mouth. He’s cried blood, tear tracks pronounced on his cheeks. There’s droplets of blood dotting his forehead where sweat would usually gather. His skin is pale and gaunt, round cheeks hollowed out. Horror shivers through her and she starts toward the bard.

“Jaskier! What happened?!”

She reaches for him but when she goes to grab his shoulder, her hand passes straight through his form. He shimmers. If she concentrates hard enough, she can faintly see the window ledge and the cliff face beyond through his translucent body. She reels back and stares at him, ice cold terror a foreign presence in her body.

“Jaskier,” she whispers like the slightest breath will blow him away. “What…” She trails off, unsure where to even begin.

He smiles at her fondly, seemingly unperturbed by all the blood. “I’m glad you’re here Yenn. Geralt already left a few… well. I can’t remember if its been weeks or months. I’m ready to follow him but I just can’t seem to leave.” He laughs to himself, shaking his head and turning back to the window.

“What… what happened, Jaskier?”

“We were on a hunt. A banshee. Geralt took the brunt of it. He’s in the other room.” The bard waves his hand in the direction of the room he is talking about. A few steps and Yennefer can see through the doorway. All she sees is red. She whips around, turning her back to what she now knows is the source of the smell. Her heart is heavy with dread, it races quicker than ever. It weighs her to the floor, and she melts to the ground. Jaskier sits crisscross next to her, seeming eerily unfazed.

“He was protecting me, told me to stay away. I told him it wouldn’t be a big deal if I came along, it was just a banshee. But this one… this one was different. She was so loud. So awful. It was so painful. I’ve never felt anything like it. It was like I was melting from the inside. And Geralt… he just… she screamed and he,” He made a hand gesture of something exploding, “everything. Everywhere. There was nothing left for me to hold. No pendant or sword or any bit of skin or hair.”

Hot tears run down her face, her whole frame shivers as she cries.

“And now he’s waiting for me and I couldn’t go to him.”

Yennefer looks up at his thought blurry violet eyes, “Why not?”

Jaskier gestures to the corner of the room. She looks over to see his lute, broken and streaked with blood, the two pieces only connected by the strings. Jaskier’s empty corpse lies collapsed next to it. His hands are stretched out as if reaching for the lute with his last efforts, blank eyes staring lifelessly ahead.

“I’m tied to it. Some form of elven magic, I’m guessing. I tried to destroy it as I was dying but I perished before I could finish. But you’re here now. You can send me on. Please Yennefer. I can feel him waiting for me.” Jaskier rises to his knees, pleading.

Yennefer bows her head. Her hair falls in a curtain around her face, allowing her the private reprieve to wipe the tears from her face and gather herself together. She sniffs and stands up crossing to the lute. She gathers the shards in her hands and, with one final smile to Jaskier, whispers her curse.

  Nothing happens.

 She frowns, staring down at the instrument in surprise. Focusing her powers, she studies the wood, finding strong magic surrounding the elven wood. Realization dawns with cold dread. She turns to Jaskier.

“This is elder magic, Jaskier. Your lute is protected by very old magic. It cannot be destroyed with common sorcery or by setting it on fire.”

His face falls but he nods grimly.

“It’s alright Yenn. Thank you for trying.”

“There,” she takes a deep breath, “There is something. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t have the proper conduits and it’s supposed to be performed by a group of elders.”

Jaskier gets up and stands in front of her, grasping her shoulders. She startles. It’s like cold air gripping her skin and she shivers involuntarily.

“Please Yennefer. Please try.” His voice is raw with emotion, a lover’s misery.

She nods, “Of course.” She never wants to deny the bard anything.

Jaskier presses cold faint lips to her cheek and steps back.

She lets he breath slowly slip from her lungs, trying to loosen the muscles in her body. She holds the lute out in front of her and begins her chant. Nothing happens at first and she slows down, about to stop.

Don’t stop.” Jaskier breathes.

She looks up at him and he’s smiling. Color is returning to his face.

She refocuses and channels more power into her words. The wood warms in her hands, burning fiery hot. It sears her palms, but she grits her teeth to the pain and continues. She starts to tremble. The air around her electrifies, the hairs on her arms stand on end and every nerve sings. A glance in Jaskier’s direction shows him healthier, blood drawing back into his skin, face not as gaunt, soft round cheeks making their return with rosy vigor. Instead of looking elated he looks terrified, eyes fixated on the cracks in the concrete under her feet. He looks up to meet her eyes and she smiles at him reassuringly.

Blood drips from her nose. She is sweaty with exertion. It is no longer she that is trembling but the very building around them, stone rains down from the ceiling. The strings burn and melt, dripping to the floor. Yennefer is exhausted. She sways on her feet, eyes blinking long and slow.

Cool, calloused fingertips grip her cheeks and lips press to hers. She kisses Jaskier and pushes out one final surge of power with a scream to the heavens. Stone slabs crack under her. She stumbles but strong muscular arms loop around her waist, pulling her free of the falling floor. She watches her body fall with the crumbling building, twisting and cracking off slabs as it falls. Great plumes of dust rise up to greet them.

She tears her eyes away when Jaskier crows in delight, reaching over her shoulder to pull Geralt down into a kiss. Geralt kisses him like a starved man and pulls away, smiling down at them both. He is scar free and youthful; any signs of aging and stress gone. His eyes are blue with flecks of brown, shining with happiness. His hair is tied back in his signature style, dark brown strands brushing his shoulders. Yennefer’s hands reach up to feel her face and the hump of her shoulder. She is a mix of emotions: regret, shame, fear, dread. Before she can, two sets of hands, one thin and gentle, the other firm and strong, guide hers away. Kind blue eyes peer into scared violet ones.

Jaskier smiles sweetly, nothing but love and adoration in his gaze, “Beautiful, my darling.”

“Stunning,” Geralt rumbles in her ear, still hugging her from behind. He kisses her jawline. She smiles and her worries diminish. For the first time in her life, she finds that that is something that she could believe eventually. With time. She is beautiful.

Geralt offers her his arm and she links them together, reaching out for Jaskier’s hand. Lute calloused fingers link with hers. In between them, she is invincible, prepared to conquer whatever trial the afterlife may throw at them.

[mo-mo-and-porkchop]

Umbrella academy fiction

Chapter 3 (Chapter 2 here)

Canon and OC; Deigo x OC, Klaus x OC platonic

*as always I do not own any part of the canon characters or show. I am merely writing my own adaptation to the storyline. Nor do I own any gifs/gif credit. And apologies, I couldn't find any "young" gifs of them, but they are all meant to be young adults to show age in this fic.

**I do own all things related to the OCs and additional story elements.

Tagging: @imcrowley , @wicked-bitch-of-the-west

Phoebe dropped to the floor, her heart racing and her lungs still fighting for air.

She watched her captors as they began what she could only guess was damage control from their very sloppy exit; hurling insults at each other as they worked.

Only one of the three managed to glance at her during the chaos. The quick, sad half-smirk he gave her when their eyes locked sent a wave of calm through her. A weightless chill washed across her skin. All her fear left her. She knew, that, for whatever reason, this was where she was meant to be.

"What the hell was that?!" Diego asked hurriedly as he ran to the window and peered outside. So far no sign of the nun anywhere.

"Well maybe if Klaus had shared that Emily wasn't her real name I would have been able to get her out of there without raising an alarm," Five shot in response.

"It isn't exactly easy convincing a total stranger that you know her if she doesn't exist," he added with a motion her way and a glare at their brother.

"Hey, I didn't know," Klaus said in defense. "She's always been Emily to me," he continued with a quick glance and half smirk her way. Though he was hurt finding out that he'd never known her real name. He'd always thought they were close. "Why would I keep that from you anyway? I gain nothing from it."

The three young men continued to argue over their fumbled extraction of Phoebe; speaking of her as if she wasn't there. Each one grew louder than the other as the three of them fought for control of the situation. The noise became deafening and regardless of who they believed her to be, she was right there.

"Stop! Fighting!" she yelled.

All the lights grew brighter before exploding with her command and three sets of eyes found her. Her chest heaved slightly from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Silence and darkness surrounded them.

"Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?" she added slowly forcing calm to wash over her.

"Oh Em." Klaus moved to hug her, but she recoiled slightly, avoiding his embrace.

Right.

He hated having memories no one else could recall. He wondered how his brothers came put the other side of the future without it bothering them.

"Sorry," he said, pulling his arms back toward himself. "Um, hi," he offered with a small wave and a slight smirk. "I'm Klaus and these are my brothers, Diego and Five." Each one gave acknowledgement with their respective names.

"Phoebe," she replied flatly.

"Phoebe," Klaus repeated in a whisper followed by a small huff. He never pegged her as anything other than Emily. But Phoebe it would be.

She looked to him expectantly.

"Um, yea, well, we," he continued glancing back at Diego and Five - who would be no help in explaining their situation. Diego had already busied himself inspecting the lights and Five dropped into his armchair and otioned for him to continue.

Thanks for nothing.

He sighed and turned back to Phoebe. "We busted you out so you wouldn't have to live in that place anymore because you shouldn't have to, but you're gonna get out in three years anyway so it's not that big of a deal. We just expedited the process," he blurted out before he could stop himself, trying his best to hide the anxiety in his smile.

Five covered his face in his hands. Diego froze in place and looked back to him wide-eyed.

"What do you mean 'I get out in three years'?" Phoebe asked, her confusion and anxiety growing over his answer.

Well, the cat was out of the bag now.

"We know each other," Klaus said as he stepped closer. Phoebe instinctively stepped backward just the same.

"No. We don't."

"We do," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice. Even though she was standing right in front of him, he missed Emily. "I know everything about you." He risked taking one more step forward. "Even about your...." He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers.

Her breath caught in her lungs. Tears began to pool at the corners of her eyes.

Her blood turned to ice. The hairs on her arms tingled from struck nerves.

"How do you know about that?" she choked out in a whisper.

"You told me," he said gently, taking another step toward her. She recoiled again, bumping into Five's dresser. "I can prove it, but you're gonna have to trust me." He continued loving forward until he was close enough to take hold of her hand.

"Klaus, I don't think that's such a good idea," Five warned.

He rose from his chair and started toward them. Diego held out an arm stopping him and shook his head in disapproval of his intentions to intervene.

Things obviously hadn't gone right, at all, with their mission and Diego would be the first to admit Klaus had screwed up big time with his intel. But something about the way those two seemed to be connecting gave him enough reasonable doubt that his brother was still on that losing streak. They had been best friends before after all. Maybe she needed the shock to her system.

She stared at Klaus for a moment, actually considering his offer, but the reality was she didn't know them regardless of what they believed. She pulled her hand from his. "No."

Klaus left his empty hand hanging in the air. "No?"

"No. How can I trust any of you?" she asked rhetorically with a small wave, motioning to the room.

"Because we saved you," Klaus replied sheepishly and hurt.

"Saved me? Maybe St Christopher's wasn't the most welcoming place, but at least I was safe there. And everyone else was protected from me and my..." She shuddered and hugged herself. "...from what I am."

"But we..." Klaus began, his bottom lip started to quiver.

"Look Emily or Phoebe or whatever your name is," Diego cut in. "We busted our asses to come get you. You could be at least a little grateful."

"What is their to be grateful for? You took me from my home."

"That place isn't your home. It's an institution."

Before the argument could go further a knock sounded throughout the room. "Is everything alright? I heard shouting," their mother's muffled voice asked from behind the door.

Shit!

Klaus immediately grabbed hold of Phoebe and rushed her into Five's closet. "Please just stay quiet," he frantically whispered, the desperation in his voice clear.

Diego grabbed a book and dropped into Five's reading chair, quickly flipping it back upright once noticing he had it upside down. Five calmly walked and opened the door, unwilling to wait for them to conceal their guest.

Grace leaned back slightly when the door was flung open. "We are fine mom," Five offered with a quick, forced smile. "Just brothers being brothers."

She peered around and saw Diego, who gave salute in acknowledgment of her presence. Her eyes then found Klaus who waved happily. She smiled back at Five. "Why don't I make you all a snack. I know how hungry growing boys are." And with that she turned around and left.

Five shut his door and turned on Klaus. "I did what you asked," he said pulling him up from his bed. "Now figure out what to do with your friend. She isn't my problem anymore," he added going to the closet and taking Phoebe out.

He corralled the three of them out of his room and into the the hall. He gave a forced smile and wave before dropping it as fast as it showed and slamming his door in their face.

-----

"I know it's not perfect," he said glancing around at the attic. It was finished, but no one ever used it - the space having served its purpose for play long before. "But at least it quaint," he added playfully.

A sad smirk tugged at her lips.

That was one way to put it.

But at least he was trying.

Whatever Klaus had planned for her it clearly hadn't included harboring her. She hugged the pillow he'd given her. Phoebe felt even more unsure about her future now more than ever.

Klaus hated seeing the sadness in her eyes. He wanted to hug her. Pull her in close and tell her that everything would be okay. That he would be right there beside her through whatever may come. He wanted to reassure her with their friendship.

Only that was Emily. And this wasn't her. This was Phoebe.

"Just...just try and get some sleep. Okay?" he added softly before leaving her alone. The soft sound of crying drifted to his ears and doubt gripped at his chest.

Maybe he'd been wrong.

[shireness-says]

Ear-resistible

Summary: Emma may be out the night before Easter as a favor to Mary Margaret, but she didn't expect to see Killian Jones in the center of town. After midnight. In a rabbit suit. Rated T for language. ~2.5K. Also on Ao3.

A/N: Happy Easter to those who celebrate it! Yes, this is going up a little early, but I’ll be busy tomorrow and the events of the fic happen the night before anyways. It’s a good enough excuse. Loosely based on an episode of the mid-90s BBC comedy “The Vicar of Dibley”, which I watched an inexplicable amount of as a kid for someone born after it premiered in the United States. It’s still funny.

Thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing and half the puns. She’s the best.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Storybrooke, Maine has always been a little too good to be true.

After all, there isn’t really a place with an annual candle-based festival, or one where an entire town takes a lonely orphan girl under their collective wing, or one with a massive town-wide Easter egg hunt. It’s absurd. That place can’t exist.

And yet, somehow, Storybrooke does.

Emma Swan even knows the person who dresses as the Easter Bunny every year (because that’s exactly the kind of town Storybrooke is) - a lovely young lady named Mary Margaret Nolan, local fifth grade teacher and daughter of the late Leo Blanchard, the former mayor who’d originated this tradition in the first place. Mary Margaret continuing her father’s legacy, rabbit costume and all, is the least shocking of all of this - something about continuity and family tradition and other sentiments that belong in a friggin’ Hallmark movie. After all, this is Storybrooke, the only town in the world where all of this seems natural.

Mary Margaret Nolan also happens to be Emma Swan’s best friend, which is how she gets pulled into this whole mess in the first place.

“I don’t know what happened, but I’ve caught some sort of stomach bug,” she’d explained to Emma over the phone. She’d certainly sounded miserable, her voice echoing around the bathroom where undoubtedly she’d still been camped. That’s probably why Emma had agreed when Mary Margaret had begged Emma to do her a huge favor.

Unfortunately, that favor had been to dress up as the goddamn Easter Bunny to hide eggs around town.

(Personally, Emma thinks insisting she wear a costume is stupid, but Mary Margaret had been insistent.

“What if one of the kids sees you?” she’d asked, like there’d actually be school kids peeking out their windows at half past midnight. Lucky for Mary Margaret, one of the few guilt trips that still works on Emma is the prospect of disappointed kids.)

She feels ridiculous, honestly. Blatantly ridiculous. If Mary Margaret has a bug, there’s no way Emma is putting on her rabbit suit, so Emma had taken things into her own hands. Rabbit footie pajamas complete with fluffy tail and some ears on a headband is close enough, right? Especially since she’s painted whiskers and teeth on her face? Mary Margaret’s very fancy and expensive rabbit suit doubtless wouldn’t have fit anyways, since Emma is a good several inches taller. Hey, if she has to do this insane thing, at least she’s going to be comfortable.

Hiding eggs is kinda fun, Emma has to admit. It’s a bit of fun she never really got as a kid, only seeing it on TV and wishing she could do that too. She’d already been 15 by the time the Nolans had taken her in, eventually for good, and Emma had already been too old and full of teenage attitude to take part in the hunt herself, even if the residents of Storybrooke - who adopted her nearly as much as Ruth and Robert and David had - doubtless would have cheered her on if she had. It’s fun, finding clever little places to stash eggs for the older kids and easier spots that will make the littler ones feel clever, all the while hearing the rattle of coins and candy inside the plastic.

Sure, there’s a few eggs in spots Emma doesn’t remember leaving anything, but it’s half past midnight. It’s easy enough to write that off as tiredness and simple forgetfulness. Since the eggs are fake, Emma doesn’t need to keep a map of where she hides things for later. She’s the only one out doing this, anyways, and the eggs don’t look like they’ve been left outside for a year; there’s no reason to think she’s not the one who hid them.

That makes it all the more shocking to look across the town square and see another figure in full rabbit costume with a wagon full of eggs.

“What the…” she mutters, squinting as if it could somehow make the sight make sense.

Meanwhile, the other rabbit takes off their head piece - one of those massive mascot-type deals. “Swan?” they call in an accented male voice, before moving closer into her clear line of sight.

Oh shit. She knows exactly who it is: Killian Jones, local bartender and object of her lust (and possible love). And the last person Emma wants to see facing her in a rabbit suit.

Emma not wanting to see Jones has nothing to do with her own feelings; she’s willing to admit, at least to herself, that she likes Jones one hell of a lot, likes his smile and his sense of humor and that delicious accent that sends shivers chasing down her spine, even if all three are usually directed at other people. There’s been an attraction, at least on her part, ever since he moved to Storybrooke almost two and a half years ago now. No, the problem is that Jones doesn’t like her, and Emma can’t figure out why.

She’d thought it was some kind of jealousy at first, what with the way she catches him glaring whenever she interacts with other men in the bar, but it’s more than that. If she leans over the bar to try and talk to him over the noise, he groans. If they see each other in public, he offers only the briefest pleasantries before heading in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. Honestly, he seems disdainful of everything about her. The heart wants what the heart wants, though, and Emma’s never been able to quash her attraction to Killian Jones, God help her.

“What are you doing here, lass?” he asks as he approaches until he’s close enough for Emma to reach out and touch his mascot suit if she wanted too. Did Storybrooke High change its team from the Knights to the… Demon Rabbits or something? She doesn’t follow high school sports close enough to remember; all she knows is that the enormous rabbit head under Killian’s arm is freaking her out with its dead eyes and cartoonish teeth.

“What do you think I’m doing out here?” Emma shoots back, probably harsher than is needed in the situation. Maybe this is why she’s still single. “I’m hiding Easter eggs. Jesus Christ, where did you get that awful costume?”

“No,” he replies slowly, gesturing towards his ridiculous wagon. “I’m the one hiding Easter eggs. And technically, Swan, it’s already Easter, it seems pretty bold to be taking the Lord’s name in vain on Easter. But, for the record, Belle lent it to me from the drama department. The high school put on a production of Harvey last year, don’t you remember?”

“Shut up,” she mumbles. The know-it-all attitude definitely isn’t helping any of this… even if Emma hadn’t remembered that play. Musical? Whatever. “Okay, well, I don’t know why you’d be hiding eggs still, because Mary Margaret asked me to take over since she’s sick.” Emma’s getting a bit defensive about this, but she can’t actually bring herself to care.

“And David asked me for the same reason. I don’t know why you’re arguing with me about this, Swan.”

“Because you’re not supposed to be here!” she all but explodes, before reigning her emotions back in. It’s just a weird misunderstanding; there’s no reason to get mad at Killian for something that’s not his fault. Probably. “Look, just… I don’t want to be in your way, just as much as you don’t want me in your way, so you take the North end and I’ll hide stuff on the South end. Everything gets covered and you won’t have to deal with me. Fine by you?”

“That seems a bit harsh,” Killian mumbles back. Notably, he doesn’t answer her question, which Emma tries not to be pissed about. God, this man some days.

“What, the divide and conquer plan? Not sure what you’d find harsh about that.”

“No, the part where you seem to think I’m bothered by you.”

“Look, you don’t have to pretend, Killian. I know you don’t like me, and it’s fine, I’m a big girl, we’ll just stay out of each other’s hair —”

“What makes you think I don’t like you?” To his credit, Killian does look genuinely confused. That almost pisses Emma off more - this who, me? act that he’s apparently decided to put on.

“Oh please. I’d have to be blind not to see the glares and hear the groans and whatever. I’m not an idiot, I can put two and two together.”

“It’s not what you think,” Killian argues - weakly, in Emma’s opinion - turning red to his very ears.

“You go out of your way to avoid me,” she deadpans.

“Yeah, but it’s not because I don’t like you, it’s because…” Killian trails off for a moment, before muttering something unintelligible.

“I didn’t understand a single word of that,” Emma comments dryly, crossing her arms. “Try again.”

Killian sighs heavily. “Look, I really like you, alright?”

“No you don’t.” It’s a stupid thing to say, considering that he literally just told her so (and turned adorably red doing it), but it’s Emma’s knee-jerk reaction. There’s no way, right?

He scratches behind his ear - a sign Emma’s learned means he’s uncomfortable or embarrassed. Could he actually be serious? “Aye, I really do. Veering rather alarmingly towards the territory of “smitten”, if I’m quite honest.”

“But you’re always so... disapproving,” she tries to reason. “If you like me so much, why all the glaring and the groaning?”

“When do I groan?”

“Usually when I’m leaning against the bar, though I can probably come up with other examples.”

Killian laughs. It’s very much unexpected. “You’d groan too, Swan, if a lady you fancied had a habit of leaning down right in front of you and perfectly displaying all her lovely undergarments. I’m just a man, love, and that lacy black number does things to me.”

Oh. Oh. Well, she supposes that makes enough sense. Still… “Well, what about everything else? You go out of your way to avoid me, don’t pretend you don’t.”

He sighs again, a frustrated sound this time. Maybe a little sad too. “I know it doesn’t make much sense. And believe me, it wasn’t at all for lack of want. But you’re my best friend’s little sister,” he shrugs. “David can be protective, not that I blame him. I’m sure I’d be the same if I had a younger sister. But the fact remains that I’m not too keen on him cutting my balls off over this, especially since it’s so one-sided.”

That gives Emma pause for a moment. “Wait, one-sided?” she demands. “Is that what you think this is?”

“Aye,” he says, hanging his head. Rejection tinges his tone - needlessly, really, but he’s not picking up one her cues in the least. “Which is fine, Swan, I’m a grown lad and my feelings are my own. I’m not asking… that is, I’d never assume you felt the same, and nothing needs to change —”

“Whoa, hold on, that’s not —” Emma cuts herself off to collect her own thoughts, running her hands along her scalp in an anxious gesture. It’s been an absolute 180 in the past few minutes where her perception of their relationship is concerned, and she feels the need to take a few moments to try and recenter herself, collect her bearings. “Fuck,” she grumbles, “this is not how I imagined this going at all.”

“How you imagined what, love?” Confusion still colors his face; that just won’t do. She’s making a total hash of this - though she’d argue that that’s kind of on him as well - but maybe there’s still a way to redeem it. It’s about the destination, not the journey, right?

(She’s pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes, but she also doesn’t care anymore.)

So she kisses him, reaches across and hauls Killian down to meet her mouth by the front of the ridiculous vest his stupid rabbit costume is wearing. It’s the only redeeming factor of the whole thing, allowing her some form of leverage.

The kiss isn’t a gentle thing. Somehow, in her mind, Emma always imagined sweeping instrumentals as her and Killian’s lips brushed, hands stealing tentatively into hair and across cheeks. This is… not that. There’s a lot of tongue and a bit of teeth (mostly on her part) and honestly, the word she’s looking for to describe this is probably closest to devour. After waiting so goddamn long there just doesn’t seem to be a point in taking it slow; instead, she’d rather try to make up for every missed second, all at once. Not that Killian seems opposed to it. Rather, he seems determined to pull Emma as close as humanly possible, like if she’s just plastered tight enough to his front he can feel her through his ridiculous bulky rabbit suit.

Eventually, the franticness starts to settle into something easier, tongues giving way to lips, nipping giving way to sucking. They’ve finally perfected the angle too, noses just barely brushing as their mouths meet. Emma’s hands have settled on his chest, faux-furred as it is, and Killian’s have begun to creep down from her hips towards her ass. After his talk about being tormented by the sightline down her shirt, Emma would have figured he was a boob man, but hey, she’s not opposed to this development either…

Until he reaches the stupid fluffball on the seat of her pants and pulls.

Emma jerks back at that. “Did you just tweak my tail?” she demands, staring at him incredulously.

“Couldn’t help myself, love,” he teases, dropping a little kiss on her nose. “You make a bloody cute Easter Bunny.”

“Oh my God, file that under ‘things I never want to hear again’,” Emma groans, but she’s smiling too. It’s hard not to, now that she gets to enjoy his playful side. “C’mon, we’ve got to finish hiding these eggs… but maybe you can come back to my burrow afterwards.” She even throws in a wink for good measure, now that there’s no reason they can’t have a little fun.

“I’m holding you to that, love,” he says, crossing back to his wagon as Emma collects her own fabric grocery sack full of eggs. Once they’re both collected again, his terrifying rabbit head perched in the wagon’s bucket, Killian offers his free pawto her. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, alright.”

They’ve barely started walking again before the realization hits Emma, making her groan.

“What is it, love?” Killian asks, his voice full of concern.

“Nothing to worry about, not really,” she quickly clarified. “I just realized… if this is Mary Margaret and David’s idea of a set up, I’m going to kill them.”

Killian laughs uproariously at that, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Ah, well, all’s well that ends well, right?”

(As it turns out, no one really believes Mary Margaret when she tries to claim that this is exactly what she had planned all along. Distraction induced by morning sickness is much more believable, after all, than setting up two people to fall in love as the Easter Bunnies.)

(Emma and Killian are a little too busy doing some other things like rabbits to care too much.)

[vcepsis]

Okay that last fic was SO good, so if you’re still taking these: 3A with Shiro and whoever you’d like to write? (Maybe allura? Or Matt?) ❤️❤️❤️

Sorry this took a thousand years oops but I know Shallura is your jam so I tried my hand at that, hope you enjoy it!!

Taken from this ask meme (Flu + at someone’s house) please forgive my loose interpretation of “someone’s house” lol many thanks as always to @feverflushed for reading it over and putting up with my whining

—–

Shiro exhaled with a shaking breath as the students filed past him, bracing himself as subtly as he could against the desk at the front of the room. He should have cancelled this class. He’d been feeling off for the past few days, but had chalked it up to his usual, messed up sleep schedule. Now, though, the chill he’d been feeling all morning had settled in his bones, and his head felt like it was about it split open in front of all these poor, innocent third years.

Gathering his things as quickly as possible, Shiro waited for the rest of the students to leave. A few of them shot him worried looks; he’d mentioned how he was cancelling his office hours today, and it was a small enough class for everyone to know how he never cancelled office hours. But God, his whole body ached.

The journey to his office was longer than Shiro remembered; it felt like miles instead of just a few minutes away. Everything hurt. It hasn’t been this bad this morning…

Finally, he reached his office, his vision was starting to go a little spotty. All he had to do was open the door, and he could just sit down for a bit…

Grasping the doorknob with his metal hand, he found it needed to be turned with more force than usual. Or maybe he just was feeling weaker than normal.

Muffling a cough into his fist, he dropped his bag in a heap as soon as he stepped through the door, all but collapsing on the couch. Shivering a bit, he sunk into the cushions, stretching out as far as he could. He just needed to close his eyes for a few minutes….

——

“I’m telling you, Coran, everyone in this administration is a thick-skulled fossil.”

Coran could only chuckle, and it made Allura grip her cell phone even harder. “Give them time, Allura. They haven’t had a female Dean of Engineering in, well….ever! I’m afraid they’re rather set in their ways.”

Allura sighed loudly, readjusting her grip on her briefcase as she briskly walked down the empty hall to her office. Her short heels clicked sharply on the tile. She was already taller than most of the other teachers in the engineering department, and hated how she had to make these small concessions to make them feel better about themselves. The meeting she had just gotten out of was unproductive at best and misogynistic at worst. Truth be told, Allura was absolutely sick of pandering to these old fashioned assholes.

She rounded a corner, relief swelling in her chest at the sight of her office, promising some relief from the tiring world of male dominated academia. “Even so, that’s no excuse for their behaviour–”

Her complaint was abruptly cut off when she reached the door to her office. Looking down, she froze as she saw how the doorknob was twisted, mangled in such a way that left the door slightly ajar.

On the other end of the line, Coran was calling her name. Swallowing back an irrational wave of fear, she took a deep breath. “Coran, I think someone’s broken into my office.”

“What?!” Coran’s voice practically screeched through the receiver. “Are you sure?”

Allura honestly shouldn’t have been scared–she was adequately trained in at least three different fighting styles, courtesy of her father. However, that didn’t stop the wave of apprehension that flooded through her as she slowly pushed the door open.

It was pitch dark, as to be expected; it was late in the afternoon, and the winter sun was already beginning to set. With her phone still clutched in one hand–trying to ignore Coran’s helpful tips of Make sure to get him in the balls!–she fumbled for the light switch on the nearby wall, turning it on with a hard smack.

Light exploded in her face, and she instinctively took a step back. Looking around wildly, she searched for the intruder.

Instead, she found the most beautiful professor in the university passed out on her couch.

Allura couldn’t stop her “Oh!” of surprise into the phone, which prompted another wave of rapid-fire questions from Coran.

“Well? Was it an intruder? Did you make sure to get him in the b–”

“I’m fine, Coran.” Allura crept closer to the sleeping figure, “I believe this was all a misunderstanding.”

“What, someone accidentally broke into your office?” Coran sounded incredulous, and rightly so, if she was being honest. It sounded insane.

“I’ll call you back in a moment.” With that, Allura hung up, feeling only a little bit guilty about leaving Coran hanging. Oh well. He would understand–as her uncle and mentor, he always did.

Of course, Allura did find this whole situation quite curious. What was Takashi Shirogane doing in her office?

He was sprawled out on the couch, his bag left carelessly by the door. He had his flesh arm draped across his stomach, the metal one dangling off the couch haphazardly. Even in sleep, he was gorgeous.

Allura has had this silly crush on him since they first met, when he was hired a mere 6 months ago. They met at an all hands faculty meeting; being in different departments, this was one of the few opportunities they’d had to interact. He was funny, quick witted, smart, kind…and Allura fell for him almost immediately. Since then, they rarely crossed paths, but he was on her mind much more often than she’d care to admit.

Upon closer inspection, however, Allura noticed his face was awfully pale, with the beginnings of a flush across his cheeks and nose, almost causing the scar there to disappear. His breathing was deep, but uneven and congested sounding.

Allura couldn’t resist the urge to press the back of her hand to his forehead. Burning. Just as she suspected.

Though she did her best to keep her touch gentle, Professor Shirogane stirred under her touch. Slowly, he opened his eyes–the colour was a stunning grey, despite being a bit glazed. “Mm…’llura?”

Allura blinked, taking an instinctive step back. “Oh, I’m sorry, Professor. But are you feeling alright?”

He blinked up at her–how could one person swing between heart-stoppingly gorgeous and so cute I’m going to die so easily? Allura felt a blush of her own paint her cheeks.

Sitting up slowly, he rubbed a hand over his face. “Not that I…” his voice gave out, and he cleared his throat a few times. “Not that I mind, but what are you doing in my office?”

“Um,” Allura said eloquently. “You’re actually in my office, Professor.”

This seemed to clear the haze from his face. Looking around, his bloodshot eyes grew wide. “Oh,” he gasped, and then doubled over when it caused a rough sounding coughing fit.

Allura stepped toward him again, her concern from earlier returning. “Are you alright, Professor Shirogane? Do you need anything?”

“Shiro,” he said, voice raspy after the fit. He looked up at her through his white bangs, eyes watery. “My friends call me Shiro.”

Shiro. Allura filed that piece of information somewhere in her heart, to pour over and caress when needed.

“Shiro,” she said slowly, testing out the name on her lips, “are you quite alright?”

Straightening up slowly, like it hurt, Shiro just nodded. “I’ll be fine.” Not that Allura exactly believed him; the flush across his cheeks had only deepened since waking, and Allura remembered vividly the heat radiating off of him.

“But,” he continued, “do you usually leave your office door unlocked?”

Allura couldn’t help the grimace that made its way onto her face. “Well…no. Not usually. But that didn’t seem to stop you.”

At his confused look, she pulled the door further open, clearly showing the mangled doorknob.

Now the fevery flush on his cheeks blended into a deep, embarrassed blush across his whole face. “Oh my god,” he muttered into his hand. “I….broke your door…?”

Allura gave the door a little push, closing it as much as it would go. “Please don’t feel too guilty, Shiro,” she said slowly, relishing every opportunity she could get to use his newly discovered name. “I think you have quite the fever. You must have mistaken this office for your own.”

“I’m so sorry!” Shiro exclaimed, as if she hadn’t said anything. He put his head in his hands. “Of all the offices to break into, I had to pick yours? The most beautiful woman on campus?” He looked up at her, distraught. “You must think I’m a complete freak.”

Allura’s brain ground to halt at his exclamation. Beautiful?

She opened her mouth to respond–though she hadn’t quite figured out what, exactly, to respond with–when Shiro’s expression crumpled. For a horrifying second, she thought he was going to start crying–how high was his fever?–but instead, he pitched forward to sneeze a small fit into his cupped hands.

Whatever thought she had was thrown out the window at the sound. Gosh, he sounded awful. Whatever he was coming down with sounded particularly nasty. She snagged the tissue box off of her desk and silently handed it to him.

Sniffling pathetically, Shiro took a handful, blowing his nose wetly. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized again, sounding defeated. He stood abruptly, not looking all that steady on his feet. “I really should just go.”

Blinking rapidly, he started to make his way toward the door, but Allura stopped him. “I really think you should lie back down, Shiro. You’re clearly unwell.”

She eased him as gently as she could back onto the couch, and, feeling bold, took the seat next to him. Brushing his bangs aside, she put a hand on his forehead again. “You sound like you might have the flu. I really think you should stay here until I can drive you home.”

Shiro turned a bit into her hand, nuzzling into the touch. Allura felt her blush from earlier return. Shiro’s eyes fluttered closed, and he sighed a bit.

“This isn’t…how I wanted our next meeting to go,” he mumbled.

Allura couldn’t help but smile. “And how, exactly, did you want it to go?”

Shiro shrugged, eyes still closed. “Dinner, maybe?”

Allura felt her eyes go wide. Then she smiled, her heart beating hard and fast in her chest. “Well then,” she said, gently pushing him so he was lying down on the couch again, “how about you get better as fast as possible, and I’ll take you up on that?”

“Mmm…” Shiro muttered, congested breathing evening out as much as it could.

Running a hand through his hair, Allura couldn’t resist planting a soft kiss on his too-warm forehead.

“Feel better soon, Shiro.”