#but also his crawling discomfort and surrealism. The eye

[arkodot]

how i look after witnessing the most beautiful art in the history of wild kratts nation be of chris kratt sick and twisted version

Ᏽ𐌉ꃴ𐌄 𐌉𐌍𐌕ꂦ 𐌕𐋅𐌄 𐌀𐌍𐌉𐌌𐌀𐌋

soooo i read @littlecrittereli’s wild kratts reprogrammed au fic and was immeeeediately hooked. the lore goes CRAZY !!! RAHHHHH!!!! also i made a playlist to go along with it >.<

[lemurlegs]

Bewitched

Hi everyone!! This is my first fanfic I've ever written so it's probably not gonna be too great, but I had this idea festering in my brain for months and I just need to get it out into the world. Also if some sentences seem a bit strangely worded or there's some grammar mistakes bare with me, English isn't my first language.

That being said I just want to say a few things before we start this journey. So this is more of an OC fic then a y/n fic. I don't want to say much about her character since you guys will learn about it later, but there are a few things to note before starting off.

Her name is Elizabeth but uses a fake name with is Ginger. She was born in 1539, and she died of foxglove poisoning. That's all you need to know for know.

Wordcount: 3.5k

Also a few warnings: swearing, murder, death, torture, stabbing.

Chapter 1.

I Payed Off The Reaper And It Only Costed Me My Soul

As you lie on the cold, unforgiving hardwood floor of your apartment, a chill crawls up your spine, matching the coldness creeping into your veins. Your once-steady heartbeat falters, each thud weaker than the last, as if whispering its farewell. The room spins in a dizzying whirl, blurring the edges of reality, a cruel trick played by the poison coursing through you. Your trembling limbs betray you, shaking uncontrollably, as if bidding farewell to the world above. With each shallow breath, you feel the darkness beckoning, pulling you down into its silent depths, offering solace in the embrace of oblivion.

Your senses reel as consciousness returns, greeted by a sharp stab of pain in your back. Gradually, you rise to your feet, wincing as you gingerly assess the source of the discomfort. Eyes adjusting to the surroundings, you find yourself standing in an open field, the sky ablaze with hues of crimson, casting an otherworldly glow upon the landscape. A single road stretches out before you, disappearing into the horizon.

"So this is what hell looks like, huh?" You mumble to yourself. You always knew you would end up down here one day. Certainly didn't think it would be your "loyal" apprentice who would cause your demise.

You were a powerful witch, powerful enough to avoid the cold hands of death. You made sure to prolong your mortal existence by performing intricate rituals and potent spells. Anything to not face them again.

While your spells certainly made sure you wouldn't die of old age, in fact wouldn't really age at all, you were still vulnerable to other types of deaths. For example, the little witch you've been training that had oh so graciously poisoned you this morning.

With a cautious hand rubbing your tender back, you take your first steps forward, embarking on a journey into the unknown under the watchful gaze of the scarlet sky.

A sense of urgency propelling you forward, you choose to follow the road ahead, leading towards the promise of civilization. As you tread the asphalt path, your senses remain heightened, scanning the horizon for any sign of life while silently praying that your pursuers remain far away from you. They must know you're down here now, you just hope they don't know your exact location.

After a half-hour trek, the sight of a sprawling cityscape emerges, it’s bustling energy pulsating like a beacon of hope in the distance. A sense of relief washes over you as you take in the towering buildings and labyrinthine streets. "Perfect," you whisper to yourself, here you can definitely hide away for a while.

As you walk down the city streets you finally have the time to observe your surroundings. How interesting all the sinners looked, and how similar this city was compared to the ones topside.

Gazing down at your hands, you're struck by the startling transformation that has taken place. No longer the familiar appendages you once knew, they now resemble claws, sharp and menacing, as if longing to sink into flesh with every twitch of your fingers. A sense of surrealism washes over you as you take in the sight of your newly acquired extremities, a stark contrast to the hands you once relied on.

Turning your attention to your behind, you're greeted by the unexpected sight of a fluffy fox tail, swaying rhythmically with each step you take. It’s russet hue stands out against the backdrop of the urban landscape, a hellish addition to your newfound form. You wonder what other strange features you've gained, do you also have fox ears?

In the midst of your bewildered observation, a sudden onslaught of hands ensnares you, their grip firm and unyielding. Panic courses through your body as ropes constrict around your body, binding you in a suffocating embrace. A gasp is stifled by the rough pressure of a hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any attempt at an outcry. Darkness descends as a blindfold is forced over your eyes, robbing you of sight and further disorienting your senses.

With a surge of primal instinct, you thrash and struggle against the unseen captors, desperation fueling your futile attempts at liberation. Yet, despite your efforts, their grasp remains steadfast. You recognized them immediately, your old coven members, who else could it be? They must have used a tracking spell to locate you, that's why they knew where to find you the moment you fell. Those bastards. They shoved you into a vehicle, your body still bound by what you assume are some anti magic ropes, since you can't use your powers. Escaping now would be impossible.

After a few minutes of travel, the car came to a halt, and your old coven members forcibly pulled you out, their grips unyielding. You realized the urgency of escaping this predicament. Given your past with the coven, forgiveness wasn't on their agenda, and what you did to them? Well, they sure as hell would want payback.

You were ushered into a chilling chamber, momentarily released before being bound at the wrists with heavy shackles, suspended from the ceiling. Only then, as the blindfolds were removed, did you behold the revenge etched upon their faces. Ten of your former coven members stood before you, clad in their ritual cloaks—dark brown fabric adorned with bloodstains, their signature hoods concealing their identities. It was evident that you had been brought into a space where sacrifices were made or where their dark magic was practiced.

One of the cloaked figures broke from the group, unveiling herself—a woman with goat-like features, her gaze filled with disgust as she closed in on you. With the chains restricting your movement, you could only retreat slightly, snarling in defiance, baring your pearl-white teeth as a warning. Despite your display, the goat demon merely chuckled, unfazed, and persisted in her advance.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Elizabeth," the witch sneered, "It's good to see you finally join us, High Priestess."

"Oh fuck you!" you spat back at her. Pulling on your shackles as they rattled, digging into your skin.

"I see you're still as charming as ever. We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival, but since you refused to cooperate and die, we had to take matters into our own hands."

"Now that you're here," she continued, "we can finally exact our revenge for our premature demise."

You scoff at that comment.

"You have nothing to avenge Sabrina; you got what you deserved. You know what you did, what he meant to me. He was everything, and you all took him from me."

"Still upset that we rid you of that unclean brat of yours? Honestly, Elizabeth, I fail to see why you're so attached to such a vile creature. I consider what we did to be quite generous. Don't you agree, girls?"

In unison, the other members echoed their approval. Sabrina turned to you with a smug grin, closing in. She seized your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"Now, it's time you learned your lesson."

The coven members surround you, they form a circle around your strung up body. As the goat lady puts a hand on your shoulder, grabbing onto the shirt you've been wearing, with a swift motion, her claw snags your clothes, ripping them apart, revealing your bare body. You feel a sudden coldness surrounding you, the chilly air makes you shiver. Out of the corner of your eye you notice one of the cloaked figures pull out a knife, and hand the object to the demon in front of you.

Your eyes widen in shock "What the hell are you doing?!!?" You shout at her, as she turns to you with a sinister grin, she brings the knife to your chest

"My, my so distrustful towards your old friend?" She chuckles as she digs the knife into your skin, wincing as Sabrina carves a pattern between your breasts. Looking down you're unable to recognise the sigil. Panic fills your every being as you realize what exactly is happening. They're putting a curse on you.

You start thrashing, trying to lean away from the sharp blade, or at least mess up the sigil work, anything to get out of this situation. Sabrina withdraws the knife, casting you a glare laden with pure animosity. She then addresses the cloaked group, approaching one of the figures clutching a large leather-bound book. She whispered to the demon, you couldn't seem to make out what she said. Though soon you found out what she whispered. The feeling of their dark magic, like thick, heavy chains wrap around you, constricting tighter and tighter with each passing moment. It's as if invisible shadows grasp at your limbs, pulling you into a suffocating stillness, rendering you unable to move.

Desperately trying to make any sort of movement, trying to move away from the approaching blade, but all you could do was endure. You watched as the goat in front of you continued to carve into your skin, tears rolling down your face like rivers. Amidst the pain you hear eerie chanting, and the curse seeps into your body like icy tendrils. It feels as though a heavy weight has settled deep within you, dragging you down into a suffocating abyss. Every breath becomes a struggle as the oppressive magic wraps around your soul, binding you in its dark embrace.

As the chanting begins to die down, Sabrina removes the knife from your chest. As the dark magic leaves your body, your ability to move comes back too, but you feel a burning sharp pain in your abdomen. A loud scream leaves your throat as you look down to your stomach, as Sabrina leaves a big gash making you howl from the pain.

She takes a look at your pained face, clearly enjoying the suffering she's putting you through. You start heaving, trying to calm yourself as best you can, trying to ignore the wound on your stomach.

Sabrina takes a step back, inhaling deeply before letting out a heavy sigh.

“You have no idea how long I've been cooking up this curse for you, it's the perfect retribution for your betrayal against the coven, against me.”

“Wha… what have you done..to m-me?” You managed to stammer, weakened by the wound, blood staining your thighs as it trickled down.

The goat demon hums in amusement.

“I'm glad you asked Lizz. This curse is quite special. It's a fusion of three sigils, forming what i call 'the soul-rotting sigil’. You can probably guess it’s implications, but I'll elaborate anyways.

Sabrina comes up behind you, grabbing your throat while pulling you into her body, your back leaning into her. A gasp leaving you as you try to move from her grip, only for her to tighten her hold.

“The curse will decay your soul like a carcass. It will take a whole year to wither away completely, and when It does… Well, let's just say you're gonna discover what comes after the afterlife.” Her laughter drips with malice as you absorb her words. “Of course we will certainly have fun tormenting you until that day arrives.”

She pulls away from you, letting go of your throat. The goat lady appears in front of you as she continues her speech. “Now I must depart, being the new High Priestess is a very demanding job after all. But fear not, I'll ensure one of the girls keeps you company.”

She turns away with a sinister grin on her face as the coven follows her to what you assume is the exit out of this place. Your eyes follow them, disappearing as they turn the corner.

Turning to the sound behind you, a cloaked figure approaches you, she pulls the hood off her head revealing her cat-like features, she leans in towards you, smiling like Sabrina did moments ago. She looks at your wounded and beat up body. Then she begins circling around you, making awful comments about you, but you don't acknowledge them, as your mind is already thinking about an escape plan.

You quietly assess your surroundings, searching for any potential exits or tools that might aid your getaway. The cat-like demon's words become background noise as you mentally map out your next move. You look up to the shackles, tugging at them slightly. On closer inspection you realize that they're just regular metal chains. Not some anti magic bullshit like those ropes were. As you focus your energy, a warm sensation emanates from your palms, enveloping the chains. With each passing moment, the metal begins to soften, succumbing to the intense heat of your concentrated magic. The links start to warp and bend, like molten wax under a flame.

Your determination fuels the transformation, the once solid chains now resembling twisted strands of metal, weakened and pliable. It takes you a few moments to free yourself, since your body is very weak at the moment, the pain and blood loss certainly not helping your situation either. But with a final burst of energy, the weakened chains give way, breaking apart like brittle twigs. Freed from their restraint, you take a deep breath, relishing in the newfound sense of liberation. Your escape plan is now in motion, empowered by your resourcefulness and resilience.

As your hands free from the shackles you turn to the cat demon who looks at you with a shocked expression. With adrenalin coming to your rescue, you lunge at her and begin tearing her apart with your sharp claws. The demon lets out a guttural scream as you sink into her flesh, blood splattering across the room.

In a flurry of motion, you overpower her, your primal instinct drives you forward. With each swipe of your claws, the demon's resistance weakens, until finally she collapses to the ground.

Breathing heavily, you take a moment to assess the situation. Blood drips from your wound, mingling with the demon's on the cold stone floor.

You lean yourself next to the wall, trying to steady yourself, putting pressure on the wound on your stomach, trying to lessen the blood loss. Slowly limping towards the room you saw Sabrina and the coven pass through, you enter some sort of lounge or dressing room of sorts? You're not entirely sure, the point is they kept their cloaks here. You reach up, pulling one off the coathanger, ripping one of the sleeves off of it, turning it into a makeshift bandage of sorts. It's not great but it's the best you can manage now. Taking another cloak, putting it over your naked vulnerable form, you continue looking for an exit

Despite the pain and weakness gnawing at your body, you press on, determination driving you forward. Carefully navigating the unfamiliar surroundings, you scour the rooms for any sign of an exit. Your eyes scan the walls for hidden passages or concealed doors. Your heart pounds in your chest as you push through the pain.

Finally your perseverance is rewarded by a faint glimmer of light emanating from the corner of a room, you stumble towards it, hoping to get out of this maze of madness. As you draw closer the source of the light becomes clear. A small narrow doorway partially concealed by heavy drapes. Without hesitation you push the fabric aside and step through the threshold.

You are greeted by the red sky once more. Though now it's darker and much more foreboding. You take a deep breath, the smell of sulfur filling your nose. You need to find shelter before they realize you escaped. You might have gotten away, but you weren't out of the frying pan just yet. You slowly limp towards the sidewalk, scanning your surroundings. You remember that the journey to the chamber was quite brief, indicating you can't be too far from where you were ambushed.

You begin walking, trying to find a place to hide away, feeling weaker and weaker by the minutes. As you struggle to keep yourself conscious, you notice a beacon of hope emerging in the distance—a hotel, appearing almost like a heavenly gift amidst the chaos. It's the ideal sanctuary to seek refuge and regroup, provided you can reach it before bleeding out from your injuries.

Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you press on towards the hotel. Each step feels like a herculean effort as you battle against the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you. Your vision blurs, the world around you swirling in a haze of pain and exhaustion.

But the promise of safety drives you forward, a flicker of determination amidst the despair. With each faltering step, the hotel grows closer, it’s lights a comforting reminder of the safety and respite it offers.

As you draw nearer, your body screams in protest, the agony of your wounds threatening to overwhelm you. But you refuse to succumb, gritting your teeth against the pain, fueled by sheer willpower and the desperate desire to survive.

Finally, you reach the entrance of the hotel, collapsing against the door with a ragged gasp. Relief washes over you as you feel the cool touch of the doorknob beneath your fingertips. With your last ounce of strength, you push open the door and stumble into the lobby, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.

As darkness edges in from the corners of your vision, you cling to consciousness, clinging to the hope that help is near. With a final, trembling breath, you surrender to the darkness, your body giving in to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

When your awareness returns you're met with two ruby red eyes staring back at you. You jump up as you realize you're laying on the lobby floor of some strange hotel, with some strange demon in front of you. You look at the owner of said ruby eyes, a man who looks like he's dressed for 1930s styled Chinese new year or something, all in red. You notice his deer-like characteristics, he exudes an aura of mischief, and oh god that sinister looking smile of his is downright terrifying.

“Ah you're finally awake dear” the demon greeted you "I thought you were going to meet your end on our freshly cleaned floors. My name is Alastor, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You blinked up at the tall demon looming over you, unable to say a single word as you continued your staring contest with the strange deer man. You broke your gaze away to look down at your stomach, you were still bleeding heavily, you realized your dire predicament.

“You know it's quite rude to not introduce yourself after i oh so graciously kept you from your second grave” he chuckles.

Struggling to lift yourself slightly, you propped up on your elbows, gazing back at the smiling demon before you.

“ Than…thank y-you… my na-name is ….”

Well shit you can't just tell him your real name. you hesitated, it would be unwise to reveal your true identity. This man seemed dangerous, and your intuition screamed caution. Besides, how were you still alive? If you passed out from blood loss, you were surely done for, and you doubted this peculiar deer-man knew anything about blood transfusions.

Realizing you'd been lost in thought, you heard him clear his throat, snapping you back to reality. Quickly, you give him a fake name.

“...My n-name is Ginger….”

“Ah what a pleasant name for a young lady like yourself. It seems you’ve gotten yourself in quite the pickle, didn't you Ginger?”

All you could manage was a slow nod, hoping against all odds that this demon could somehow help you.

“Well, I can certainly assist you with your… situation, let's say.”

You scoffed inwardly. Situation, he said. I'm literally bleeding out, dude—you thought.

“Pl..please “

“Oh, why of course, after all, I wouldn't be the gracious facility manager if I didn't help poor sinners like yourself.”

“Thank yo-

“Ah ah ah, not so fast, darling,” he interrupted with a sly grin. “You didn't think I would be handing out freebies now, did you? Ohoho, how silly; must be the blood loss making your mind all fuzzy. No, dear, nothing's free here, I'm afraid. So, why don't we make a deal?”

Leaning towards you, the demon extended his hand, surrounded by a swirling green light, a soft glow emanating from his palm, casting a neon color glow. You stared at him, a mixture of shock and exhaustion clouding your expression, feeling your consciousness slipping away. Something tells you that it has to do with the demon in front of you, as if he was keeping you alive and conscious till this point.

“Wha-what would you like to gain from m-me?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why, your soul, of course. I think it's only a fair price after saving your life,” he replied casually.

Your soul?? This guy wants your soul?? Well great, you knew this was too good to be true. You weighed your options, die now or sell your soul to the strange deer man with a color scheme reminiscent of a strawberry.

Perhaps it was the delirium, or maybe it was the sheer desperation of not wanting to die just yet, or perhaps it was because deep down, you knew your time was limited regardless. Against your better judgment, you shook his hand.

“Deal.”

[jossambird]

Indecently Fated, P2

Papa Emeritus IV/Cardinal Copia x !Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: mentions/fantasizing of 18+ acts, Fate, Satanic praying, meddling demonic Lords, Desperately touch-starved Ratman and Reader, mild angst for but a second.

AO3 LINK

Summary: Fate always worked in mysterious ways, but never had you imagined yourself hiding under the table of a man you ached for.

Copia reminisces on his achingly lonely life, wondering if Fate had finally rid itself of him.

You had never considered yourself a lover of picking up after others but you felt different about it now as you carefully picked up Papa Emeritus IV’s things off the soft flooring, trying to see with your hands what exactly you were picking up.

The bus being thrown into darkness hardly discouraged you, continuing to-

You gasped, hurriedly pulling your finger away from whatever you had just cut yourself on, cradling said finger against yourself. Fuck, you hoped you hadn’t just cut yourself on one of his papers, imagining the singer’s disgusted face once he would return after the show to find whatever paper he had left out now all bloody.

It certainly didn’t escape you how surreal this all felt as you knelt down in a tour bus belonging to a man you lusted after, insides churning in both delight and nervousness at the situation. How many people had dreamt of this, imagining it to be themselves in your place? You let out a chuckle, perhaps there weren’t many people imagining themselves picking things up off the floor of GHOST’s lead singer’s tour bus, but that was beside the fact.

Barely had you begun to raise yourself up off of your knees when your ears caught the low sound of people speaking in hushed tones outside of the bus. You remained frozen where you stood, unable to move, straining your ears to try and understand atleast something that was being said.

“….and you let them into the bus?” You heard a voice say, unable to recognize who it belonged to but you could hear the uncertainty in the speaker’s voice, as if they could barely believe what they’d just said themselves.

“Yes, they are in the bus!”

Fuck, you cursed under your breath, definitely recognizing the voice of the Ghoul that had let you remain here whilst he went inside. Had he gone and gotten the police to arrest you? Was this revenge for blurting out that you’d wanted to suck Papa Emeritus IV’s dick? This would absolutely be seen as trespassing, breaking and entering, and so many more laws related to what you’d said to the Ghoul. Scenarios of having to explain away why exactly you were standing in their lead singer’s bus filled your mind, fear and anxiety causing you to clumsily drop the book you had been holding only moments ago.

The clatter resounded loudly against the tour bus’s walls, causing the voices outside of the bus to cease, horror coloring your features. Silence echoed around you, torturously so, just like it would within an empty mausoleum. Time appeared to have stilled as the silence outside the bus also grew longer, the sound of blood rushing filling your ears while anxiety crawled its way into your veins. It almost felt as if your life flashed before your eyes.. except it didn’t; instead, an image of Cardinal Copia’s face flashed into your mind's eye, his beautiful Papa makeup ruined, grinning as he leaned in to kiss you. Ah, how cruel Life was to show you such a thing before being thrown away to prison-

The sound of the tour bus’s front door slowly opening spurred you into action whilst panic seeped into your mind, eyes attempting to move quickly in the dark to find somewhere to hide. With haste, you quietly moved to hide yourself under the table, fingers over your mouth to try and keep yourself as silent as you could be.

Light briefly shone into the encompassing darkness around you before disappearing once more, plunging both you and whoever had entered back into the discomforting dark.

“Hello?” Came a man’s voice, accented, tone seeming uncertain as he took another reluctant step inside. His voice still sounded familiar, even with how badly you could hear from under the table, as if you had heard him speak before..

More seconds ticked away in silence before the man sighed, sounding clearly too tired to even attempt to look for you. Soundlessly did he finally move forward, moving to seat himself… directly infront of where you now hid. Momentary panic grew tenfold within you, was this man’s crotch literally in your face?! You hoped he couldn’t hear you breathing heavily, embarrassed trepidation crawling at your skin.

“Satanas, I had not taken you for a cruel prankster.” The man above you whispered, his voice surprising you, sounding genuinely hurt, tone dripping with distress.

.

..

.

Silence filled the tour bus, disappointment coiling hotly within his gut as he sat back, entirely too tired to remain standing.

‘Disappointment’ felt too light of a word to convey how he felt. Hadn’t he learnt that it was enough, that he had had enough, holding onto hope like a naive fool?

How long had he been alone? Ages? Decades? He HAD always been surrounded by people of the Clergy and of the Church but that singularly simple fact had never unburdened him, never had it stopped how truly and utterly alone he felt inside.

He remembered not having realized it as much when he had been a simple Cardinal, far too busy was he to dwell on such silly things, instead always running left and right to distract himself. It had practically become a routine: translating Latin texts from morning till dawn, performing daily rituals or even making sure that Terzo kept out of Sister Imperator’s hair.

It was only at night, when silence reigned within his chambers had he felt it again, insidiously clawing at his skin, words he had dreamed of hearing poisonously ringing within his mind.

Too many times had he thought that perhaps finding himself between a willing partners thighs would help but it had not; infact, it had only worsened it all, finding himself unable to conjure the spark that would have brought him to completion and instead laying in disquieted and humiliated silence as said partner left.

But now as Papa? Oh, he felt it even more, clawing at him whilst he lay in bed each night, consuming every crevice in his mind like a parasite.

It should have come by no surprise what he’d done, what any man in his position would have most likely also done: he had prayed, prayed to his Unholy God, words seeming to tumble out of his mouth like a nervous teenager about to have their first kiss.

He hadn’t even known where to start; how did one even implore their Lord for such a thing? And so, Copia had done what he had always done when unsure: he had rambled, rambled like his life depended on it, praying to his god for something, SOMEONE, anything Satanas, give me a sign! Prayers hushed against his clasped palms whilst tears had rolled down his cheeks, a momentary reprieve from the fabled lie he told himself daily: that he had always been a loner, preferring the company of his rats. That he liked being alone.

He sighed again, head hanging back against the sofa’s headrest as self inflicted melancholia overtook him. He shouldn’t have hoped, he shouldn’t have wished for it so desperately, expecting an unholy miracle… but how could one not with this series of bizarre events?

The Ghoul guarding the bus would never have let this happen, never would it have let someone into his bus, not after he had drunkenly confessed to said Ghoul a few days prior just how lonely he felt at night, vehemently shooting down the Ghoul’s suggestion to find a one night stand.

No, ‘disappointment’ was not the right word to describe how he currently felt, feeling somewhat stupid to have giving himself such hopes. He knew that his undying devotion and loyalty to his Lord did not earn him any rights whatsoever, he was not that disillusioned.. He just…

A cramp flared within his thigh, moving to reposition it, foot knocking against-

A strangled gasp erupted from under the table, causing the skull-faced man to freeze where he sat, thighs tensed. Had he just- No, it couldn’t-

.

..

.

As if a premonition played before your very eyes, you watched with what little vision you had as the man tensed, foot slowly retreating away from your thigh… only to kick you again, this time harder, earning another shocked gasp out of you.

You barely had time to think, mouth opening before you could even remind yourself you were supposed to be hiding.

“What the fuck, don’t kick me harder!”

Even though your appalled brain focused on the fact that you had just outed yourself, it didn’t miss the sound of an accented curse from the man above you, visibly shifting away from your form under the table as if realizing the position he had been sitting in, legs widely opened.

“Per'dónami! Ah, forgive me! I do not know why I did such a thing!” The man hurriedly spoke, removing himself from the sofa to seemingly bend down towards you before thinking of a better idea.

“One moment!” He spoke again as he practically stumbled away, the sound of drawer after drawer being opened before-

“Ah ha! Molto bene!”

A small source of light flickered on, hardly illuminating anything around it but it was enough for you to finally see who was now making his way towards you. Gently did Papa Emeritus IV deposit the small tea light onto the table above you before bending to a knee, eyes brightly illuminated as he anxiously gazed at you.

“Eh.. Hello there.”

A squeaked Hi was all you could let out, finding yourself unable to move from where you sat. No, this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t- Gripping your arm, you pinched yourself, hissing as pain radiated sharply within you. You definitely weren’t imagining it, you definitely weren’t imagining Copia knelt infront of you, dissimilar eyes trailed on you in curiosity.

“You’re real, you’re Cop- Papa Emeritus IV.” You almost cringed at yourself; who were you to be addressing this man by his character’s first name? Sure the real man underneath probably had his own name but still, you didn’t even kno-

“Sì, yes!! I-“ Hurriedly did he try rushing his words out before coughing nervously, eyes never leaving you.

“Copia, my name is ah.. Copia.” He whispered again, breathlessly, eyes wide as if you had just whispered a secret he had not heard for ages, a secret he had just now remembered, stealing his breath away.

It also struck you how eager he sounded, as if excited at the prospect of someone calling him something other than Papa Emeritus. Had the man underneath gotten tired of the Papa act already? Was the name a title? Did he not wear the name like a king would wear a crown, eagerly showing it off whenever he could? Or had that very title become a tomb, trapping him, unable to-

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you out of your thoughts, allowing you to realize the silence you had allowed to grow between the both of you. Copia patiently remained there, still bent down infront of you, appearing far more anxious than he had been moments ago, as if waiting-

“O-Oh, where are my manners! My name is Y/N!” You stuttered out, and without thinking, thrusting a hand forward as if to casually shake hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Copia, sir.”

Fuck, how much more were you going to embarrass yourself tonight? Quickly did you try to pull your hand back but finding yourself unable to. With a delicacy you had not anticipated, a gloved hand reached out the rest of the way, clasping your own before slowly moving forward, kissing your knuckles.

“The pleasure is all mine but per favore, simply Copia, cara.”

You could hardly think, his voice was absolutely sinful upclose like this, a slight shiver descending down your spine. Nodding was the only form of agreement you found yourself being able to give, eyes wandering back down to his lips….

Those were real lips, his actual lips.

Oh my god, they weren’t some mask like people had believed it to, they were actual lips- that were now speaking, shit-

“The floor, it is uncomfortable, no? Come, I will not harm you. The sofa, it is much more comfortable.” Copia asked, sounding like one would whilst coaxing a small animal out of it’s hiding place, squeezing your hand softly to accentuate his point. Had he still been holding your hand the entire time?

“Y-Yes, you’re right.” You whispered, eyes unable to tear away from this enigma of a man infront of you. Was this what he meant by being bewitched in the moonlight? To be unable to tear one’s eyes away, unable to breathe?

“Here, let me help you.”

With only a little bit of difficulty did you remove yourself from under his table, thanking him as he gently aided you to the sofa before taking a place not too close from you, but not too far. For a brief minute, he seemed to ponder, as if wondering if he should or shouldn’t ask you whatever was on his mind.

“I apologize if my question may appear rude… but how did you enter here, cara?” Copia asked after a moment, appearing hesitant as the words left his mouth. He probably thought you’d broken into his tour bus; was that why his first instinct had been to re-kick you?

No matter how much you craved to simply kneel before him or have him fuck you until the sun came back up, rationality flared within your mind, reminding you that HE had never consented to you being in his tour bus like this.

You, a stranger, were in his literal home while he remained on the road, and still he remained kind and gentle.

He had accidentally found an unknown person hidden under his table, and STILL he remained polite.

“I'm so sorry about that, I didn’t- Shit, here, I'll just go-“ Quickly did his hand find yours once more, strong gloved fingers curling around your palm as if to ground you, as if you were the only thing keeping him from disappearing in this very moment, mismatched eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t identify.

.

..

.

He knew he couldn’t very well ask you if you were a gift from his God, but oh, you had to be. It had to be you, the unholy miracle he had prayed for. It was too bizarre of a situation for this all to NOT be the sign he had so painstakingly ached for.

He could hardly believe his eyes, you were breathtakingly beautiful. Faintly did the tea light flicker back and forth, light softly illuminating your confused visage.

Although… the whole situation was going far worse than he had anticipated.

First, he had kicked you.

Second, he was currently most likely scaring you, if your wide-eyed stare was anything to go by.

And now third, you seemed to think he was asking you to leave, to unceremoniously fuck off. Even if you weren’t the unholy miracle he had asked for, that did not grant him any right to treat you so horribly.

“No no, I am not angered, dolcezza! Simply curious how an exquisite being such as yourself has found her way here.” He tried, the sense of relief that washed over him swift at the light upward quirk of your lips. Cazzo, and here he had thought hearing you say his true name had given him a heart attack.

“Well I uh.. the man- sorry, the Ghoul that stood outside your bus and I were talking and something happened. Said he had to quickly go inside and asked me to wait inside the bus.” You replied with a hesitant lilt, as if embarrassed.

To Copia’s delight, you gently sat back down, confusion and curiosity still swimming within your eyes but you had decided to sit back down with him, and that was enough for him until he registered what you’d just said.

“My ghoul was the one to let you inside, yes?” Your words brought forth his earlier assessment of his ghoul, wondering just what had happened, what had his ghoul seen in you to run inside to fetch him, panting and excited, as if it had seen-

The realization that his ghoul had possibly been instructed to do so wedged itself within his mind, halting all further thoughts; why else would his ghoul have been so visibly excited to come fetch him, as if it had spoken to its True Master?

“Yeah, though I didn’t really uh.. ask for his name..” You cringed, missing the awestruck state that now radiated off the man seated before you.

Could it truly be possible? Had his unholy God taken notice of his prayers and answered in His own way? Such a thought brought forth another, albeit a less than stellar one, a thought that froze him to the bone: were you here of your own free will?

“I do not wish to pry, but.. What were you and my ghoul speaking of before he let you inside?” The words exit his lips, millions of thoughts screamed within his mind as he tried to keep his heart rate from skyrocketing.

“O-Oh uh… Uh, nothing too important-“ You had begun to say but stopped, eyes flickering away from him for the first time. You remained silent for a moment, clearly debating whether or not you should speak more.

“Please do not be scared cara mia, I will not throw you out.” He whispered softly, interpreting your lack of words for fear. Oh did he wish to soothe you, soothe your fears of whatever was plaguing your mind. Had you accidentally seen his ghoul’s true face, fear now once again coursing through your veins at the reminder of said creature?

Gently did you raise both your held hands to your visage, as if to shield yourself from his heated gaze. Copia steeled himself for your words, ready to mourn whatever might come of them-

“ItoldhimIwantedtosuckyourdick.” You quickly rushed out, face brightly illuminated from what he could see from behind your fingers. All sound ceased, mismatched eyes trailing instead on the rising heat adorning your visage, a gorgeous shade of red painting your skin, calling to him.

tag list: @mschfmusings @starbentfool

[izzabeean]

Double Bind | Chapter 2

pairing : fushiguro toji x f!reader / gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings/tags : 18+, manga spoilers (up to chapter 79), alternate universe, unrequited love, love/hate, obsession, explicit language, graphic description of corpses, blood and injury.

genre : angst + smut

word count : 3,596

a/n :  hi! please be kind with my interpretation, I'm aware some things might not connect with the manga timeline. also, I'm unsure how I feel about the fighting sequence and mentions of cursed energy. but other than that, I'm very happy to share with you this next chapter. it's about to get a little more angsty now. I hope y'all like it!!TW: mentions of a corpse, mentions of blood

masterlist

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Total and complete irremediable sorrow trembles through you when you’re met with Toji’s remains-- his entire left side of his torso obliterated and his arm severed. A gloom of disappointment clouds you as the realization that his invincibility is only backed up by his pride. He is not eternal, nor free from harm, something so sickening to come to terms with that it makes your stomach swirl.

“You meant the world to me,” you whimper, feeling layers of unsettling emotion. It feels surreal. Like everything has just been ripped away from you in this tragedy. 

“I should have protected you.” But is protection something you could even offer him? For he couldn't even save himself at the time of his destruction. 

Gazing upon his corpse, you wonder if perhaps he is finally at peace, able to shove down his vengeance on the world. Yet you couldn't even fathom the heaviness of your heart as you know he could not eternally rest when the animal that killed him is still alive. 

A rumble of irrefutable heat sparks in you, your pulse starts racing as your hands start to sweat. The feeling of heavy anguish in your chest seethes and consumes you, building up a wall of treachery and wrath. How could he leave you? How could he go as far as to fuck you then just die like that? It’s unthinkable. Unreasonable. Unlike Toji, to just die.

Then like a switch, the rational side of your brain turns off. Instead, you are encompassed with a fury that's far more vast than the deepest ocean. A hostility wakes up in you as you look up to the man that brought you here. 

“Who did this to him?” You manage to grit between your teeth. 

The man pauses taking one conniving look at you before replying. You don't know if you can trust him but he's the only one that has the definite answer. You're about to repeat yourself, as your patience begins to falter, but he cuts you off with a breath, looking at you dead in the eyes. 

“Gojo Satoru.”

Him? You think, tracking back to the moments Toji has spoken to you about the Six Eyes. Your skin crawled and the hairs on your neck stood up, it was so haunting. Never has a name engrossed you with so much hate and anger. The fuming flames of emotion grasped at your heart, squeezing it to the point of discomfort.

Your greatest strength as an assassin is always thinking through and planning before taking action. You’d get to know your target, get a feel for their mannerisms, to a point that you could read their next move upon attack. 

Yet upon hearing that name… Like tunnel vision, your hunger for vengeance outweighs your principles. And yes, you know the risk of what you are up against. But you don’t care because you only have one goal:

To take down Gojo Satoru.

“Where can I find him?” Your voice is stern and cold. The task will be a bit more of a challenge than expected, but you weren’t one to back down from someone so sinister. It makes your head hurt. The pain was so searing you couldn’t even think what you were supposed to do. 

The man smirks, noticing the change in your demeanor, then passes a note. You take it from him and unfold it to reveal the location of your target. You couldn’t wait, you had to see what these Six Eyes are all about. 

Without hesitation your body takes off from the rush of adrenaline, knowing exactly where he is. Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. It was almost too easy to track him down. In fact, you were almost certain that you could potentially fall into a trap, but avenging Toji drives you forward. 

Hiding from plain sight, the towering white-haired man stands adjacent to a slim, tall man with black hair tied up in a bun. 

That’s him, you think, eyeing him up and down noticing he’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses protecting his bright blue eyes. You can’t hear their conversation, but you hear a startling laugh from Gojo, making your entire body tremble with disgust. And as if he could hear your thoughts, he turns to look in your direction just before you duck for cover holding your breath.

You wait a moment counting to ten, before looking out to see where he’s heading to. Though when you peek out, you notice the black-haired man walking away and Gojo starring right at you. Your eyes widen, as you dash away instantly, out of his sight. Your heart starts to pound, it feels like it could break out of your chest as you run away as fast as you can.

“Have we met before?” A voice sounds while you are in mid-sprint and beside you, you see Gojo flashing a cheeky smile. “I feel like I would have remembered such a pretty face though.”

His teasing is torturous, it makes you want to vomit. You jump away changing directions, but he continues to tail you.

“Maybe at the sweets shop?” he asks as if you’d both known each other for years and he was trying to catch up with a casual conversation. “Or maybe on a job?”

Your eyes widen, fully knowing he’s probably just playing coy and knows exactly why you’re here. There's uncertainty whether you can flee from this encounter, so with all your frustration, you lunge towards the target. And seemingly your strength almost doubles as you attack, but your strike is not fast enough to even touch Gojo. 

Fully aware that you're not totally in control of yourself, you put your running to a pause and stand facing Gojo to catch your breath regaining your balance and composure. You've come totally unprepared, giving Gojo full control of the encounter. 

"Aw, c'mon. You don't have to be shy," he coos standing with his hands on his hips. "I know my good looks can make a lot of people nervous."

You can't believe that he just said that. It's almost as if he's mocking you in the way he grins like he's warning you to not be too careless.

"Believe me," you rage. "You're not my type."

"Then why did I catch you spying on me?' 

“It was a test,” you lie. It's true that you were caught but you couldn't give him the satisfaction that he is right. 

“Hm?” he hums. “Who do you work for?”

“Work for? You hiss. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do,” he purrs. “A lot of people are out to get me.”

He has this crazy look in his eyes as if he could so effortlessly end you and you know he could. But you couldn’t let this be the end, not when Toji went and died without your consent.

"They thought they could distract me with such a pretty girl,” he flirts and it just fuels your anger more. 

Springing forward you draw out a knife strapped onto your calf then constrict your cursed energy into it. With a loud grunt, you aim for your target's legs hoping you can stun his movements. But Gojo just dodges it, instantly appearing behind you. He’s fast. Almost too fast to take note of where he is. You swing the knife at him again, but he remains vigilant only showing you how mundane it is for him-- it's too easy for him. It makes your blood boil.

You push yourself further and further, putting all your techniques into gear, as you're constantly reminding yourself with each attach that it's for Toji. Your moves get slopier as your frustration bubbles within you causing an eruption of negative emotions. And the fight isn’t even close.

"I think that's enough," Gojo utters, grabbing your wrist seeing you carelessly tire yourself out.

You don't listen as you try to gather up as much energy as you can for the final blow seeing as this is your only opportunity to get this close. With a final distressing scream, you thrust the knife towards his throat, but it stops before even touching him, not even causing a scratch. Sheer shock courses through your spine, as you fall to your knees gutted and destroyed. If this was trying your best, you didn't know what you could do to beat this nuisance. You can't avenge Toji, not when you're this weak. You feel like a disappointment. How can you say you'll kill this monster when you can't even touch him with your attacks? 

You try to keep your eyes open, but everything around you blurs and the last thing you see is Gojo's blue eyes, then everything goes black as you collapse.

All your will to fight diminishes and the heaviness of your body outweighs the heaviness you feel upon defeat. If you were going to beat Gojo, you were going to have to go through some severe training, at least you will have to if you get out of this alive. Being alive feels so much more difficult than it did before, of course, you barely had anything to live for in the first place, but Toji was a reason to continue going. Even if you didn't see him often, you still looked forward to the days you would encounter each other. There was always something about the way he looked at you. No one else in the world gave you such an honest look, even if he almost looked repulsed by you. Yet, when you think back to that last day you saw him, you could see his eyes filled with a longing to see you. Perhaps you were a bit naive to think so, but you'd like to believe he did somewhat care for you. It's something that you feel so deep in your bones, no words need to confirm it. The thought gives your strength, the strength to open your eyes and keep fighting.

But when you open your eyes, you can't see anything. Only absolute darkness. And the sound of water dripping like:

Drip... Drip... Drip...

It’s terrifying, but it feels like it’s calling you so you walk forward further into the nothingness following the sound. All your senses heighten, and an icy breeze prickles against you decorating your skin in goosebumps. The dripping still fills the silence, but as you grow closer to the sound, a voice whispers in your ears. The words aren’t loud enough to understand, but you swore it was someone calling your name. Then a speckle of a dim warm glow looms in the distance. You wish to call out to it, but you can't seem to find your voice so you start walking towards the strange phenomenon. But the light only grows further and further as you walk and a deep sense of anxiety pushes you forward. You sprint towards it, hands reaching out in hopes that somehow you can grab it. 

The light starts to grow brighter and brighter. But as you get closer to it, it isn't just an illumination. You see a figure. It's hard to make out what it is but it looks inhumane. You slowly encounter the thing half scared, half intrigued. The pressure starts to build in your chest and breathing becomes almost unmanageable. And once your eyes adjust, you can see everything. 

Toji's mutilated body stands in front of you.

You fixate on his injury noticing that the dripping sound is coming from the absence of the left side of his torso. Blood drips his open wounds as it pools below him. He gazes at you with regret and says, "I told you not to come looking for me."

A sob rises in your throat as you release a mournful cry reaching out to grab him. But your body falls into the blood and keeps descending below him to the point you are closed back into the darkness. You cry in exasperation trying to bite back tears and then you wake. 

You rise up from the ground clasping your chest trying to digest the events that just unfolded. 

It was just a dream. 

You look around to see where you are and don't recognize the room. You are surrounded by walls covered in thick opaque paper painted with a landscape of the mountains and trees. The floors are covered in thick tatami mats as the ceiling is raised coffered with warm wood. A translucent sliding door made up of wooden lattices covered in translucent paper dresses the room in a cool glow of moonlight. 

You wonder how long you've been out and attempt to move but your body screams at you to stop as pain engulfs you. The last thing you remember is falling on your knees before your nightmare. You let out an agonizing yelp unable to fully process this throbbing. It's hard to tell what's worse, the physical pain from your body or the emotional pain of Toji's death. 

The sliding door shoots open and a white-haired man saunter's in covering your mouth with his hand. 

"Shh, you have to be quiet," he whispers. "No one knows you're here."

Looking up you see Gojo, his eyes twinkle as he gazes down on you. Your body begins to lurch forward trying to get away from him but he just pins you down harder. 

"Stop," he utters. "You're only going to get yourself hurt."

You're squirming comes to an abrupt stop seeing as the severe pain in your body shoots through you once again. And you're calm but in agony.

"Don't scream, ok? I'm going to remove my hand now," he says calmly, then waits for your reassurance before slowly moving his hand. 

"What am I doing here?" You snap almost instantly after he pulls away and takes a seat beside you. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"A pretty girl like you?" He smirks. "Can't let that go to waste, plus you're not as strong as you think you are."

"And now what do you plan on doing to me?" You hiss, riled up by his presence in the room. You had only hoped to exchange very few words whilst in combat, but now you're stuck with him as punishment for not planning your attack. "Is locking me up some form of torture?"

"If you haven't noticed you're not under any restraints," he says gesturing to your body.

You wriggle your limbs to check how limited your movements are, but alas your only constraint is a blanket.

"You're a menace," you blurt out, feeling your face grow flush.

"A menace that lets you live?" 

"Why am I here then?" You fire back.

"Why did you try to kill me?" He asks, drawing in closer to you closing the gap between the two of you. "And I’m quite nice to even say you tried."

You don't respond, keeping your lips shut tight sending him a heavy glare. 

"Fine, I'll just have to use another kind of technique on you," Gojo adds, leaning in seductively. You're sure that dying right now could ruin everything that you've worked for, but a part of you would be at peace cuz you hoped that maybe you'd be able to find Toji. 

Gojo keeps his hand behind his back as if she is hiding his attack from you and you close your eyes in an attempt to shield yourself from the disturbance that is about to unfold. When the attack doesn't come, you open your eyes and see a bag of sweets in Gojo's hands.

"I'll feed them to you," he says in an almost threatening way.

"It's not necessary--"

"Say ahh," he sings, popping a chewy delicious red bean flavored treat in your mouth.

At first, you're taken aback by his weird form of torture, but as the flavors coat the inside of your mouth you settle into the bed feeling a bit better. But dropping your guard down just makes you more uneasy at the fact he is feeding you sweets and a big pit in your stomach forms.

"Are these poisoned?" You exclaim furious at yourself for giving in to this killer's tactics. 

"You seriously think I have--" he stops himself mid-sentence. "No, they're my favorite. I got a fresh batch this morning. How could you think I would soil such pristine sweets?"

Your face is in awe at his exclamation and you're not sure whether or not you're dreaming or just in hell. 

"Enjoy!" He says getting up to leave the box beside you before opening the door to leave. "Oh, and make sure not to be too loud. I wouldn't want my colleagues to find out about you."

With that, he shuts the door rendering you speechless. The situation you were in is far from sane in itself, you couldn't quite understand the ethics behind Gojo's decision to not kill you. Honestly, you thought him to be quite foolish for letting you live, this only gives you more opportunity to find his weaknesses so you could destroy him. But until then you were stuck in this room. 

A day and a bit go by, and the pain overwhelming your body begins to settle down. You hadn't found much intel seeing as you've been constricted to this room, but you were quite pleased Gojo came to visit giving you more food-- none of which had nutritional value, just more sweets. 

There was no added worth of being here, just time wasted where you weren't able to plan your attack. Gojo had been gone for a while and you suspected him not to be back until the morning, so this evening, you hoped would be the opportunity to sneak out. 

Getting up from bed your bones crack settling into your stance, the pain is still present, but you couldn't stand being here for another moment. As you pull open the sliding door you are met with Gojo face to face, causing you to jump out of your skin. 

"Want to go on a stroll?" He asks, choosing to ignore your attempt to escape. You're hesitant, to say the least, full of distrust. This man hasn't done anything to harm you but you can't give in to his ways. With a grin on his face, he adds, "I'll let you hold my hand."

"Gross," you mumble, walking past him outside to the elegant garden only lit by the moon. 

"Breathtaking," he whispers, taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Are you always this articulate?” You say before looking over to Gojo who is staring at you. 

"Are you always this stuck up?" He pokes back in hopes to get a reaction out of you. And he does because he can see the rage in you as you scowl at him with annoyance. "C'mon. Lighten up a little."

He walks in front of you down a gravel path and you follow behind. Evergreen foliage surrounds you, as small dim lanterns light the way to a small pond shimmering in the moonglow. The sight is tranquil and calming, bringing you a sense of peace. You wish you could have shared this moment with Toji, even if it was doubtful it would happen in the first place. A strange sense of urgency alarms your brain as you recall the dream you had the other day. Obviously, it could have been a sign to turn back and try to not kill Gojo, but it only made you even more determined to do so. 

"Why couldn't I kill you?" You whisper.

"Same reason Fugishiro couldn't… that's why you're here isn't it?"

You snapped to look over at Gojo, "Wh-- what. How do you know?"

"It's not the hardest thing to track," he teases. "Especially when a woman's in love."

"You're a fucking asshole," you utter. "You knew all along?"

"Cussing is a bit unattractive," he retorts. 

"Like I haven't heard that one before," you snort.

"That's not to say I don't like it," Gojo purrs, stepping in closer to you.

"When will you let me go?" you ask, pushing him at his chest with your fingertips.

"I don't know if I ever will, maybe you'll just be my prisoner forever," he flirts, to which you roll your eyes and cross your arm against your chest. "What no witty banter, your boyfriend seemed to be more up for it."

"He wasn't my boyfriend," you snarl.

Gojo looks at you intently as if to try to read your mind, then leans in closer.

"Then this makes this even easier." 

He closes the gap between the two of you. His lips look soft to the touch and seeing him closer you can honestly see why he has such a big ego. He's actually quite attractive and you wouldn't be surprised if he enjoyed handfuls of women chasing after him. Though this didn't really interest you and you turned away quickly before he could press his lips to yours. 

"Nice try. I'm leaving," you rasp walking away towards the wall of the garden to leave. You expected to have him stop you from escaping, but you find yourself continuing to walk away and get further and further from the room you were resting in. But now your deed is done and you can work to expel the disease that was once Gojo Satoru. 

Gojo watches you from behind, taking in your figure memorizing it. He knows that letting you go won't be the last time that he sees you. He knows that deep in his heart you will for sure be back.

[taechaos]

Can we have some jealous/sweet smut with textbook love couple?🥲 like I guess OC was wearing an outfit that was a little short and some guy was checking her out and trying to get at her but she didn’t even realize it and Jungkook gets mad and you know😏

this really went off the fucking rails 😷

"I don't see the point in you coming, we just go there to get high."

"Maybe she wants to try it," Taehyung shrugs before looking up from his phone with a mischievous grin. "What if she's secretly a freak–"

"I'm not, I just–" you sigh, reluctant to reveal your intentions behind wanting to tag along with Jungkook to a frat party. His reason is clear: his body is craving another drug trip. Yours is unknown to them, and you purse your lips where you stand uncomfortably in the student lounge. Why would such a motivated student go out on a school night to get influenced? Oh, no reason, just want to damage my organs because YOLO, right? "I want to spend time with you," you simply reason to your unwilling boyfriend.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, an indication of an incoming refusal, "It's a crackhouse with live softcore porn, and I know for a fact you'd hate it there. Remember last time?"

The issue is that you do remember last time, and also the time that you weren't there. Much like a fairytale, it ended happily both times, but the beginnings were rocky—and you didn't want to miss out on that chapter before jumping to the end. It ruins the tale.

"It's okay sugar tits, I give you permission," Taehyung says while playing a mobile game with his tongue sticking out, unaware of the stares he's getting in response.

"The fuck did you just call her?"

"I'm not asking for permission," you roll your eyes and put your hands on your hips to assert the tiniest bit of dominance on Jungkook who you hover over. The two men are relaxed in their seats while you're tense from knowing you're going to have to rebel against Jungkook. He isn't going to give in. "I will come."

"No, no you won't," is his plain and casual command. You send him a subtle glare but he merely raises a brow, as if challenging you to retaliate.

"You're not her dad, dude. If she wants to come, she will," his friend chimes in defensively.

"Thank you," you point at him with wide eyes.

"First of all, you're not even a part of this conversation," he tells Taehyung. "Secondly, I'm looking out for you as your boyfriend," he gives you a pointed look. "Thirdly, not her dad? Wouldn't you beg to differ." The suggestive hint makes your face flush in embarrassment, and his wink worsens it.

"Excuse–"

"You told me not to tell him!" The discussion ends when you march out of the lounge to cool off your heated skin along with your high nerves. This relationship did begin when you didn't take no for an answer, so what's the harm in doing it again?

—————

The night you lost your virginity, it was autumn and easy to figure out what to wear for a party: warm and cozy with some charming color. It's spring now, and a little more difficult to decide on what to wear without looking like a "high school girl" as Jungkook often describes your outfits.

Your roommate is more cultured in that field, and was kind enough to lend you her help.

Soyeon racks her eyes over your closet with a hand over her chin, elbow crossing her stomach as leverage for her other arm. Nothing is exactly screaming out sexy to her, and unless it's a cosplay gathering, your wardrobe needs more diversity; dressing shirts, skater skirts and knee highs are out of the question.

You wait to hear her thoughts while shifting in your seat on your bed until she quietly giggles. "And I thought I was conservative." She cranes her neck to you, not moving from her position depending on your answer, "Do you want to borrow my clothes instead? They're more... suitable?"

You nod. "Sure. I mean— if you don't mind."

You trust your friend to take care of the clothing portion, and it's with a few cringing "ehhh"s and "mmm"s that you are satisfied with the outcome of this minor quest.

A thin black turtleneck with unnecessarily long sleeves cover your knuckles like sweater paws, and the fabric hugs your torso tightly but ends just below your belly button. Soyeon found a solution to your discomfort with the slight exposure of your stomach by matching it with high waisted denim shorts and nude pantyhose. It's chilly at night, so it's the perfect outfit: doesn't stand out and fits in just right. You don't look like a high school girl nor a nun.

You kept your only concern to yourself because it's not much of a big deal, but it bothers you that the denim shorts don't reach your knees. By your standards, it's a little... inappropriate, but your roommate assures you that it's a common choice in this occasion. You let it slide.

—————

Your worries of being too early faded the moment you stood before the frat house that boomed with music and flashed with violet. You don't know the time code for parties, but you must be late considering the crowd inside. People are chattering loudly when you squirm past them, but there's enough space in the living room for you to breathe. No softcore porn or crack yet. Not many are dancing either. It seems all good here.

However, the search must go on because Jungkook is nowhere to be found in the living room. You hear deep howls from the kitchen and it piques your attention, prompting you to look there next. You can only hope Jungkook's not high yet, or has a girl on his lap.

When you walk in, the kitchen that is remarkably smaller than the living room is filled with men taking shots from the center counter, and Jungkook leaning against the other counter surrounding the walls with a joint in his hand. You stand still in the doorway, suddenly nervous of his reaction, but relieved that he's alone nonetheless.

He inhales a deep breath and the small smile on his face falters when his redshot eyes drag themselves onto you. He stands straight once you lock gazes, and you grin at him before he shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw. You unconfidently strut over to him, reaching his side in only a few seconds as he glares at you.

Only a syllable comes out of his mouth before his attention diverts from you to another guy nearby in a flash. "Hey, eyes off," he calmly demands the man behind you. You glance at him when he raises his hands before looking elsewhere. You presume that's sign language for backing off, and your shoulder blades move awkwardly at the guess of what he might've been looking at. "What the hell are you doing here?" he brings your focus back onto him.

"I wanted to check up on you," you lean into him to not yell out your words.

"Check up on me?" He's incredulous. "Do you realize where you are? You shouldn't be here."

The moment is interrupted when Namjoon and Taehyung enter the scene, and you stop gnawing on your inner cheek. You don't have any answers you want to tell him, and your muscles relax when Jungkook's friends notice you.

"Oh shit," Taehyung smiles widely, "you're actually here." He appears to be sober and you smile back at him. Namjoon on the other hand, is as high as a kite as he brings you into a light hug. Your eyes widen and you awkwardly pat his back, fixated on his dazed expression.

"I haven't seen you in so long," he says as he ruffles your hair. Jungkook slaps a hand over his face at the interaction and drags the skin with his fingers. "How have you been? Do you want a molly?"

"Dude," your boyfriend intervenes, annoyed. "Why are you back here?"

"Alcohol." Namjoon disappears behind you to search the fridge and cabinets and you look at Taehyung again. He's drinking in your awkward stance as he licks his lips while Jungkook takes another drag from his joint.

"Girl, you are fucked," he says when his eyes trail back to yours with a snort. "You came here in those clothes, when you have a boyfriend? Jungkookie, I have some bad news for you. Your cock isn't even satisfactor–"

"Seriously though," Jungkook tells you with furrowed brows, "why are you here? I told you not to come." His reaction is influenced by the weed, not so mad as he is confused by your rebellion without reason—you must have a cause for waltzing in here, especially after his warning.

You hum in discomfort and shift your weight onto your other foot. "I already told you..."

"Don't give me that bullshit–"

A yelp cuts off his words when you jolt forward from a slap to your bottom. It wasn't a hard hit, but the surprise factor has you throwing yourself on Jungkook. Taehyung's jaw drops while your boyfriend barely reacts.

"If that isn't the cutest ass I've ever seen," the culprit chuckles without taking his eyes off your butt. He's almost slurring his words, and his lopsided grin doesn't seem intentional; he must feel too numb to form a full smile. You watch him in disbelief much like Taehyung. "You got any coke?"

"She's taken, man–" he takes on the peacemaker role, but it's futile when Jungkook gently removes your arm from his chest and walks forward to the stumbling man.

"Oh, my ba–" his face scrunches in confusion when his cheeks are grabbed and squished, leaving his mouth gaping. You peek from above Jungkook's shoulder to see him raising his joint before stubbing the burning tip onto the man's tongue. A scream resounds in the overcrowded room when it makes contact, and you fall back into Taehyung's arms while the deafeningly loud music tries to drown out the pained sounds. It's barbaric.

"Ah, shit," he pushes you to the side and pulls back Jungkook, who's still abnormally calm. The whole situation feels surreal, and it seems as if no one realizes this isn't a dream.

The man stops struggling against Jungkook's hold when he's released and falls to the ground, crawling back while sucking his teeth. He's whimpering and afraid. "I didn't know," he speaks with a lisp, pathetically begging, "I apologized! I-I'm sorry!"

You cautiously take a few steps back, almost like you're trying to flee the scene, but it just seems like a good idea to avoid Jungkook's temper right now. Just as you're about to turn around and sprint, you're held back by a hand on your shoulder. No words are exchanged when you're dragged away, a bruising grip on your forearm as you stumble out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Some fucking deja vu, huh?" your boyfriend fumes, basically shouting out his words without glancing at you to notice your struggles to keep up with his pace.

Lunatic Jungkook: Unlocked.

You trust sober Jungkook to not hurt you when he's angry, but after seeing him commit such a painful act, it's more than reasonable why you're currently terrified of him while he's high. To think you were so comfortable with him earlier because he's high. His calmness makes him all the more unpredictable, and you're unnerved when he shoves you inside a random bedroom. Some reversed deja vu.

"I'm going to ask you again: why the fuck did you come here?" The only attack is with his eyes that send daggers at you, but you keep your guard up in fear of what he'll do. You have to tread lightly.

"I was worried what would happen if I wasn't here with you." Honesty is your only approach in this instance because when he's glaring at you like that, it conveys that he doesn't want to hear any more of your ludicrous excuses.

He rolls his hand, gesturing you to continue. You're nervously forcing out your words, "I didn't, um... know how you would act around other women while you're on drugs when I'm not around." When his face falls into monotone, you defend yourself, still tense, "Last time, you kissed Soyeon and before that, another girl! I-I had my reasons..." Your voice grows smaller, just like how you feel under his gaze. Your eyes flicker to your shoes.

"And those shorts?"

At your silence, he takes a few steps towards you and leans into your face, slightly bending to level with your height. He tugs on the hem of your shorts harshly, emitting a flinch from you. You don't return his stare. "What the fuck are these? You're stupid enough to come here, but coming here in these shorts? Are you okay?" He taps your cheek, encouraging you to look up at him, but it's both humiliating and intimidating. "I know you're not a slut, baby, but why are you so adamant on acting like one?"

"I wanted to fit in," is your weak defence in a mumble, gaze still downcast. You shouldn't feel so ashamed.

"No, you told me you wanted to make sure I wasn't cheating," he counters. "Don't fucking twist things now. You didn't need to dress up to see if I was fucking someone else."

Your round eyes shoot up in panic at whatever he's insinuating, "I didn't want you to realize how paranoid I was."

"So this was your grand idea?"

"Ah," you groan, just wanting this argument to end already. You know what he's thinking: "I was stupid. I didn't learn my lesson, and I ended up hurting someone because I'm stupid."

You release a relieved breath when he gives you distance to sit on the twin sized bed. He's facing you as he says, "When I tell you not to do something, you don't do it. I'm not trying to dictate you, you understand that, right?" You meekly nod and clamp your mouth shut when he continues, "You pull this shit again, I'm going to hurt someone else again. Simple as that. I don't care if they did anything, I'll hurt them as long as it gets you to listen to me."

"Okay," you exhale, shyly walking between his legs at his beckon. You tower him, but it's not helping your confidence as he places his hands on your hips.

"Okay," he whispers back as he plays with the waistline of your shorts. A moment of silence passes, and you allow yourself to calm down enough to sit on his lap and lay your head on his shoulder. "I like the high school girl look better on you."

You sheepishly grin but decide not to respond for the safety of your friend. He pulls on your pantyhose and it slaps against your thigh when he releases it.

"Do you forgive me?"

"Can't stay mad at you," he murmurs before pecking your lips. It's you who leans back in to extend the kiss, and he responds gently. It ends when he chuckles, "Passive smoking, hm? You feeling okay?"

You nod and lock lips again, his hand soothingly rubbing the side of your thigh when you clasp your hands behind his neck. Maybe he's right, maybe you did get a buzz from the secondhand exposure, but it doesn't influence your actions as you lower one hand to his chest. It just happens to fall on his crotch.

"Mm," he pulls away with a suppressed laugh, "you're actually high? Your hands just got a mind of their own."

"Then tie them," you offer in a breath. His brows shoot up, but his surprise doesn't prevent him from unbuckling his belt singlehandedly.

"A bondage kink? Who are you and what did you do to my nerdy girlfriend?" His joke emits a small laugh from you but his smile falters once his belt is in his hand. "Take your shirt off first."

It's no longer a guess when you slip out of the turtleneck in a flash; you are under some spell when you stand and hold your wrists together. The leather grazes your skin and sends delighted tingles down your spine.

"I hope I'm not going fucking crazy and hallucinating this," you hear him whisper behind you. A laugh escapes you and interrupts his internal monologue, and the buckle is clasped. "Now for the shorts..."

He stands up, pressing himself against you and peeking from your shoulder to undo the button of your denim shorts. You can feel his erection grinding against you when he tugs them down to falll at your ankles. You step out of the garment and turn around. When he gets out of your way, he gestures you to lie down and your hands are pressing against your back when you do so.

You watch him take his short off before straddling you and leaning down for another kiss. It's merely foreplay; he cups your clothed pussy and runs his hand down up and down, prompting you to sigh into him. He bites your bottom lip just as he slips his fingers past your underwear, murmuring against your lips, "Can you take me right now?"

"I think so," you shy. "I want to."

"Good," he sighs and removes his hand to massage his erection while undressing you completely. "I think... this is a better lesson."

"For what?"

"You don't know?" he pushes the cup of your bra to pinch your nipple mercilessly, and he hears your pain through your small scream. "A guy got burnt for no reason then?"

"No, no, I know," you gasp when he twists your sensitive nub, "because I'm stupid and I shouldn't have ignored you." Your back lifts off the mattress when you clench your teeth to suppress another scream. Despite your bounds hands, it's him talking down on you that renders you submissive.

"Mhm," he's condescending in his speech, "he did something wrong, but so did you, right? This is just the consequences of your actions, isn't it?"

It's his stinging touch that makes you agree to whatever he says, and you whine, "Yes!"

That's the only confirmation he needs to push his jeans down to his thighs along with his briefs, and your now bare pussy shies away from his cock by bending your knees. He pushes your legs even closer to you, and your efforts went against your intention by exposing yourself to him completely now. "You're so pretty," he admires with slight awe, "but I can't be shallow... You don't deserve to treated well."

His words make you shutter; you didn't do anything that wrong, but you aren't courageous enough to voice your thoughts. Everything he's told you today have turned out right, so he knows better to make that call. You stay unresponsive, head turned to the side to avoid his fierce gaze.

"No, you should hurt as much as he did," he mutters to himself as he trails a finger down your folds. You shiver and his gaze travels to your shy one. "What? Are you scared?"

You are unconfident with your denial, "No."

"Look at me then."

It's with a deep inhale that you glance at him, and your breath is caught in your throat when he shoves himself inside. Your whimpers resound brokenly in the bedroom where the bass of the music drowns it out. You feel the vibrations, but it doesn't serve as a distraction and you're aware that Jungkook can pick up your pained noises. He's simply ignoring you, but you can't dwell on the thought when he lets you adjust for a few seconds only before ramming into you. Your whines aren't enough for him, after all, what's a better indication of pain than a scream of agony?

His thrusts are out of rhythm, but quick and rough nonetheless as his hands push you deeper into the mattress as if to hold you down before taking your nipple in his mouth—more specifically between his teeth to bite.

"Jungkook!" It's not a gentle bite, and you know it wasn't meant to be, but you try to squirm away nonetheless. Your flight instinct is futile because his strength overpowers yours, keeping you in place with his palms while you struggle and cry.

"No more, please!" You wail when he finally sits up, and he watches you bounce back and forth due to the force of his thrusts. It's so pleasing, especially your moans, but mixed with your bitching... it's irritating.

He grunts, the sound bordering on a growl before he says, "You deserve worse."

"I don't! I didn't do anything." Your protests fall on deaf ears, or rather ears that need you to shut up. He wraps his hand around your neck in a chokehold, daring you to speak with his grip as he moans through a bit lip.

"Your ass was hanging out in a room filled with men," he speaks in between moans while you gasp to catch your breath, sounds of pleasure getting suck in your throat when he slams deep enough to hit your sensitive spot. "You didn't listen to me! Ah..."

Your windpipe is getting crushed the tighter his grip gets, and your cheeks start to flush until he drops his hand to lift your hips, spanking you while you wheeze. "You want attention that bad?" His words are mere gasps when he starts to lose himself, now gripping your waist to match his thrusts for you.

"Only yours," you muster out as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, letting him do all the work while you get closer to your climax.

"Lying whore." He slaps your tit before completely concentrating on his release, inching closer and closer by the second teasingly. It builds up in his stomach, and his abs contract and tense while he pistons his cock inside you faster, not drained enough to get sloppy just yet. It's when a loud moan resounds in the room, reducing to pants with slow drags of his length. "God, yes..."

You feel it when he cums, painting your walls white and warming up your insides, and he rubs your clit so fast that it has you seeing stars in mere seconds. It's so quick, the high, and your moan is music to his ears; he's too spent to enjoy it any longer before he collapses next to you.

"Fuck, please let me tie you up again," he breathes while you recover from the euphoric sensation he brought you by twitching and seeing white. You're panting when his hand falls on your stomach.

"Please... I'll be nicer if you let me. Hm?"

[dreamywriting]

Oh Boy

Your high school crush, third year Tamaki Amajiki, is hit by a villain’s quirk on the job. He turns into a child and you are seemingly the only one he finds comfort in, so you take care of him. 

pairing: tamaki amajiki x reader

word count: 1800+ 

genre: fluff mostly, secret crushes

warnings: basically none, like one (1) compromising position

a/n: i imagine him to be around six, maybe seven years of age? like he can talk and understand things properly, but he still needs a comforting hand. 

-

You arrived at the scene the same time as the paramedics. Crowds had formed and the atmosphere was rather hectic. The fight was over, but the commotion sure wasn’t. You pushed your way to the front of the crowd and stood next to your classmate Kirishima, or Red Riot, out in the field. You both had managed to score work studies despite Aizawa’s concern, and Kirishima had called you to help with this particularly persistent opponent. Or so you thought. 

The villain may have been captured and arrested, but the job was far from over. Because in the midst of it all stood a small boy with indigo hair. His shoulders were tense and his entire body language emitted discomfort. Fatgum’s statue towered over the child as he tried to comfort the anxious one, but it only seemed to frighten him even more. You had always loved children, and seeing the boy in his absolutely petrified state made your heart churn. This was no place for a kid.

In your worry for the child you had failed to notice the absence of a certain hero. The one who made it possible for Kirishima to work with Fatgum in the first place, Tamaki Amajiki. He was a timid man, that one. But he intrigued you to no end. How could such an anxious mind control such a capable body? His quirk was amazing and his skills knew no end. You had admired him since day one, completely enthralled by his nervous antics and shy smiles. You may even have developed a small crush on him. Not that you’d ever act on it, though.

The paramedics were all over the scene, helping civilians and checking up on the heroes involved. It had gotten dark outside, enhancing the bustling city lights and sirens. It was rather chaotic, but under control nonetheless. “Whatever happened here seems to be under wraps now, so maybe I should head back?” you spoke up, seeing as nobody was injured and the police had taken over.

“Well… about that,” you classmate said, scratching the back of his head. “The villain had a really strange quirk. And it hit Tamaki-senpai.” You tensed, was he hurt? Kirishima started walking towards Fatgum and you followed closely behind, suddenly very worried.

“So, basically, senpai has been turned into a child. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain, but we have no idea what to do. He’s afraid of everything and everyone. And I think my manliness might be too intimidating for him.” You laughed at that last part. “I think it’s more about being in the middle of a chaotic crime scene, than your testosterone.” you retorted.

You felt kind of bad for Tamaki. If he was anxious before, you could hardly imagine how he must’ve been feeling right now. “See! This is why I called you. You know how to think like a child.” Kirishima said, now pushing you towards the jittery boy. “Is that your way of calling me childish?” you said, smiling a little. But before he could respond you were in front of the small child. Fatgum looked at you, relieved that you were here.

It was definitely Tamaki, alright. If his dark hair and pointed ears weren’t enough to tell, the way his lips trembled and how his now small hands fidgeted would give it away. You felt mixed emotions. Your heart was aching for the scared child in front of you, but your flusteredness stemmed from the fact that he was also your senior, and more importantly, your crush. It was hard to know how to act around him in this situation, but you followed your instincts and crouched down to his level.

“Hey, Tamaki,” you started softly, dropping the honorifics. He looked at you for the first time since you got here. Little Amajiki was absolutely adorable. “The police are doing a great job here, so how about we go somewhere else, huh? Do you like takoyaki?” He looked to the ground, nodding shyly. “Oh, I love takoyaki too! Let’s go to the restaurant down the block. I heard they give you a free dessert with every children's meal.” You said with a smile, reaching out your hand to him. He hesitantly looked at your open palm for a while, but eventually put his small hand in yours. Your other hand found the top of his head in a comforting way and he leaned into you fully, gripping onto you in a tight hug. Your heart melted at his ministrations whilst listening to Kirishima and Fatgum’s sighs of relief behind you.

You and Tamaki made your way to the small restaurant. At some point you picked him up in your arms, and from there you started talking and pointing out things around you as you went. He visibly relaxed in your presence and you beamed at how precious he was. You both ordered the children's meal and compared the toys you got. He seemed much happier now, giggling at your poor attempts to make him laugh. It warmed your heart, it really did. You could never have imagined spending time with your crush like this, but even so, you were enjoying it a lot. You learned a lot about him despite him being scarce with his words. Children were quite unfiltered, after all. At one point, he even let you know that he was planning on marrying you in the future, and the sincerity in his little voice nearly made you choke on your food. It was a good time.

After you had finished up, you headed back to UA in order to find a teacher who could help you. You weren’t quite sure how to proceed with Tamaki in his current state. It was only when you got to the main building that you realised it was Saturday. And very late in the evening. You felt so stupid. But you kept up your cheery attitude for Tamaki’s sake and went to the third year dorms instead. Maybe Mirio could take him in?

You knocked on the door several times without anyone answering. They were all asleep, weren’t they? Tamaki who was settled on your hip started to yawn and you realised your duty wasn’t over yet. Oh, he looked so precious when he was sleepy. You decided that it would be best for you to take him in over the night, until somebody else could help you with him. Over the course of the evening he had gotten quite attached to you, always staying close and being too shy to speak to anyone but you. It was quite endearing. But you started worrying about how long the villain’s quirk was going to last on him.

You took him to your dorm, as he would not leave your side. You hoped Kirishima would still be awake to give you some emotional support, but no such luck. You got Tamaki and yourself ready for bed and had prepared a spare mattress for him, but he just shuffled nervously around it until he timidly asked to sleep with you instead. “I-I don’t like the dark.”

A small smile came to your lips as you lifted your covers, signalling him to crawl under them with you. He wasted no time snuggling into your chest which made you gush over him once more. He was just so cute. You fell asleep like that, close and cuddled up together. It was a good idea, until you woke up the next morning.

The bed was incredibly warm. When you tiredly opened your eyes you were met with a dark head of hair. You were laying on your side and you suddenly understood the reason behind the immense heat. Tamaki Amajiki, now fully grown, was hugging your body in his sleep. His head was nuzzled in your chest and the realisation made you even warmer. You were completely still, except for the blush creeping on your cheeks. Your fucking crush was laying in your bed with his head between your breasts, probably having some real good dreams considering he was smiling in his sleep. The whole situation was surreal. But before you had time to contemplate your next move, you felt him stirring against you. His eyelashes fluttered against your sensitive chest as he opened his eyes. You desperately hoped he couldn’t feel your frantic heartbeat.

Once he realized where he was, he jolted awake, almost falling off the small bed. “I-I….” he looked at your messy hair and the little black slip you wore to bed, swallowing harshly, trying to grasp the situation. “Good morning, Tamaki-senpai.” you said, a bit unsure of what to do. There was a short silence before you asked him if he had remembered anything from last night. Your words made his face pale. They had sounded so suggestive. He could only dream of being with you in that way, because there was no way you felt that way about him… right?

Realising that he seemed to suffer from complete memory loss, you recounted last night's events to him. He listened quietly to the end and after you had finished he was in shock. You totally understood him though. It was a lot to take in. But what you didn’t know was that the main culprit behind his demeanor was you. You, with your little night slip on, seeing your cute face and listening to your morning voice, waking up against your boobs. It was practically too much for him to handle. Because unbeknownst to you, he had reciprocated your feelings for a long time. And like you, he hadn’t intended to act on them.

Well, until now.

“T-thank you, y/n. For everything.” he said quietly, internally cursing at himself for always stuttering.

“You don’t have to thank me, you were an absolute delight to look after! I had a good time.” You smiled, looking at your hands in your lap. He blushed at your words, marveling at how wonderful you looked right now. He had to go through with this.

“But, I want to,” he started confidently, before his next request had the nerves eating at him once more. “M-maybe we- uh, you and I could go out to eat? My t-treat, of course.” 

“Like, a date?”

“I... uh” he looked away shyly, “If you’d have me.” he answered, in a hopeful voice.

You couldn’t believe your ears. He wanted to spend more time with you? You were over the moon and beyond. Your crush just asked you out, in all of your messy morning glory. To answer his question you nodded your head enthusiastically, too happy to produce words. He let out the biggest sigh of relief at your reaction, fighting the urge to pinch himself because this must be a dream. And it felt like it, for the both of you. It was the start of a blooming relationship, one with maybe the most bizarre how you two met-story ever.

[hopelesshawks]

Ash and Dust Part 6- Small Victories

18+ Dabi x fem!reader (MINORS DNI)

Summary: You first meet Dabi on the worst night of your life after unwittingly walking into the very bar the League of Villains made infamous. That should probably be the end of the story. You stumble on the remnants of one of the most infamous terrorist groups in the history of Japan, get viciously murdered or call the cops and get them arrested, the end. Except that’s not the end of the story. It’s only the beginning.

Masterlist Help Lulu (Kofi)

It’s been a month now.

A month of the worst game you’ve ever played in your entire life.

Dabi enjoys the back and forth the two of you have, that much is clear. He seems to get a sick thrill prodding you to see what elicits a quip out of you and what renders you speechless. It’s nerve-wracking constantly standing up to him, trying to navigate the line between jabs that will amuse him and those that will genuinely anger him. By now you feel you’ve got a pretty solid handle on where that line is. You’ve made an art form out of treading around it, but every so often you’ll say something particularly witty or biting and there will be a moment of silence. Those cold blue eyes will fix on you and your heart will pound in your chest. You used to identify the feeling as fear but you think it’s something else now, something you’re unwilling to put a name to. That one moment always seems to extend infinitely before collapsing back in on itself as the words sink in and you pull another amused smirk or even a full-blown cackle from the man. You don’t think he likes you per se, but there’s a persistent fascination that you’re pretty sure makes him want to keep you around. If that were the only facet of the game you think you could live with it, but there’s one more thing.

Dabi is determined to keep you unemployed.

Or perhaps more accurately he’s determined to see how long it’ll take you to give up on being employed.

Every morning for the past month you’ve attempted to get a new job and every morning for the past month Dabi has managed to fuck it up for you one way or the other. From preventing you from doing any prep work for the numerous interviews you’ve attempted to set up, to sabotaging your morning to ensure you show up late, he’s done it all. On one occasion he pretended to be your concerned husband calling to cancel the interview on your behalf, on another he’d burned all of the paperwork you’d needed to bring in to cinders. The interviewers hadn’t been very amused when you opened your manila envelope only for ash to come slipping out and onto the table instead of the requested files. The only reason you aren’t terrified of being unable to pay the rent is because of your artwork. A sentence you never thought would apply to you.

Those two retweets you’d gotten on the Deku painting you’d posted had quickly grown to twenty, then thirty, then a hundred, and then a couple hundred. A few people had even started tagging Deku himself in hopes of drawing his attention to it. The recognition had drawn people to your page and then, finding no other work there, to your dm’s, begging for copies of the painting or their very own Deku fanart. It had reached the point that a couple weeks ago you had decided to start advertising commissions and a few people had taken you up on the offer. It’s not much, but between the commissions and your savings, it would be enough to get you through this month’s rent at least.

You love creating art and it’s surreal getting to do what you love to pay some of your bills, but between spending more time slouched in front of your easel or over a sketchbook and sleeping on the couch, your back is the sorest it’s ever been. As you finish getting ready for bed, slipping into a pair of comfortable pajama shorts and an old college t-shirt, you stare at your bedroom door longingly, yearning for the comfort of your mattress. As you hear the creaking of its springs, a sign Dabi must be crawling into bed after another successful day of fucking your life up, something in you snaps. Your feet carry you into your bedroom, shoving the door open with righteous indignation. You’re a little surprised to see that Dabi is shirtless as he lies in the bed nonchalantly, brow quirking at your sudden entrance. Your eyes can’t help but wander over his chest, noting where scarred tissue is stapled to unmarred flesh but also drinking in the lean muscle on display.

“Ever heard of knocking Doll?”

The sound of his voice breaks you from your thoughts.

“Sorry what?” you ask, cheeks heating up as you realize where your mind had gone.

“I didn’t take you for a pervert but here you are, bursting into my room just to ogle me,” Dabi teases, and immediately your embarrassment from before melts into anger.

“Your room? This is my room! And that’s my bed! And I didn’t come in here to ogle you, I came to sleep in my bed in my room in my apartment!”

“I have zero intention of leaving this bed, but I don’t recall ever saying you couldn’t sleep here.”

Your eyes narrow at him. He’s so smug you want to wipe that stupid look off his face. He’s bluffing and it’s a damn good bluff but it’s a bluff all the same.

“What’s wrong, Doll? Scared to sleep next to the big bad Wolf?” he smirks and that’s the last straw.

Without a word, you storm over towards the bed and practically launch yourself into the limited space Dabi isn’t occupying. You groan appreciatively and within minutes you’re under the covers and getting comfortable. When you look up to Dabi’s face where he’s still sitting up there’s a brief moment of genuine shock and discomfort that flits across his features. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared but a smug feeling of triumph swells in your chest in response.

“What’s wrong Dabi? Scared to sleep next to your Doll?” you smirk and the amount of serotonin you get seeing the look on his face could last you a lifetime. It’s a combination of affronted at your audacity, annoyed you’d called him on his bluff, and begrudgingly impressed you’d had the courage to do it. “We both know I’m not scared of anything,” he growls. “Then sleeping next to each other shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Since I’m not scared and you’re not scared,” you fire back. “No, it shouldn’t.”

Dabi makes himself comfortable as you both stare each other down, daring the other to chicken out and move to the couch outside. Stubbornness cements you both in place though and eventually with a smug goodnight you roll over to face away from him. You hear him scoff and do the same but it feels distant as your aching body settles into the mattress and you drift off to sleep.

A/N: I am very much obsessed with the dynamic reader and Dabi are forming and really enjoy the idea of her feeling out where the line is between “I’m gonna fire back and he’ll be amused my puny ass had the tits to do it” and “oh he’s genuinely pissed and debating ending my life”

Taglist: @thechroniclesofawriter @simpsfortodoroki @ahtsuwu @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @tina-98 @vibesdontlie

[letsperaltiago]

write your story on my heart: come on and make your mark

In the safety of his mom's hoodie Mac Santiago-Peralta quickly learns that his parents are quite alright if not his favorite people in this big, scary world.

or

the skin to skin-contact oneshot no one asked for 🤔

read on ao3

“One last push! You’re doing so good, honey.”

The second his powerhouse of a wife delivers her last push, fully welcoming the newest addition to their family into the world and the safety of his auntie Roro’s hands, Jake feels his entire cosmos shift and turn upside down. It’s a transition, a feeling he thought the million hours of googling and studying parenting books had prepared him for, only now realising that there is no such thing as being prepared for this very moment.

No book, binder, higher power or even the tangled depth of some Reddit-forum he’d once found could possibly have prepared him for the immense, indescribable joy he experiences rushing through every cell of his body when he hears the first, notably loud cries of his son.

Loud cries are a good sign: it means he has strong lungs, Jake remembers.

“Jake,” he’s snapped out of his reverie by the sound of Amy’s breathy whimpers. Surely she’s more than exhausted after pushing a human out of her. “He’s-” she interrupts herself when she heaves resulting in her knocking her head back against the pillow to gain a breath, meanwhile her eyes search Jake’s face for some kind of conclusion.

The strong urge to take care of them both at the same time, his son and his wife, is tearing him in two separate directions. Although he does quickly settle on turning to Amy. He knows and trusts that his newborn is safe in Rosa and, he shudders a bit at the thought, he has to admit, the fire-fighters care when he sees said glorified EMT is checking his son’s condition.

One last time, he comes to realise this will be, he immerses himself in the feeling of being just the two of them; to have eyes only for her because soon, even though he doesn’t mind one bit, his heart will officially be shared with someone else.

“Yeah, he’s here, babe. He’s here,” he lets out in an euphoric mixture of a breath, smile and sniffle as he leans in to kiss his wife’s forehead. Beneath his touch he can feel her trembling from the adrenaline, still very much red and sweaty but oh, how she’s never been more beautiful to him, and although it’s a very close second, not even clad in white on their wedding day.

His lips stay plastered there for a few seconds but somehow feels like an eternity put into slow-motion. Yes, he knows he could be attending so many other, more useful, matters, but there’s no resisting the overwhelming pride he’s currently feeling knowing his incredible wife once again, this time more than ever, has proven to be the superhero he’s always known her to be.

“You did it,” he exclaims joyously through the cry threatening to crawl up and out of his throat once his lips slip off of her skin. From his new vantage point, having pulled back the slightest, he can tell she’s crying along to the sound of their son’s furious wails, and he can’t blame her. It’s paradoxical: somehow the most beautiful and heartbreaking sound he’s ever heard.

“You’re so incredible, Ames,” the words come spilling out of his moth hopped up on adrenaline which results in them stumbling over each other but he doesn’t care. She needs to know how amazing she is.

As intimate as an interrogation room containing their best friend and some random firefighter can be, their moment runs out the second the firefighter lets them know that their baby is perfectly healthy and gently places him stomach down, wailing at the top of his lungs, on Amy’s still heaving chest. Alongside this the two freshly baked parents stare in disbelief: they created this little and so very wanted human who’s now finally, after 9 months of pregnancy and even longer time spent wanting and trying, screaming into the soft fabric of Amy’s hoodie.  

Amy’s hand are immediately drawn in, rushing to cup the tiny being in her hands, one supporting his bottom meanwhile the other his head. It’s all so much: the soft surface of his skin, the vibration coming from his screaming, and more importantly healthy, lungs resonate against hers making everything that more and finally completely real. Every ultrasound scanning, all the fluttering kicks from inside her womb and even the contractions: this kind of real beats everything prior to this moment.  Her son is really here, in flesh and blood, resting against her chest instead of bundled up inside her womb.

“He’s amazing,” she lets out with a sob as she attempts to study Mac’s every feature.

“He sure is,” Jake is quick to chime in placing a hand on his son’s back before leaning in to kiss the tiny head tenderly, of course keeping in mind the fragility of a newborn’s skull, something all the baby books have told him about. He then looks backs to his wife and kisses her lips.

Her crying almost sabotages her ability to kiss him back, but she stables herself just enough by moving a hand to rest on her husband’s cheek and then it hits her like never before that she’s currently, right then and there, holding her entire world in her hands: Jake in one and their son in the other.

McClane Santiago-Peralta. Mac.

He’s a perfect 9 pounds and 21 inches, they’re later told at the hospital; he’s soft, pink and brand new; he’s here and he’s their son.

Caught up in what feels like her life’s biggest whirlwind of a moment, kissing her husband and holding her screaming newborn, she faintly make out Rosa and the firefighter telling them they’re going to leave them alone for a while to go meet the incoming ambulance and and actual EMTs.

Jake and Amy pull apart as the door closes and encapsulates their new little family of three in the interrogation room.

“I love you so much, Jake,” she smiles both with her lips and deep brown eyes which radiate so much joy through the tears that it makes Jake shed a tear too when he tell her “I love you too. So much.”

Their attention shifts back to Mac quietly whimpering for attention having only been partly soothed by his mother’s hold and is still very much upset with the fact he’s been thrown right into such a big, bright world without warning.

“And I love you too, my baby Mac,” she coos in addition to her declaration of love as she lets go of Jake’s face to hold her still naked, probably very hungry and cold son even closer.

Although Amy without a doubt had the birthing suite Hitchcock and Scully had built her to thank for making the birth surmountable, it wasn’t exactly destined to do what it was doing right now meaning that a lack of heat was noticeable.

“Shhh, yes, I know,” she strokes the top of his head in an attempt to comfort the whimpering bundle, “it’s all so big and scary out here, but we’ll make sure you’re okay. We got you.”

Mac’s cries have definitely quieted down, lost momentum, since first appearing in their world just minutes ago but he’s still very clearly voicing discontent and Amy can feel her brand new mom-heart bleed. She mentally turns over every page of every baby book she’s ever read furiously trying to find a solution to her son’s crying and discomfort.

“Your mom’s right, bud. No need to cry. We’re here with you,” Jake bends over the gap between him and the stretcher, down to his son’s eye level as if it’ll convince him to calm down only to comprehend that a newborn probably doesn’t care about his father’s promises. Mac is a man of actions not words.

“Jake,” Amy whimpers hit by realisation, so suddenly set on one thing and one thing only and it of course immediately gains her her husband’s full attention. “Help me put him on my chest.”

A look of confusion dawns on Jake as they share a look, Amy’s eyes pleading for him to understand.

“But Ames, that’s where he already is?”

“No, like on my actual chest. Skin to skin-contact, Jake.”

It comes out matter of factly and memories of many textbook pictures of cute, tiny babies lying against their mother’s bare chest right after birth come rushing back to Jake instantly replacing his confusion.

“Oh yes, that, right! Of course.”

She briefly pauses to think although its hard when her train of thoughts is very much controlled by the worry growing within her every time Mac lets out another loud whine or cry. At least he’s on top of something soft, she thinks in an attempt to reassure herself when looking down at him and her now very messy, gooey NYPD-hoodie and then, all out of the blue, it hits her: the messy but soft and warm NYPD-hoodie. Beneath it she’s only wearing her maternity bra (she’d started wearing them already months ago once her boobs had grown too big for her regulars once: also they were way more comfortable) so surely her idea was worth the try.

“He could probably fit into my hoodie,” she wonders or rather declares out loud. Her son needs somewhere warm and safe, so, regular procedure be damned.

“I mean,” Jake studies the features of the grey piece of clothing, “it’s quite big and if you just tug down the neck whole he could probably fit in there with you.”

So they give it a try.

While Jake momentarily takes possession of his son, immediately tearing up again at the very surreal feeling of holding life, which he’s created, for the first time, Amy unclasps and removes her soft bra. In terms of the last step she tugs open, as wide as physically possible, the neck hole of her hoodie to welcome her son. It’s not pretty nor graceful but the hoodie is indeed really big (especially now that Mac is no longer in her womb) and together they manage to carefully place him to rest against his mother’s skin and under the soft material of the hoodie, only his head, under Amy’s, emerging from the neck hole. They hold their breaths for a second, both internally begging for their invention to be enough to soothe their son completely.

Amy instantly feels better knowing she’s sharing her bodily heat with her son, and, even more rewarding is the fact that it also seems to pay off: after a few more whimpers, slowly fading into barely audible sniffles, a silence lastly settles over them.

From where he’s resting chest to chest, skin to skin, with his mother, Mac finally, for the first time in his life, seems fully content and settles for dozing off as the easiest way to handle being completely knocked out by the intensity of being born.

Jake and Amy exchange a surprised, having feared the worst outcome since today already had followed a certain chaotic discourse, but ecstatic look as all there is left to be heard is the sound of approaching ambulance sirens.

“This feels incredible,” she speaks quietly in an attempt to not disrupt her son’s newfound state of peace, checking on him once more to make sure he’s not being squished by her chin, and although this time there’s fabric creating a barrier between her palms and his skin, she allows her fingers to fall into a sweeping motion across the tiny frame.  

“It looks incredible,” Jake whispers back not believing his own eyes because the scene currently playing out in front of him sure can’t be real. It’s too good, something he years ago wouldn’t even dare to dream of, and although he doesn’t want to be that person, he wants to live in the present, Jake can’t fight the urge to grab his phone and snap a picture, just one that he can make his lock screen picture the second he has a minute to do so. For now he figures it’s enough and puts his phone back into his pocket allowing him to lean in and join his wife in caressing their son.  

“Always told you you look crazy good in hoodies,” he smirks knowingly thinking of all the times he’s told her this only to be met by disagreement and dismissive comments before pecking her temple tasting small beads of sweat, salt, on his lips.

“Even now covered in placenta?” her exhausted eyes manage to throw him a teasing look ahead of redirecting to admiring Mac’s beautiful, finally peaceful being. Jake’s eyes trail behind, staying on her with the most loving look when he utters, “especially now covered in placenta,” before following her lead and looking at Mac.

The sirens from before have faded, disappeared, letting the new parents know that the ambulance must’ve reached the precinct. Despite this fact, they forget and enjoy the quiet before the storm, their first peaceful moment as a family.

All in all Mac seems pleased with his new favorite spot on his mom’s chest. Even as she holds him a bit tighter, securing him to her chest when she’s wheeled out of the integration room by a newly arrived EMT, Jake right beside her to make sure they’re alright every step of the way, Mac doesn’t budge; even in the ambulance when one of her hands leaves his back to hold Jake’s while the sirens make an encore, Mac stays quiet.

This might not be his mother’s womb but he knows he’s home.

[myhauntedsalem]

The Most Haunted Mirrors in the World

Since 6000 BC, mirrors have been a common object found in most households. Apart from photographs, mirrors enable us to truly see what we look like from an outsider’s perspective. But what happens when a mirror shows you more than just your reflection?

What happens if a mirror shows you something frightening? Something you were never meant to see?

Over the last few centuries, people have started collecting mirrors not just for the sake of practicality, but for décor around their houses. And every once in a while, a person may stumble upon a mirror that could be considered haunted.

Often times someone will claim a mirror is haunted as a means of making profit off sites such as eBay. But occasionally, a person may come across a piece of glass that is really and truly haunted.

1. Twisting Inversions

Years ago, while at a cookout with his family, a gentleman named Juan heard a chilling tale of a haunted mirror from his cousin in Vercruz, Mexico.

One day, Juan’s cousin and a friend of his were shopping in an antiques store when he came across a large Victorian style mirror. The mirror was incredibly ornate, with a brushed silver frame. Juan’s cousin was drawn to it immediately and asked the shop owner how much it cost.

The shop owner told him the price, but seemed a little edgy afterward. He told Juan’s cousin that if he wished to purchase the mirror that he must make sure that it is always covered by a heavy cloth after the sun goes down.

Juan’s cousin found the man to be a bit quirky, but nevertheless promised that he would do as the owner bid. He purchased the mirror and drove it home in the back of his truck.

He arrived home in the early evening. After he found a space on the wall of his bedroom to hang it, he admired his reflection for a few minutes, then promptly covered it with a bedsheet. He felt a little silly doing so, but the shop owner had been so adamant…

Dusk approached. Juan’s cousin was relaxing on the couch when he began to hear a steady knocking sound as though someone was at the door. However, no one was there.

Puzzled, he wandered through the house, tracking the noise until he got to his bedroom. Chills ran down his spine as he realized that the knocking sound was coming from within the mirror. Slowly, he grabbed the bedsheet by the corners and pulled it off the mirror.

Inside the mirror was his reflection, but a reflection that moved entirely on its own. Juan’s cousin watched in horror as his mirror self slowly knocked on the glass surface, an eerie, leering smile on its face.

He moved to cover the mirror back up, but his reflection somehow managed to grab him, and attempted to pull him into the mirror itself. This surreal violence had Juan’s cousin paralyzed with fear. He fought to free himself, but his reflection was too strong. He was partially pulled into the mirror.

His fear escalated ten times over when he peered around. Within the mirror he saw his bedroom, but everything was inverted backwards. Juan’s cousin began to pray, and only then did he find the strength to free himself from the mirror.

He fell to the floor and immediately ran out of the house. He ran down the street to his friend’s house and stayed there until morning, too terrified to return to his home. When the sun rose, he and his friend grabbed the mirror and burned it in a raging bonfire.

Since destroying the evil mirror, everything has, thankfully, returned to normal.

2. Scratches in Oil

A young man who goes by the name of Nooko once discovered a mirror in an abandoned building not far from his house. The building was strewn with various trash and broken furniture, and it seemed that the only thing that was in perfect condition was a small, square mirror he had found up against the wall.

Nooko was studying art at the time, and had been interested in painting on a glass surface for some time. He brought the mirror home with him, thinking it would be his next canvas.

He laid out a brand-new tarp, and arranged his oil paints on the floor of his bedroom. For hours, he worked on the mirror, adding stroke after stroke until at last he was finished. On the mirror’s surface was a portrait of himself.

Happy with this work, Nooko carefully closed up his paints and crawled into bed shortly after midnight. The following morning, he opened his eyes and recalled what he had done before. Looking to the mirror, he was shocked to see that it had been altered over the course of the night. His portrait was still drying on the surface, but through his face was a series of long, deep scratch marks.

Had he somehow missed these marks when he first picked up the mirror? No, he had cleaned the surface before he had started painting. Puzzled, Nooko looked around his room, trying to discern what could have made the scratches. All of his supplies were in the exact place they had been when he had fallen asleep. He didn’t have any pets or siblings, and his parents would have never destroyed one of his pieces.

In addition to the scratch marks, Nooko also noticed substantial tears in the tarp. He searched his room thoroughly, but he could not come up with any possible theories as to what had caused such destruction.

He was scared. After the portrait finished drying, Nooko took the mirror and placed it in the shed in his backyard. It remains there to this day. Whenever Nooko needs supplies out of the shed, he always feels extremely uncomfortable, as though something foreign and malicious is present.

He hasn’t look at mirrors quite the same way since.

3. Victorian Evil

When Sotiris Charlambous and Joseph Birch found a large Victorian mirror in the dumpster outside of their London flat, they thought they had hit the jackpot. The antique mirror was quite beautiful, with a thick walnut border. They believed it would look great hung up over the radiator in their apartment.

But not long after they hung the mirror up, strange things began to occur to both of them. Sotiris found himself suddenly waking up in the middle of the night with stabbing pains shooting through his entire body. Joseph, usually a very happy twenty-year-old student, found himself feeling incredibly depressed and void of energy

At first, neither of them made any correlation between their mental and physical symptoms with the mirror. That is, until Sotiris decided to paint the walnut frame a bright silver. After that, their problems only escalated.

Joseph began to experience the same sharp pains that Sotiris felt during the middle of the night. Objects began to go missing, such as keys and documents.

And that’s when Joseph started noticing strange movement coming from the mirror. It began one day when he was alone in the flat. He had been walking down the hall towards his bedroom when he caught movement in the mirror’s reflection out of his periphery. Dark shadows seemed to flicker and move on the glass surface, even when Joseph stood completely still.

The two friends confronted their landlord about the mirror and soon discovered that it had once been his. When they asked if he wanted the mirror back, he quickly shook his head.

“I don’t want anything to do with that mirror,” the landlord said.

It wasn’t long after that the nightmares began. Joseph feared being in the apartment by himself—he was certain that something malevolent was there with him, draining him of his happiness and energy.

Sotiris began to theorize that something awful had happened in front of the mirror, and it had somehow managed to absorb the negative energy from the event. He became convinced that someone had once been murdered in front of its glass surface, and now the mirror brought nothing but discomfort and despair wherever it was.

When the radiator and landline phone mysteriously stopped working, the two friends begrudgingly realized that their troubles were only going to escalate. They decided to put the mirror on Ebay, with full disclosure as to what had been happening to them.

The mirror has since gone to the highest bidder, and the two friends are certain that a feeling of lightness and hope as flooded into their apartment once more. They hope that whoever has the mirror now is well trained in the paranormal and will not experience what they endured while the Victorian mirror was in their home.

4. A Family of Spirits

Most people who have a deep interest in the paranormal have heard about the infamous Myrtles Plantation in St. Francisville, Louisiana. Built in 1796, the house has become known as being one of the most haunted historical locations in the south.

But what some people may not realize is that within the haunted house lays a haunted mirror.

In the hallway, across from the large wooden staircase is a large, rectangular mirror with a gilded gold frame. The mirror has been within the house for well over two centuries, and many eerie stories have surfaced about it.

According to one story, Sara Bradford Woodruff, who lived in the house, along with her husband and children, during the 1820s haunts the house, and is said to be permanently trapped inside the mirror.

Tourists who take their picture in front of the mirror often find strange anomalies in their photographs—creepy looking shadows, or an array of orbs. Some people even claim that they have seen fingerprints and silvery apparitions standing on the staircase reflected within the mirror’s surface.

Some people believe the mirror shows nothing but ordinary reflections, but there are countless accounts of believers and skeptics alike who have seen something paranormal in its ancient surface.

Today, the Myrtles Plantation is open to tours and also serves as a Bed and Breakfast. If you decide to visit, be sure to have your photograph taken in front of the mirror. But be warned—you may not like what you see.

5. Into the Black

Greg Newkirk has always had a profound interest in the paranormal. Over the years, he began to research and track down various objects that others had deemed as haunted. Once Greg had collected a sufficient number of items, he, along with his wife Dana, formed the Traveling Museum of the Paranormal & Occult. Essentially, Greg and his wife travel around the country and display their supernatural finds for anyone who is curious.

A couple years ago, Greg was contacted by a young woman about a small mirror with black glass. The woman, who wanted to remain anonymous, stated that her mother had acquired the mirror during a psychic expo. Her daughter thought nothing of the purchase until her mother began to act very withdrawn and subdued. When the young woman confronted her mother, her mother claimed that it was the mirror’s doing… that it was inherently evil.

Skeptical, the young woman took the mirror home with her, concerned over her mother’s mental health. Despite not believing what her mother had said about the dark mirror, nevertheless she found herself feeling oddly uncomfortable and uneasy in her home. After a few short days, she contacted Greg and donated the mirror to the traveling museum.

At first, Greg kept his distance from the mirror—not because he was frightened by it, but because he didn’t want to be disappointed if nothing paranormal occurred. Often times, the museum has supposedly haunted objects donated to it, but nothing strange ever actually occurs. However, since it was newly acquired, Greg brought it along for their next tour.

One their first stop in Pennsylvania, a woman immediately picked up the mirror and gazed at her reflection. Within seconds, she had grown extremely pale and had set the mirror down, hastening to cover it up with a piece of cloth. When Greg asked her what she had seen, the woman replied that she had seen her own corpse in the mirror’s reflection. The woman then stated that the mirror was dark in nature and that she needed to go pray.

Confused but excited by such an account, Greg made it a point to carefully observe anyone else who grabbed the mirror. Some individuals only saw their reflection…but others had much more ghastly things to report.

Another woman in a different location also claimed to have seen her corpse. One man, a supposed diehard skeptic, stated that he had seen his reflection but that it had turned around and had walked completely out of the frame. Another woman claimed that when she looked at her reflection, her mirror image had begun to whisper ,despite the fact that the woman herself never once opened her mouth while gazing into the mirror.

Greg and his wife continue to tour with the dark mirror, but the paranormal enthusiast admits that he keeps the mirror covered when it resides in their home. He avoids looking at the mirror at all costs. The mirror itself seems to want to draw Greg in, but he has always resisted gazing into the glass surface head on. He has become convinced that whatever the mirror wants to show him, it will not be pleasant.

[vegetalass]

Chain Smoker Robin Hood

Happy Birthday @phen0l!! Sending you all my love and wishes to you for this year! 

this is honestly such a mess…….. but i hope it makes sense and you enjoy regardless! 

i really enjoyed writing an MP reader that was almost caricature-like, as this is a super interesting dynamic i was barely able to capture…. 

i just thought of all the dialogue first and was like… time to rip off someone else’s idea!!!! *sunglasses emoji* 

but whatever lol…… please @ me

posted on AO3 here 🌈

Warning: contains sexual themes and drug mentions!

Prostitute!Levi/MP!Reader - 2279 words

Time seemed a lot slower back when Levi was a little boy. Not that he can remember every single day of his childhood with clarity, but back then, his life seemed to consist of only two things. 

His mom, the first. Her job, the other. 

In fact, one of the first things he remembers understanding was his place amongst all of it. Her love, their home, and then, between all of the men.

When he was at his smallest, he figures that it must’ve been easy enough to stash a baby away in a closet cradle, at least for a few minutes at a time. A toddler is a lot harder, though, and he knows this from memory; it being that most of the few memories Levi has of his mother consist of being told to be patient and quiet. 

He was a good listener, though, and soon enough, as the seemingly endless streams of men began to make sense, so did the rest of his tiny world. 

Is there somebody else in here? 

Despite the time Levi spent curled up in a closet, and the way his mother was never a guaranteed constant, she never failed to make it known how much he was loved despite the constant facade she had to put on during most of her working hours. 

As though the person he thought his mom was and the woman Olympia were two separate people, and the world was divided between fucking things and living. 

He knows now that’s not the case, but sometimes it still feels like the world really is that simple, especially when he’s forced to face the smiles of people who have never had to struggle to survive. 

That’s always when he thinks of his mom the most; her death seemingly meaningless to people who do not care that she got sick and died, even though they are the same people who paid to fuck her. 

Part of him wishes that he could’ve done her right… as if he could go back and change the past, but he was young when he knew her, and he’s not sure what doing right by someone really means. Not in a whore house, at least, because violence was something he found for himself later. After, of course, following in her footsteps. 

Sorry, Mom, he often finds himself thinking, the image of her gaunt and lifeless frown one of the only things he has left of her. 

That, and his fucking job. His job as a prostitute and lackey for his no good uncle Kenny, who has never once hidden his hatred for humanity under his ugly smirk and a cigarette. 

What is he called again? The Ripper? 

Levi thinks that Good-for-Nothing Shit-for-Brains fits even better, which is funny, because he was the one to bring Levi to the Military Police, and then to you, in the first place.  

Shut up, Pisshead. Go back to fuckin’ the Police for all I care.

He can’t say that you are the worst of them… but it’s a really low bar. 

The Military Police all look the same to him, regardless of how they treat him. 

Your face blurring into something, someone, he has seen one thousand times; your cynical smile one of privilege, or luck, and also of hatred, for a military who cheated you out of serving a country you used to love, because since enlisting to fight for it, you can no longer say that you do.

At least not here, and not with him.

Because for all the times he has offered to fuck you in the way that your people have fucked him, you have always laughed and said no. 

Fucking things is out of the question, you told him once, while enthusiastically showing him around the Military Police station, which he supposes he has to appreciate. The freedom that you’ve allowed him, that is, and the fact that you’ve been good to him.

Kind, even, despite your awful peers. 

That’s ironic, he had replied, the dust on every windowsill a cruel reminder of his home. 

Because before you, he had no semblance of hope that he’d ever get to leave the Underground, and now, here he is running from it. 

It would almost seem surreal, this whole world that you’ve spun up for him, and that there’s still the possibility that you could easily take it all away; but part of him knows that you have better things to do than fuck weak boys from the Underground. Things like... stealing military gear, or running off to roll and smoke funny things with the rest of the shitty Military Police boys. Things that he knows aren’t police related, though these were all just guesses, since nobody really knows what is it that the Military Police actually do with their time. 

It’s also guaranteed that he won’t find out while sat across from you on the plush down of your Military-Police-grade issued bed, or during any other time at all, because you are still hardly an exception. 

And while he could almost strangle you for it, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort, too busy sprawled out on your bed next to him, busy lighting a cigarette. 

“What?” you start, cocking your head to the side when you notice his grimace, the newly-lit joint between your lips doing nothing to stifle your grin as you stare at him with dark, half-lidded eyes. 

“What?” he parrots back, confused, if not mostly irritated by your unending and sarcastic cheer. 

“You know, if you’re worried about all this…” you wave your hand in the air, fresh smoke curling under the light of the candle on your bedside table, “Don’t be.”

He glances at you, still disgruntled from being ripped from his daydream about the past, and sighs, “I’m not.” 

He knows what you’re referring to, what it is that Kenny’s talked you into, and that the only reason you’re even doing a favor for him by keeping his prostitute nephew in your quarters is to keep your relations with the underground on the friendly side of business casual. 

But Levi isn’t a fool. He knows that good things don’t last, and that there’s not a single Military Police elite who has ever said what they mean.

Even at your nonchalance on the issue of housing the likes of him in your room, it doesn’t matter. Soon he will end his stay with the military and return back to the Underground. He will go back home to the brothel, and will return to days spent watching the whores’ kids and waiting for the next well fed member of high society to request him to take his clothes off. And after your transaction with Kenny comes to a close and you run out of shit gear to sell, he will have no chance at returning to the surface unless the world fucking ends or the Military Police forget about their sworn duty of lying to the poor. 

He’s honestly not sure which will come first. Not with the Titans that he’s heard so much about, which you’ve already provided enough basis for him to understand, and what that means for everyone who fights them and everyone who doesn’t. 

It’s a life of luxury… or not, and for Levi, he has never experienced the former. 

Maybe that’s a good thing. 

“I can do illegal things...” you begin again, staring at the ceiling in thought, and Levi can’t help but roll his eyes at the fact that you are just someone who will not quit.  

He knows all too well the kinds of things you mean, and though he is the outlaw-and-whore from the Underground that you agreed to house, he rolls his eyes anyway. 

“You shouldn’t.”

There’s not a single lavender candle you could light for him to make him feel comfortable with you, and he feels empty when he finally does look at your unchanging, pleased expression from where you lay on the bed. 

“But I can,” you tease, your cigarette dripping blue ash on the sheets when you shrug. 

He grimaces, before glaring at you, but you only laugh when you peek at him, finding it easy to recognize the street rat in him. 

“Oh, c’mon!” you sit up, beginning to crawl to him from your side of the bed, the collar of your white night shirt dipping below your chest. Levi curses himself for noticing… and then for thinking about the fact that you are someone who has never had to starve. 

“We’ll put you in a nice outfit, add the cape and everything.” You say as you reach him, brushing your fingers over his hair, the cigarette now between your lips, “You’ll look so handsome.”

He is reminded of the many women who call him that back home. 

Don’t frown, Levi!

“And then…?” he asks, one hand reaching for his neck to halt the downward creeping of your fingers. If it were before… when he was still that boy in the brothel, he’d know what to do with your hands. He’d know how to hold them, and move them in such a way that allowed him control of a situation, and a body, that he was being paid to please. 

But you are not that person, and he doesn’t want to be that boy anymore. When he does manage to catch your fingers in his, he drops your hand at least to spare himself the pain of thinking about the fact that he does not want to succumb to the same fate of his mother. 

No matter how much he wishes he could’ve saved her.

He blinks the thought away, as yet again, you don’t seem to acknowledge his distress, laughing as you blow smoke toward the ceiling, “Then ship you off to, I don’t know, wherever you want to go.” 

He pauses, and turns to face where you still kneel behind him, the only thing left between his face and your body a thin strip of silk. You raise an eyebrow at his blank eyes, before realizing that he has nothing to do with his hands since he managed to put yours down.

You purse your lips at his hesitancy to respond, “That’s what you want, right?”

He remains quiet. Contemplative. Always has been, and you can tell, always will be. 

It’s not as if he doesn’t have things to say. He does. He will. But you are not someone who really inspires him to talk, because you are the police, after all, and old habits really do seem to die hard. 

It would make Kenny laugh if Levi were ever able to tell him that. Not that he wants to speak to him anymore than he already has to, but if he’s really honest, you are right. This is what he wants, and he can’t even ask for it.

You’re no longer frowning by the time you take another inhale of your cigarette, and when Levi glances at you, you offer the stick to him. When he does take it, he realizes that he doesn’t plan on giving it back. 

Besides, the warm smoke feels good in his chest.  

He remembers the first time he picked one out of Kenny’s pockets, and he thinks of every time he shared one with a customer. The thought doesn’t seem to hurt as much anymore, not when he’s smoking with you, at least, and for some reason, he doesn’t seem to know why. 

You begin again, because by now, Levi realizes that you always do.

“Erwin likes you, you know,” you say, finally aware enough to remove yourself from his side of the bed to shuffle through the papers at your tiny desk, “which means that I can finally say I did right by someone.” 

Levi scowls at your words, “What the Hell does that mean?” 

He has never been a man of many words, but he cannot help the outburst. 

“It means that you can go to war for me.” You are laughing again now, any remainder of your frown gone just as quickly as it appeared. “You know, join the Survey Corps and all that shit.” 

His sour face falls soft at the thought, and you smile from your seat, not realizing the weight of your words as you begin to gaze off into the distance of your candlelit room. 

“Maybe I’ll even go with you... Leave this shitty burg for once in my life.”

Levi isn’t looking at you, though. He he hasn’t been for a while. 

He thinks about being a kid again; about the way that the world still seems to be divided into two things, fucking people and living, and how there is only one thing left that he wants. 

It’s great up there, Levi. I’ll take you to see it one day.

He takes another drag of your, no, his cigarette, the smoke now clouding his side of the room, and looks at you… but thinks of his mom, and the way not a man in her family could do her any justice.

“Isn’t that romantic, little Robin Hood?” you laugh when you look at him, the familiar smile on your lips suddenly more weary than he’s ever seen it. He wonders if you know what it’s like to make a sacrifice for love, and if you’ve ever had to fight just to live. 

You don’t really seem like the type.

And although you remain in your daze, as you raise a new, unlit cigarette in his direction as if to say Cheers, even Levi can admit that he’s just a little bit excited at the thought of finally being free. 

[kinkykinard]

1500 Follower Ficlet #12

Requested by the awesome @kawaiiusagichansan!

Fandom: Star Trek AOS. Pairing: Pavel Chekov X Female Reader. Prompt: First Time + Mirror. Rating: 18+ NSFW. Warnings: vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, hand jobs, nipple play. Words: 2328. Author’s Note: this fic takes place after the events of Beyond.  Both Pavel and reader are over the age of 18.

“Are you sure, koshechka?”  Pavel asks softly, his fingertips lingering at the hem of your shirt.

You can feel your heartbeat racing away at the thought of letting Pavel see you naked, but at the same time you know that you’re ready to take the next step just by the way your whole body feels.  Your nerve endings are alight with sensation and there’s a deep and desperate pull somewhere in your belly that you know is arousal.  Smiling softly and meeting his gaze, you nod.

“I’m sure,” you reply.  “I want this, Pav.  I want you.”

Pavel’s own smile in return makes your heart burst with love for him.  He nods in acknowledgement and slips his hand further up under the hem of your shirt, his fingers stroking the fabric of your bra.  Even through the material his touch is electric, and you gasp as his fingertips graze one of your nipples.  You’d never expected them to be so sensitive.

Pavel leans in toward you, his eyes closing.  You meet him half way and brush your lips against his, trying to keep your breathing even as you feel his hands move back to the hem of your shirt.  This time, though, he grips it and slowly starts to guide it upward, pausing only a moment to allow you to lift your arms before pulling it off of you all together.

The two of you pull apart as your shirt is discarded and you watch Pavel do away with his own, too.  His gaze slowly wanders from your face, down to your breasts and your belly, then right back up again.  He smiles, his cheeks flushing a darling pink.

“You are beautiful,” he says quietly.

You feel your own face heat at his words and you bite your lip as he leans in, wrapping his arms around you, his hands going to the clasp on your bra.  He unclips it deftly and runs his fingers up under the straps, pulling it off of your arms.  Your heart really starts to race as you’re exposed to a man for the first time in your life.

You watch as Pavel stands, offering you a hand.  You accept it and allow him to pull you to your feet, standing close and feeling the heat from his skin soak into yours.  

As though sensing your nervousness, Pavel gives you a moment to breathe.  He rests his hands on your hips, lightly tracing his fingertips along the waistline of your pants, his thumbs rubbing over your hipbones.  Once be feels you relax into him a little, he carefully continues disrobing you, slipping your pants down off of your legs and encouraging you to step out of them, leaving you in only your underwear.

“How are you doing?”  Pavel asks, taking a moment to undo the buckle on his own trousers.

“Good,” you assure him.  “A little nervous.  This is all so new to me.”

Pavel flashes you a smile as he tosses his pants aside and reaches up to cup your cheek.

“Let me do all the hard work,” he assures you.  “Let me make you feel good.”

You take a slow, steadying breath and nod.  Pavel leans in to press another kiss to your lips and then slowly starts to trail brushes of his lips lower, over your jaw, neck, and collarbone.  You’re so focused on what he’s doing there that you barely notice that he’s slipped your panties off, leaving them pooled at your feet.

Things start to move much more naturally now that the anxiety over that first moment of exposure has passed.  Pavel strips off his own boxers and you feel the head of his hard cock nudge at your belly as he closes the distance between the two of you, his mouth finding yours again.

Pavel’s hands move to your hips and he gently nudges you backward.  the backs of your legs bump into the bed and you nearly trip, but Pavel’s grip on you is tight and sure.  Instead, he carefully guides you down, pulling away from you so that he can sweep your legs out from under you and set them down on the bed.  He crawls into the space beside you and props himself up on an elbow, looking down at you as he splays his free hand on your belly.

“You are stunning,” Pavel whispers.

You shiver as his hand slides higher, his fingertips brushing the underside of your breast.  He’s gentle, taking things slow, giving you the chance to stop him if anything gets to be too much, but you’re getting far too aroused to be worried about much anymore.  All you feel is your need for him, to have more of him, to feel him unlike you’ve ever felt anyone before.

You arch your neck as his kisses linger at your throat, glancing up at the ceiling.  You gasp, startled, when you see your own reflection staring back at you.  The noise gets Pavel’s attention.

“Are you alright?”  He asks softly.

“Why are there mirrors on your ceiling?”  You ask, ignoring his question.

Pavel shifts a little bit so that he can glance at them over his shoulder for a moment before looking back down at you.  His gaze sweeps your body again.

“So that my lovers,” he pauses a moment, amending his wording.  “So that you can see yourself the way I see you.  So that you can watch yourself when you orgasm, see how beautiful you are.”

You feel equal measures of love and trepidation at his words.  You’re blown away by how incredibly sentimental and intimate Pavel is, but the thought of staring at yourself in a mirror while you have sex for the first time is a little bit intense.

“Okay,” you murmur softly, taking a deep, steadying breath.  “I trust you.”

Pavel smiles.

“Da,” he says softly.  “Good.”

He leans in, nuzzling into the curve of your neck, placing hot, sensual, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone.  It feels so wonderful that you feel some of your worry ebbing away as he worships you.  

You let your eyes fall closed as he moves lower and you gasp sharply at the feeling of his mouth closing around your nipple.  His tongue lapping at the sensitive little nub is pure ecstasy and your anxiety quickly starts to fade into distant memory.  You focus on the feeling of Pavel’s lips on your breast and his skin against yours.

His hand starts to wander, slowly slipping down along your rib cage, past your navel, and to the apex of your thighs.  He doesn’t immediately touch your clit, letting you get used to the sensation.  He gently strokes the backs of his fingers against one of your thighs, lifting his head from your breast to look at you.

“Open up for me, Y/N,” he murmurs softly.  “Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

In spite of the confidence underlying his words, you know that Pavel isn’t too much more experienced than you are.  Still, his touch demonstrates a familiarity that puts you at ease and without much hesitation, you part your thighs.

Opening your eyes, you watch Pavel’s hand gently stroke over your core at the same time you feel it.  Your heart skips a few beats as he dips a finger into the moisture between your folds and drags it up toward your clit.  It’s surreal watching everything happen in the mirror above you, but you quickly begin to realize that it’s only fanning the flames of your arousal even higher.

Pavel continues his slow, easy pace for a while, simply stroking you, methodically letting you get used to the feeling of someone between your legs.  As you relax more and more, his touches grow more intimate.  Before long, you feel him carefully slip a finger inside of you, just up to the first knuckle.

“Okay?”  He asks.

You nod, biting your lip shyly as he pushes the digit in deeper.  You glance over at where his hard cock is pressing into your thigh.  Wanting to return the favor and bring him some pleasure, too, you slowly reach over with the hand that’s lying between you two and wrap your fingers around his shaft, giving it a very gentle, experimental stroke.

Your touch elicits a hiss.  You’re just about to apologize when you realize that Pavel’s lips are parted, his breathing suddenly a little faster and a little shallower than before.  His expression is rapt with pleasure and you relax, smiling softly as you give his cock another careful stroke.

You both take your time exploring one another’s bodies.  Pavel adds a second finger, stretching you out just a little, making you desperate for more.  You vary the pressure with which you’re rubbing him and he responds by arching his hips into your touch.  It’s all together so much more pleasurable and sensual than you’ve ever imagined it would be, and also more relaxed and comfortable.

The progression from touching and petting to something decidedly more is natural and easy.  You watch as Pavel almost reluctantly tears himself away for just long enough to roll on a condom before moving to kneel in between your legs.  You’re so wet from the fingering that the lube he takes a few seconds to apply is hardly necessary, but you appreciate his concern for your comfort nevertheless.

Moments later, the tip of Pavel’s cock is nudging at your entrance.  You meet his gaze for a moment, allowing the love and affection in it to relax you, and then nod lightly.  Pavel squeezes your thigh with the hand that’s splayed across it, guiding his cock with the other hand.  Your gaze shifts to the mirror overhead and you watch, completely captivated, as Pavel sinks into you.

It’s just the head at first, stretching you wider than you’ve ever been stretched and filling you.  You groan softly, though it’s a noise of pleasure, not discomfort.  Pavel stills to allow you to get accustomed to the feeling, gently stroking your thigh, his other hand coming to rest on the opposite hip to steady the both of you.

“I want more,” you say quietly, hating to break the silence but wanting, needing to feel an even deeper connection.  “Please.”

Pavel murmurs something in Russian and you feel his gaze on your face.  You want to meet it but you can’t tear your eyes away from the mirror as he starts to push in deeper.  The feeling of fullness inside of you is incredible, and you roll your hips up to meet him as he bottoms out, leaving the two of you looking almost like a single entity in the reflection.

Several heartbeats pass as Pavel collects himself, the feeling of you clenching around his shaft sending ripples of pleasure through his body.  Eventually he starts to move again, and you find even more ecstasy in the friction than you ever thought you could.

“Fuck, Pav,” you moan.  “You feel so good.”

He makes a strangled noise of pleasure at your words, spurred by them, and picks up speed a little.  The way his cock rubs against your g-spot with every thrust is maddening, and you can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection as you watch Pavel move, plunging into you over and over, making your breasts bounce.  You’re beginning to understand why he has the mirror on the ceiling and you can’t help but be aroused by what you’re seeing.

You’ve had orgasms before, but never any like the one that washes over you just moments later.  It had built up so quickly you didn’t even realize it was happening until your hips started bucking, your core clenching hard around Pavel’s cock.  The spasming makes the pressure against your g-spot all the more intense, spurring your climax on.  You can feel how much wetter you’re getting as Pavel continues to move within you and you fist your hands in the sheets beneath you, crying out softly as your orgasm finally starts to ease off.

You’re almost a little bit concerned by how boneless your entire body feels in the wake of such an intense orgasm.  You’re overstimulated and sensitive, and though you want to keep going for Pavel’s sake, you realize that he can tell you’ve reached your limit.  He smiles reassuringly down at you as he pulls out, still rock hard, the condom on his cock slicked with your fluids.

“That was amazing, Y/N,” he murmurs as he moves out from between your legs, letting your quickly stiffening muscles relax.  “You looked so beautiful.  Did you see?”

You glance up at the mirror overhead, reaching between your thighs to feel how slick and swollen you are, moaning softly at both the feeling of your fingers and at the visual.

“I did,” you reply with a nod, shifting to make room for Pavel as he comes to lie down beside you, his still-hard cock resting against your hip.  “And that was incredible.  I’ve never felt anything like that, Pav.  But what about you?”

You nod in the general direction of his cock.

“Do not worry about that,” Pavel says quietly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.  “You have done more than enough.  Rest now.”

You think Pavel is about to roll onto his back to take care of himself, but he doesn’t leave your side.  Instead, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you even closer, tucking your head into his shoulder.  You sigh contentedly at his protective embrace and let your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion overtaking you.

As sleep claims you, you can’t help but feel sated and wonderfully whole.  Of all of the people you could have given your virginity to, you’re glad you held out for Pavel; the sex was even better than you ever imagined it could be, and you’re sure that it has a lot to do with your love for one another.

[rexscelestus]

Play with Fire

Kingpin Last Sunday at 3:23 PM

> You arrive at the cafe long before the time you gave him. Enough time to secure the same table the two of you had last time, get comfy, place your order and set up a chess board. It's nice to have a moment to think about what to tell him while you play a session or two against yourself to warm up. You have no doubt that he will come, despite his lack of response. Despite seeming like a pushover, he's shown to be anything but a coward, and you don't expect him to let you down now. He better not.

PI Last Sunday at 9:46 PM

You aren't sure what is more frustrating, the fact he was so bastardly bold to just out and demand a meeting right after all that happened, or the fact you are actually on your way to attending like a ruddy fool.  Ugh. Damn him back to hell.   This time you are not arriving early, you had hoped even traffic would be slow to cause you to show up late and make him question if you were even showing...but no. Clear traffic and now you're just sitting in your parked car trying to stay warm because some blasted grey faces decided the middle of Derse's winter was the perfect shorts weather. You end up abandoning your wait in the car till just on time plan and end up coming in a couple minutes early anyways because even your car doesn't do that much against keeping the chill out.  Stepping in, there's a glance around to see him at the same table as last time and looking at smug and cozy.  The board surprises you. Was he...was this going to be some casual social?  Ugh, you definitely should have stood him up.

But you're in the cafe now, and would just look like a fool for turning around now.  So instead you make your way to the table as you remove your coat.  "Evening Misster Kingsley." is all the greeting you offer.

February 11, 2019

Kingpin Yesterday at 1:34 AM

You're frankly more disgruntled than smug, but that quickly changes when your eyes fall on him. He's trying to hide it, but you can very well see his black eye. The bruise on your own face may be not so easily visible either, but it's certainly there. But that was easily forgotten once he takes off his coat. You can't help but admire his outfit of choice. In fact, you hook your leg around the chair opposite of you to pull it closer and put your foot on it to explicitly keep him from sitting down and force him to keep standing around for a bit longer. "Good day, Ingleton. That look suits you. A bit cold for the season though." You look down at his legs, then back up at his face. Yep, now you're definitely feeling smug and cozy.

PI Yesterday at 2:09 AM

"Yes. It is."  you grimace as your self consciousness skyrockets.   A nervous shift of your feet until you catch yourself doing it and straighten up, making a soft scoff in regards to his feet deliberately blocking your ability to sit down.  .  "Grey magic is. Not exactly thoughtful when it comes to. Seasons."

Ughh god damnit you can feel your cheeks heating up.  This was the last person you wanted to look embarrassed in front of and yet you walked right into this like a short sighted fool.   You hate this, you hate him, and you wish you could go back to just worrying his wife would manifest behind you to take your head off.  It actually feels like a mercy right now. Another nervous shift, this time you fold you arms (and coat) in front of you defensively.  "So. Is there a reason you called me out, or are you just in the mood for fashion critiques today."

Kingpin Yesterday at 2:17 AM

Ah, you might be quite a hypocrite. You know from first-hand experience how unpleasant even the smallest greyface jokes can be, but you can't help but be amused at his discomfort. Eventually, you decide to release him. With a little shove of your foot, you send the chair back his way. "Sit." As if you suddenly lost interest in his looks, you sign the waiter to bring PI whatever he'd enjoy and start disassembling your solo game to set up the board for a fresh start. You indeed have a reason for ordering him here and it's not a matter you want to discuss in passing.

PI Yesterday at 2:38 AM

An obvious roll of the eyes, but you may as well comply. If only because you are curious...you had expected after the last encounter to hear from him....well truth be you weren't even sure if you'd hear from him at all.  But certainly not so soon after. Also it's cold outside, and there isn't any ground to gain from refusing.  You sit and order your usual caramel latte with white chocolate chips on top of whipped cream.  And a couple sugar cookies please.  As the waiter walks away with your order, the pleasantness of your expression fades as you lean back in your chair to finally take a good look at him.  Back to...well you guess technically he was back to his normal size the last time you met him. But back to the height he keeps in public...part of you wonders how much energy that must be to maintain such a strong glamour to actually reduce one's height in such a dramatic way.  Impressive really.

You're not quite sure if the darkened parts on his face is bruising or just your wishful thinking as you gently bite your lower lip to run your teeth ever so slightly across the still healing scab on your lip from where it was split prior.  Inwardly you begin to die as you realize you have nothing to say so the silence begins to creep as he arranges the pieces.

Kingpin Yesterday at 8:37 AM

You notice the tense silence and frankly you enjoy it, knowing how uncomfortable it must make him. You may just drag that out even longer and start the game  without a word, making your opening move and expecting him to follow suit. You don't expect a spectacular game, just something to keep the both of you busy as you chat. You lean back and look him in the face. "So, Ingleton. What is it you exactly expect out of this?"

PI Yesterday at 8:50 AM

The silence is deafening, with each little clack of the pieces feeling like a noose tightening as you try to figure out something feasible to break the ice.  Weather? Pleasantries? Ughh....those are are awful and would only betray your complete lack of social graces right now.

He makes his opening move without word, only adding to the tension. Is he going to play the entire game wordlessly? On one hand, masterful creativity in regards to torture there because damn.  That is something you never considered dreadful until just now. As he speaks, you feel a spark of gratefulness...that is quickly snuffed out as you find yourself suddenly longing for silence again.  "Expect out of this....game?" you reply back, knowing likely what he is referring to but looking to dodge the answer if only for enough time to gain your focus back.  "Well, I expect I'm going to do poorly. My focus seems to be a bit scattered.  So I hope you don't have high hopes."  Glancing at the board, you consider your options and tactics before moving a piece.

Kingpin Yesterday at 9:34 AM

"No. I mean, a curious answer, but not what I was looking for." You move your piece, hardly taking your eyes off him. "Back at the book club, you told me it wasn't personal. But I seem to have caught your interest since then. And frankly, you may have piqued mine. And yet... You got the got the guts to spit into a King's face, but now you're too much of a pussy to go all the way? ..What a let down."

PI Yesterday at 9:53 AM

"Go all the..." your eyes narrow as your cheeks grow hot.  "What? Were you expecting me to just crawl across this table right here in this cafe or something?  And don't start to speak of let downs, what with you pulling disinterest back there and just..." there is some agitated hand gestures made before you play your next piece as your coffee arrives. "As for the book club, it wasn't personal. Then. You were barely more than a myth, a figure of legend and lore.  Realizing who you were in the middle of talking about romantic stories was perhaps the most surreal experience imaginable, crippling in its harsh reality that you were well...something else. Somebody. Nuanced with depths.  Intriguing and vexing in all the most frustrating ways." You say with a huff as you reach for your coffee.

Kingpin Yesterday at 10:44 AM

"Hm. You crawling over this table? Would be quite the display, I'm not gonna say no." You scoff. "Me? Pulling disinterest? When it was you who made it so very clear that the game we had was most definitely not a date? When it is you who's trying his damnedest to not admit he couldn't resist me all up and close?" You make your move, though you hardly care about the result, then shift in your seat and lean back. As much as you hate letting on that any of that actually bothered you... how dare he say he feels rejected. Though, his little confession is music to your ears. More of that, please. "Listen, I'm not one to play games of will-they-won't-they. Nor will I be a dirty secret you're too ashamed of to admit. If you're genuinely interested.. your chances to prove it are running out."

PI Yesterday at 10:57 AM

He has you there, and your poker face is too poor to really hide that fact as you pause in your reach.  You did make a somewhat big fuss about the lack of date...which was possibly what also caused the whole awful frog fiasco to begin with.  You'd like to focus on the small flickering of pride over the idea that it was something he actually cared about, but you're a bit focused on the table that has been turned to you. You set the mug down, move a piece, and lean back.  "Very well then.  Here's a bit of something to chew on, if you are genuinely considering.  This? This here?" you gesture up and down yourself.  "A glamour. I'll give you two guesses what is underneath, but I expect you'd only need the one."  As much as everything sensible was reminding you it was a bad idea to reveal your cover to not only the enemy but him in particular...It was inevitable if things were to continue, he'd find out.  A fact that had been bothering you since the start.  In a way you expect that this is the end of it all, perhaps that’s why it had been bothering you.

Kingpin Yesterday at 11:56 AM

It is not something you expected to deal with right in this moment, but well, fine. You're chewing on it, while you pick off a piece of your own cake to literally chew on. The revelation hardly comes as a surprise. Probably a good half of the people running around with a human face are actually glamoured and you've long come to terms with the fact that a large portion of that might be Prospitians. You still prefer those trying to blend in and just living their life over those that make no secret of what an invasive species they are. Part of you is astounded how easy you find it to brush this off. But honestly, he already looks like a Prospitian with how spindly and weak is. "So what? Are you going to undress down to your shell here? If it's any consolation, I find you more infuriating for your total disregard of common sense than whatever color you hide under your skin. In fact, a Dersite treating me with such blatant disrespect despite knowing better would be far more unforgivable." You play your piece and direct your attention back at him. "While we're sharing secrets. I'm in glamour too. I know. Shocking."

PI Yesterday at 12:09 PM

"Tch." You roll your eyes as you finally take a drink from your cup. It's quite amazing, how time and time again he manages to say things in such a way that when you should feel some sort of relief it only results in pushing your buttons further.  Insufferable. Setting the mug down, you take a moment actually enjoying the silence as you contemplate your next move...not that you're really paying all that mind to tactics right now but may as well put up some pretense of skill here.  The piece is set and you look at him. "So. You're serious about this."  less a statement and more a question.

Kingpin Yesterday at 12:31 PM

"I am seriously considering it." You take a sip of your own drink and answer with your own move. "I know, I can hardly believe it myself." Your eyes meet his. A merciless stare. You got him where you want him now. Maybe not in the game, but definitely here at the table. It all depends on his answer now. He still has the chance to back out, but you doubt he will.

PI Yesterday at 12:43 PM

You match his stare for a few seconds before you lean back and pull out your phone, flipping it open.  You take a moment typing something in before closing it and pocketing it away.  With your now free hand you pick up your cup to take another sip as you calmly move your next piece without a word. [https://dilldaydreamer.tumblr.com/post/182732779617]

Well, mostly calm. There is a slight shake to your hand as it moves. "Had one asked me a year ago if I'd be here and now, I'd have laughed in their face."

Kingpin Yesterday at 1:20 PM

You're curious about what may be important enough to interrupt with his phone, but you're not going to bother asking. You look at the board and for the first time in this game, you pause to contemplate. Maybe about your next move, maybe about something else. "It's interesting, isn't it? The places we end up in."

PI Yesterday at 1:38 PM

He'll see what you did soon enough, you have no doubt on that.  It was for all intents, a move a few steps ahead that you seem to be fond of.

"It is." you agree as you look between the contents of your mug and the board.  "For so many intents and purposes this was not a place I should have ever been in.  And yet, hard to imagine a place other."  There's almost a laugh at the end of that sentence.  You can't imagine it's the same for him in any way.  It wouldn't surprise you if Derse was essentially in his veins. "Life's funny like that at times."

Kingpin Yesterday at 11:05 PM

You'd definitely say Derse is in your veins. And yet, this place and life are so far removed from anything you've known. Too much change for an old King like you. To also date a Prospitian is a fairly small step in comparison. Honestly, you had your fair share of flings on either side over centuries of war. "It sure is." Well, you said all you wanted to. Kind of still waiting for his answer, but if he needs time to think about it... disappointing, but you're willing to give it to him. All that seems to be left for now is to finish the game with delicious awkward silence. You finally move your piece. Not a grand game, as you take notice, but not nearly as abysmal as the previous ones against him despite all the distraction.

PI Yesterday at 11:31 PM

That awkward silence does creep in, as you find yourself unable to think of anything to add to the conversation.  If only because your head is inwardly spinning and screeching its protests over the possible repercussions of what you posted.  That horrible whirling machination of what-ifs and what will people say and oh god Sleuth is going to have a damn field day.  You can already hear Ace getting ready to sass you...and that's if you are fortunate.

So you try to distract yourself with the game, get your mind off that future problem, and with how jittery you feel perhaps its best to switch to tea.  Between moves, you watch the server and try to lift you hand to flag them when they make a round but...no luck.  Hnhnghn...curse your skills of unassuming nature working against you.

You play a piece, and study the board.  "Pardon me." is all you say as you rise to your feet to make your way to the counter...not really overly concerned with the possibility of him cheating so much once again feeling self conscious of how astoundingly cold it is everywhere because of STUPID SHORTS.  Ughhghgh...focus on getting tea.

Kingpin Today at 12:24 AM

Look at him struggle. This alone almost made the whole meeting worth it. You look after him for a bit, then pull your phone out to check if you missed any important messages. You're a busy man after all. After that, you notice that there's been a post on his blog. (Not that you subscribed to notifications to it or anything. That would be silly. No, you had time and checked it. In case.) What you read honestly leaves you a bit speechless. That is an answer. More than you expected, faster than you expected, yet he didn't give it to you face to face, that god damn pissant. You're.. honestly impressed and mildly amused, mixed in with what can be best expressed as the blinking guy gif. That accusation though, how dare he. You had your plans, and now it's going to look like you're only doing it because he challenged you. And you can't NOT do it or you're proving his point. God. You hate moments like this. Fuck him. But fine, you can play this game. You put your phone away and sip on the rest of your sweet milky coffee as wait for him to return.

PI Today at 12:40 AM

You order tea, and are momentarily distracted by the pastry display...a nice diversion from your own headspace really.  Though the temptation for cookies is strong, you probably don't need anymore sugar right now as you're still feeling the jitters.  With tea ordered, you return to the chair to give a glance at the board.  None of the pieces seem to have moved at least to your recollection.  So either he moved very subtly or indeed is not a cheater. And that's when you remember the awkward silence part of things.  Hngnh...leaning back you debate if you should remind him it's his turn or just sit awkwardly for your tea to arrive and hope he does it unprompted.  Ehhhhnn....fine. "Your move." you gesture to the board as you try to consider any possible tactics or moves to play...oof. You really didn't put any planning into this game.

Kingpin Today at 1:19 AM

You stare at the board long and hard, still contemplating your next move, the muscles in your jaw tensing notably. Not that the board offers a lot of complex strategies going forward. Eventually you just shrug. "Hm. I'm bored of it. You win this one." You set your cup aside and check that all your belongings are still present by pulling them out, then putting them back again. Phone, check. Keys, check. Wallet, check (taking out the payment for the day, while at it). His glasses - oh yeah, keeping those. Then you lift yourself up from your seat. "It was nice, despite all. Thank you for the game."

PI Today at 1:38 AM

Glancing between the board and him, you contemplate which possible moves he may make...only for your brows to instinctively go up as he declares bored defeat.  Granted you can't deny this is a rather mediocre game, but even so you feel a bit insulted since once again you've turned the move over to him and he just disengages now bored.  How frustratingly fickle. It's hard not to pay attention to him sifting his belongings, though your eyes narrow as you recognize your glasses.  That absolute ass.  Your fingers twitch as for a second you debate trying to snatch them out of his hands but decide better, turning your head to feign indifference.  "It was.  Same to you.  Perhaps another time, hopefully you won't get bored so quickly."

Kingpin Today at 2:14 AM

You straighten your sleeves some as you stare down at him, still contemplating, though you're already set on your next move. "Oh, surely. Might just be the game. Ah, let me try a thing." You reach down, but not for one of the figures, no. You grab him by the collar and with a mighty pull you drag him halfway across the table, no regard for any pieces or cups that clatter to the ground. It might be turning a few heads, but you made sure the tip will cover the trouble. He doesn't like public arenas? Too bad. Before he has any chance to react, you lean down and violently press your lips on his. And you're definitely making sure his healing lip is gonna be bleeding again when you're done. "Thought so. Quite a delicious display." You release him fairly quickly, more than satisfied with your work as your smug face betrays. "Check."

PI Today at 4:05 AM

His movement catches the corner of your eye, but it isn't until you feel the grasp on your collar that you realize he wasn't picking up the chess pieces.  Your attempts to sputter out in surprise are stopped short as you're pulled into a kiss.  The sound of errant chess pieces and at least one cup with saucer shattering ring in your ears as you feel your face turn hot.

You weren't expecting this, and in hindsight you should have which only makes this even more on you as you feel like every eye in the cafe is probably staring now. As he pulls away, you already know your lip is back to bleeding from the sting as your cheeks are probably scarlet red...and the look on his face.  You sputter, stammer, inwardly a part of you knows you're going to be fuming mad once it fully sinks in that he got you at a loss of words where all you can do is flounder. And then...he uses the same single word on you that you used prior and your eyes narrow. That arrogant son of a....you have half a mind to try to throw the chessboard directly in his face.  The other half is reminding you that you don't want to get kicked out of this cafe.  But the idea of him walking out and leaving you in front of all these people...no! Oh no he doesn't. "Y-you. Yooooou." is all you manage to spit out as you reach into your wallet to pull out some cash to throw onto the table, not caring if it's more than what was needed for your cost.  You don't care if this looks like a retreat, damn it, damnit all.  With a quick gesture you snatch your own coat up and start to make your departure with haste.  You're just mad, and you can't even think of words right now and that is only making you more upset because he's probably going to have a right chuckle and just. UGH.(edited)

Kingpin Today at 8:23 AM

Oh god are you smug. You didn't expect him to flee the scene this quick, but it's just what he deserves for that little stunt he pulled. You're oh so tempted to call a 'Checkmate.' after him, but you've already made a scene as is, so the thought is dropped quickly - at least for now. You collect what is left of the board and handle the payment for the orders and apologize for the mess you caused. Though frankly, random bouts of pitch should be expected in this city. Once that is done, you take your leave with all the calm and satisfaction in the world.

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

you don't have to write it if it doesn't speak to you, but i just read and loved your fic where peter calms tony down from a panic attack, and now i offer a Good Concept: Peter trying to help Tony get through a meeting at SHIELD when Tony's spacey and in pain from a headache/fever?

@taylortut !!!! I really like this prompt girl!!

In the course of his lifetime Tony has witnessed the discovery of alien life, multiple alien invasions, discovering that the very threads of his reality all coincided within 6 stones, and yet he had never been more confused in his life up until this moment.

Everything Nick Fury says seems to be a jumble of words that don’t seem to be any language, perhaps some alien language but even then they’re barely even audible. They’re all slurred together and seemingly slowed down like his VCR tape had just malfunctioned.

He feels warm and hot all over and he felt like his face was on fire but his lower half was stuck in the middle of the arctic, and he wanted to scream. There was part of him that wanted to throw a tantrum and crawl up on the floor wailing in agony, but he was a grown man who was much respected with a very strong image to pursue and doing such a thing was..out of character, to the say the least.

Tony doesn’t remember the last time he felt this sick, hell, he doesn’t even think he’s ever felt this sick in his entire life. He grits his teeth together as he braces this headache that comes in ravaging like a hurricane in his head, destroying every cell in his brain. His fists are balled intensely in an attempt to anchor himself through this whirlwind of pain, and he doesn’t know if he’s really not concealing his discomfort well at all or Peter is just this observant but either way he can sense that the kid is staring holes into him.

Peter, as always, is kind and loving, with a soul softer than his damn hair, which is pretty damn soft. He doesn’t stare at Tony with malicious or judging intent, he stares at him with genuine concern and worry, and this sort of nervous energy he sort of sees in himself. He knows this kid isn’t his, but it sure feels like it.

Peter doesn’t quite know sign language all too well, he’s only just started after all (because he was an avenger now, all the avengers know sign language for Clint, why was he any different? and yes, Mr Stark, he was an avenger now) and he seems to be making up his own bizzaro form of sign language, which mostly consisted of an equally outlandish series of facial expressions. Tony has absolutely no clue what this kid is trying to communicate, but he can only assume is a, ‘you okay?’

As dumb and ridiculous as this exchange is, at least its amusing and it’s giving him a break from everything else that’s going on.  Peter’s great at that. He gives him a little break from everything in the world that’s shitty and bleak and shows him what’s right with the world. His headache hurt a little bit less.

Tony raises an eyebrow in amusement.

Peter shows a bit agitation, frustrated he can’t quite get his point across, not wanting to interrupt Fury who seems to still be going on about these Ravagers he doesn’t really understand, and tries mouthing his message, but Tony pretends like he doesn’t understand, because yes he’s sick but he’s a little shit and being sick doesn’t stop that.

Peter, who’s directly in front of him, gives him a look that just tells him he knows what he’s up to. He looks absolutely done with him. He sighs dramatically,  and goes on listening to some guy who’s started drone on and on about budget control. Tony knows he’s not really listening though and trying to discreetly check in on him, and he makes a mental note to see about teaching Peter a thing or two about stealth.

But all the joking and lighthearted tomfoolery doesn’t last long and it fades quickly and the storm starts up again. He feels awfully lightheaded and his head hurts so much, his whole body is heavy and he feels lost. It’s like he’s disconnected and disassociated and he’s simply hovering around, him and his body seeming to not connect. He feels a little delirious like his entire body is slowly dying off in a desert and his face is burning.

He feels like his body is begging for rest, gripping at his chair to anchor himself as he’s hit with yet another tidal wave of pain, nausea, and hot and cold waves and Peter seems to sense this. He eyes him worriedly, trying to keep up his discreet charade but he gives it up.

“Do you guys want some water?” Peter chirps up suddenly, interrupting the guy who’s still on about budget control, earning himself an annoyed look. He blushes a little as he realises what he’s done is a little rude, but to him Tony’s welfare is more dire right now than how much money is being allocated towards a new doorway.

“You can get some if you want, Mr Parker,” He sighs, teeth gritted and quickly resuming his bit.

Tony shoots Peter a tired look but the kid is gone in a flash, and when he’s gone it’s like everything is much worse because there’s no one to sulk at. He stifles a cough into the tailored fabric of his suit jacket, going relatively unnoticed which he’s glad for. He lets himself slump just a little, not too much, he still has an image, but he lets that image go just the tiniest bit.

Every second Peter is gone seems to last an eternity and a half. The world does by in this agonisingly slow pace, it seems to blur out of focus so his headache is heightened and he can practically hear his head throbbing. He feels so incredibly faint and so horrible he doesn’t know if he’s even here, it’s a nightmarish version of his life that is so surreal and trippy without the promise of a high.

Eventually Peter returns with a cart full of glasses, and passes some to random people in the conference room. Tony thinks about how out of place he looks, but he understands it for him and it makes him love the kid a lot more now. He wheels the cart towards the him, and passes him a glass of cold water that his brain is crying tears of joy for, as well as a oddly folded napkin.

Tony eyes it suspiciously and lifts the fold to reveal two aspirins and all he can do is give Peter the look of pure gratitude and euphoria.

Peter deliberately drops a napkin to crouch down and whisper, “I got them off this really nice lady called Daisy–you owe me one.”

He discreetly pops the pills into his mouth and gives Peter a nod, taking a good sip of his water. He doesn’t normally accept good actions like this so casually, but he lets his pride go because the sense of gratitude and appreciation he feels outweighs any sense of gargantuan ego he has.

And then everything felt like it was going to be fine. ‘Hell yeah I’m gonna make it through this’, Tony thinks proudly, his headache hurts and the cold and hot waves are rushing up and down him in the most uncomfortable way but he can handle this. He can hold on. Things are actually going in his favour for once. Everything is okay in the world.

But then hell breaks loose and Tony’s world is entirely shaken and flipped and nothing is okay.

He doesn’t exactly know what’s happened because his mind is focused solely on not passing out and keeping up a healthy facade, but he thinks Thunderbolt Ross said something that pissed off Fury and they’re yelling and they’re so loud and there’s more voices yelling and it’s all meddling and it’s just too much.

There’s a ringing in his ears and the room is closing in and Tony can hear his heart thumping and he can feel it and the dull roar of the ringing is now a shrill shriek. The lights seem to be fading in and out and the sounds only seem to get louder and everything seems to be heavier and weighing down on him

and Tony is drowning.

Tony swallows hard as his heart races and his breathing shallows and his hands are sweating. He grips the chair hard and tightly and the pressure he’s applying is so much he can feel the skin of his palms straining and his skin burns. He looks around wildly, his lip trembling and he’s shaking and he feels so lost. He feels so sick and his body cannot handle any more and he’s losing control fast and Tony more than anything hates losing control because he feels like he’s floating away and he feels so hauntingly light.

He desperately wants to ground himself and come back because he’s so terrified he’ll float away so far he can never come back. But then his gaze locks upon Peter’s and it’s like he’s grabbed his hand just before he’s fallen off the cliff into nothingness.

And he still feels like he’s teetering off the edge but he’s still here, and as Peter gives him the kindest look he’s ever seen he feels himself being brought back up to the surface slowly but surely. Everything else seems to fade into a dull roar and he focuses his entire entity on to him.

‘Breathe’, Peter mouths, and he begins to breathe in and out slowly and steadily, gesturing for him to follow suit.

Tony nods shakily, and slowly tries to match him. He’s off tempo and he’s rushing, coming in a bit too early but he gets a sense of the rhythm and follows him, never once tearing his gaze, completely locked on him. And he feels safe. He’s still here.

Peter gives him a smile, a proud smile, and Tony’s left wondering what he ever did to deserve such a sweet person in his life.

Peter’s face shifts and he pulls out his phone, pretending to read a text, and it’s really obvious, and the mental note Tony made to teach Peter about stealth seems to climb up quite a bit.

“Uh, guys?” Peter interrupts the chaos that is Shield’s conference room, earning a particularly venomous look from that budget control guy from earlier.

“Yes, Mr.Parker?” Ross sighs.

“Uh, I just got a text from Mr Rhodes and he says he needs myself and Mr Stark like..uh..urgently?” Peter lies.

“Just go,” He brushes off quickly, seemingly uninterested and diving right into his angry tangent.

Peter gestures towards Tony, raising his eyebrows and heading towards the door. Tony follows, the journey a horrendous trek that seemed to leach every single joule of energy remaining in his body. He keeps himself straight and professional, but the moment the doors closed he feels his knees buckling and his body becoming light and his world begin to tilt.

Peter was quicker, his instincts alert and responsive and in a swoop his arm was catching him and pulling him upright, supporting and caring.

“We gotta get you home, Mr.Stark, I’ll call Happy,” Peter suggests, his grip strong but not hurtful in any sense.

“You shouldn’t see me like this,” Tony laments, remorse and shame lacing his words.

“Why not?”

“Your role models shouldn’t be weak.”

Peter is silent for a moment, but he softens, “All my heroes aren’t perfect.”

“Captain America was the scrawny little guy from New York,” Peter explains softly, and chuckles, “Just like me.”

“Dr Banner has some mental health problems. Hawkeye is hard of hearing. Black Widow used to be an assassin. Winter Soldier’s going through some pretty serious trauma, and so is Falcon. The Scarlet Witch worked with Ultron. And Thor..uh, he seems pretty perfect but uh, I’m sure there’s something–oh yeah, he’s got pretty strong emotions he can’t resist sometimes.”

“But my point is.. All my heroes aren’t perfect . And neither are you and that’s okay. It helps me know that I can be somebody too, you know?” Peter says, and looks over at him to give him a reassuring smile that tells him everything will be okay.

“I..didn’t have a lot growing up and seeing that my favourite heroes don’t have everything makes me feel like I can really do something with my life, you know? All I need..is that drive to make the world better, right? So yeah, no, I gotta disagree with you Mr Stark, my role models don’t have to be always strong. They just gotta keep trying.”

Tony can’t help his smile, “The whole world should be like you, kid. Kids like you remind me about why we do this.”

Tony puts a hand on his shoulder and brings him a bit closer, “Now, enough sap talk and let’s get me the hell home.”

[ayuyikes]

This is a little thing i wrote when i was working out some deets for tiro’s background for d&d, and while im not 100% sure this happened this sounds like a legit way they could’ve met.

"Hold still," she warned with little delicacy in her voice as she pressed the cloth drenched in disinfectant to the wound. He hissed low in pain, his hand clenching into a fist around the fabric of his discarded shirt as if that would make the stinging go away.

After dabbing the surface of the wound clean, she set the cloth aside and reached for her set of clean bandages to wrap around his torso. He tensed when he saw her reach for her salve first, and muttered with a hoarse voice, "Is that really necessary? I don't think touching it is gonna make anything better-"

"It is better," she said when she twisted off the lid and scooped a handful. "This helps against inflammation, so hold still once more."

"Infla-what-" he managed to mutter out before hissing out of predjudice when she smeared the salve on, only for him to fall quiet in confusion.

"It's cool."

"Yes."

"It doesn't sting?"

She wanted to sigh. "Of course not. This is not a disinfectant. Now can you lean a little more back so I can wrap the bandages better?"

He did as told, calmly leaning back on his upper arms so he was no longer bending his torso as much. The cut on his abdomen cleaned up and no longer bleeding, she started fixing the fresh set of bandages around his stomach, ignoring but feeling his eyes fixated on her. She tried to think of something to take the attention off of her hands, but couldn't think of much as she resumed her job in silence.

When she figured she was done, she started loading her salve and the cloth in her pack, making a mental note to wash it later. He spoke up.

"Why did you help me?"

"Skipping the 'thank you', I see."

"'Thank you'," he quickly answered while rolling his eyes in dismissal. "In any case, I was handeling this-"

"Didn't seem that way to me when you had a dagger lodged in your stomach," she rebutted, never taking her eyes of her bag as she was still packing. He huffed.

"Minor discomfort," he tried to downplay but wasn't convincing. "I was winning-"

"It's not winning if the endresult is almost bleeding to death." She finally raised her head, but her eyes were narrow and her face wore a frown. "You should count yourself lucky I was even nearby in the first place! If I hadn't stumbled upon your fight there is no telling if you would live to tell the tale!"

He, wisely, shut his mouth. There was still disagreement in his eyes, but he said nothing when he slowly sat up and made himself more comfortable. Ayuya discarded her bag near the campfire, standing up and hauling more wood into the flames.

"So..." he started again. "Why did you help me?" She sighed at his persistence.

"You looked like you needed the help, alright?" She wanted nothing more but a distraction from the irritating redhead sitting in her make shift camp, but aside from trees there was not much else to look at. "You were severely outnumbered and already injured, did you want me to stand and watch you die?"

He shrugged. "I can't say I'd blame you if you ran tail. Even with your help we were still outnumbered."

"It's 'turned tail'. And even so, I can't just abandon someone that needs help."

He hummed. "So guilt."

"That's not it." She sat down next to the guy as she sought out the phrase. "I know that if it was me in that situation, I would appreciate any help I got. I've always been taught to 'do to others what you want them to do to you', so I went and helped. That's all."

He clicked his tongue. "You're an elf, right?"

She was slightly taken aback by the change of subject. "Wh- Yes. What about it?"

"Well, aren't elves supposed to mind their own business? I never heard of an elf to do charity work like this."

"I- wh-" she gaped like a fish on dry land. "Who cares if I'm an elf! Don't you realize you could've died??"

He shrugged and folded his arms behind his head to lie down, but grit his teeth at the sting in his abdomen. Ayuya saw it and let it happen.

"You're not aware of your situation at all, are you?"

"I'm plenty aware of my situation," he snarled. "I get it that I could've died without you intervening, alright. I just don't get that after all the stuck-up elves I met one just suddenly feels good enough to stick out their neck for once."

She found herself at another loss.

"I can't speak for other elves since I barely know any," she spoke sternly but not harshly, as she weighed her words. "But the one I did know was my uncle and he wouldve never let anyone die on his watch, and I'm not planning on doing any different."

He seemed to have no response to that. She crossed her arms.

"Well?"

"What's your name?"

"Huh?"

She had trouble reading the expression on his face, which was slightly tense but dead serious. Different from the defiance he's shown so far.

It made her a little nervous.

"Why do you want to know?"

He seemed irked at her question. "What, am I not supposed the name of my 'savior'?" he layed the sarcasm on thick. "If I'm stuck here for the night I'd like to not adress you with 'Lass' every time I want your attention."

It seemed reasonable for her, but she didn't feel like complying so easily. "Only if I can hear my 'patient's name first," she snarked, mimicking his need for sarcasm. He grumbled.

"It's Tiro."

"Does 'Tiro' have a last name?"

"Do I look like I have one," he bit back, looking away in what seemed to her as disinterest. "I'm just a guy from a farmer's village. Not much more to my name." He eyed her with curiosity. "Now tell me yours."

She sighed. "Ayuya."

"Ayuya who?"

"I don't have a last name either," she copied his tone mockingly. "I don't know it. I've been living in the woods for years. Not much of a family tree that I know of."

"But you just said you had an uncle?"

"Had."

"Oh."

This time she was the one to shrug. "Don't worry about it. Out of all the things he told me he just never bothered with a last name."

They fell silent and it felt a little awkward after such a loaded subject. She threw another glance at him, and was startled to see him looking right back at her, unabashedly. That reminded her.

"Why did you even get attacked? What did you do to have six people gang up on you like that?"

He shifted his gaze to her purse. "Do you have any water on you? I'm thirsty."

She sighed and fished a waterskin out of her bag, tossing it to him. "At least change the subject subtly."

He caught it just barely, and put the thing to his lips like he just crossed a desert. Water dribbled down his chin, drops falling on his light colored pants which where still tainted with his own blood. Just looking at the dark red stains felt surreal to her. He finished the contents with a satisfied huff and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he gave her a nonchalant shrug. "You wanted to know why I got my ass handed to me?"

She snorted. "Who wouldn't?"

He held the waterskin upside down to catch a drop to wash his hands with, she figured. "In all honesty, I don't know myself. Best case scenario, they just think I'm an asshole."

She scoffed. "How is that the best case scenario?"

"It's the best case scenario if you know the other possible scenarios," he muttered while trying to shift to sit more comfortably. A grunt spilled from his lips and she resisted the urge to grab her bag and hit him with it.

"Stop trying to move so much! You're going to end up reopening the wound if you keep doing that- damnit-" she clawed at her bag to grab her pillow, crawled her way over and shoved the thing behind his back.

"Lie down already. Grant your body some rest-"

He glared at her. "You're not the boss of me."

She held him by his upper arms and gave a little push. "Doesn't matter. Just lie down, it will feel better."

He grumbled and eventually let her push him down slowly, leaning his head on the pillow with a low huff. He sought her eyes again with a wary look. "Don't try anything weird just because I'm lying down now, though."

"Wasn't planning on it," she deadpanned while loosening the ties that bound her bedroll to her backpack. She unfolded it and began to drape it over the boy.

"I also have my own bedroll, you know," he started, putting significantly less of a fight as he was starting to feel tired.

"A bedroll is a bedroll," she replied while she finished up getting him tucked in (much to his dismay). "Get some rest, tomorrow morning we'll try and find a cleric to fix you up."

He eyed her quickly up and down.

"What about you then? Don't you need rest yourself?"

They shared a look.

"I'll have to keep watch for now," she ended up saying. "We wouldn't want to be ambushed in case your 'friends' have back-up."

She laid her cape down and took a seat on it.

"Besides, I need significantly less rest than you do. I'll wake you tomorrow morning to get a few minutes in myself-"

"A few minutes? You're kidding, right?" He seemed to have trouble staying put because he pushed himself up on his arms to look her in the eyes, showing obvious disapproval. "I get that we gotta be on guard, but you're not gonna function on a powernap! We can take shifts-"

"Out of the question," she shut him up with a glare. "First off, you're the one still recovering. If there's one who REALLY needs rest, it's you. Second, I'm an elf. I don't 'sleep'," she lectured using her fingers as air quotes, "I meditate and it takes a lot less time than you humans do with your eight hours of sleep. I'll function just fine on half an hour of that, trust me."

He opened his mouth to protest but couldn't find a solid retort so she creeped over and pushed him to lie down again. "I will wake you early next morning, so sleep, for crying out loud. I'm not strong enough to carry you back all the way to civilization myself, alright?"

She sat herself down back where she was seated before, keeping her eye on him before tending to the fire.

"Don't worry. Tomorrow morning you'll be rid of me."

((And then they traveled together for two months))

[arcticficialbanana]

Wild World, P2

Part 1

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 3,770

Warnings: Mental health issues, fairly angst heavy.

A/N: This one goes out to @amor67figment-love and @notetoselfedits thank you for the support Fam ;)

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 “I’m not sure, but she seemed like she didn’t know what was going on. I mean, she was lucid, she just seemed to think the institution was operational.” Sam covered his face with his hands, pressing his fingertips into his forehead trying to make sense of the situation.

 “So this lunatic,” Dean waves his finger in the air but Sam cuts in abruptly, “Y/N,” he asserts as he puts his hands through his hair, “Her name is Y/N, and she is not a lunatic.”

 Dean’s mouth hangs open for a moment before he puts his hands on his hips, “Okay, so this Y/N-”

 “Just Y/N, Dean.” Sam says through gritted teeth.

 Dean sighs and walks over to Sam, crouching down by the armchair, “What’s going on Sam? You’re real touchy today.”

 Sam looks down at his brother and drops his hands to his thighs. He takes in a deep breath and shrugs, “It was so surreal. She seemed so scared of me, and she ran back into that hell house like it was a daycare.” Sam shakes his head and laughs a humorless chuckle, “But she was real. I touched her and for a moment she trusted me. She wasn’t scared of me until I tried to lead her away.”

 Dean looks over his brother’s face and bites his bottom lip. Seeing Sam twisted up like this seems so uncharacteristic. They’d been through much stranger situations, so Dean doesn’t understand how one girl takes so much out of Sam. Dean pats a hand on Sam’s knee, “Why is this getting to you man?”

 “Dean...” Sam drops his head and his gaze goes through the floor, “How far are we from losing touch with reality? What has our reality turned into over the last ten years? I mean, it started as us protecting people from the daily Wendigo, Scarecrow, or Shapeshifter. Look at us now, Dean. When was the last time we’ve spent more of our day with humans rather than Demons, Angels, and Reapers?”

 Dean clenches his brow and thinks deeply, “Come on man, what are you talking about? Everyone we care about is human,” he plants his hands on his knees and stands up.

 Sam looks up at Dean desperately, “But how many of them are still here? When was the last time we were with Bobby? Jo and Ellen? Charlie? Dad? Eileen?” his eyes are red and he blinks at Dean.

 Dean looks around the room as he inhales a labored breath before throwing his hands up in the air, “What about Jody? Donna? Alex? Garth? Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t play the list game. Just keep looking forward.”

 “Are we even helping people anymore? When did fighting switch from saving others just to protecting ourselves?” Sam waits for Dean to think about it all.

 Dean’s face drops and he swallows hard before turning back to Sam, “We are protecting people. Everything we do is to save the world.”

 “How many times have we given something up to save each other? Save Cas? How many selfish decisions have we made?” Sam’s voice rasps.

 Dean can’t handle any more and he rushes to the table and grabs 2 coats before coming back to Sam, “That’s it, we’re going. Put your coat on.”

 Dean shoves a jacket into Sam’s chest and Sam looks at it in his hands like a foreign object, “What?” he breaths in confusion, “Where are we going?”

 “To find Y/N.” Dean says as he pulls his arm through the jacket sleeve.

 Rain drops pitter patter on the window in the common room. The night is dark, so you can’t see the droplets, but you assume they are there since you can hear the drumming on the roof. You stare into the darkness, studying what detail the moonlight can illuminate for you.

 Faintly you see thick, aged ridges in bark on the side of a tree. You put your finger on the cold glass of the window, tracing the lines you can make out. You huff hot breath over your fingers, leaving a foggy shape of your hand behind on the window when you pull away.

 A chill on the back of your neck gives you the uncontrollable urge to turn around. You look over your shoulder and see a patient staring at you.

 You blink your eyes several times to adjust to the room and realize it’s your roommate. You nod a sort of introduction and she keeps her eyes very still on you. Starting to feel uncomfortable you turn back toward the window, but the chill is coming in from outside.

 “You don’t have to feel bad.” A voice responds to an unasked question.

 Your chair scrapes the linoleum as you turn around once more, “Excuse me?”

 “About frightening me. It wasn’t your fault. I get night terrors. Sometimes I start screaming and flailing, you just happen to be standing there.” Your roommate initiates a conversation.

 You aren’t sure what to say, but she is right, you did feel like you might have triggered some fear.

 “That sounds terrifying.” You turn your chair around so that you are fully facing one another. Her arms are resting lazily on the worn fabric of the chair. She starts to pick at a loose fiber, twirling her finger around the tear.

 “There is nothing you can do to help me. It’s an old recording on replay now more than anything.” She bores into you without blinking, making you cross your legs in discomfort.

 “Don’t they give you medication for that?” you ask, curious about how someone lives with a condition like that. You suppose it’s not like they can have a normal relationship if they’re constantly terrifying people who live with them.

 Tilting her head at you she responds, “They’ve tried the good old fashioned ways.”

 “I don’t…really know what kind of treatments are…implemented.” You blush, embarrassed as she studies you carefully, “I suppose I was living in a world that I didn’t need to learn about any of that.”

 “Electric shock therapy.” She says coldly, “Leeching.” You wince at the image in your mind.

 “That’s inhumane…” you whisper and look around with concern, “Was that here?” you ask nervously, feeling selfish for asking such a question after she confided in you.

 “I’ve been to many institutions. This is just the one where they sent me to die.” Her lip quivers barely noticeably. 

 You feel a tightness in your chest, feeling her pain and fear at what is to come, “You can call me privileged, but when something isn’t your problem you just don’t care to spend the time to find out.” You are abashed, but it’s not like there was anything you could do about medical decisions made way over your head. The light of passing headlights refracts through one of the windows.

 “Did you know lobotomy was a normal practice for anything doctors couldn’t explain? If you’re a paralyzed vegetable you don’t have night terrors or voices in your head anymore.”

 Your body tenses up and sympathy seizes you, making you both devastated and furious with mankind. Humans are so quick to shove anything under the rug that makes them uncomfortable or that they can’t explain. Out of sight and out of mind, don’t let other people’s pain taint our good time. Equality for all- as long as you are a theistic, wealthy, white, educated, heterosexual.

 “Everyone is so ashamed of mental illness and things they can’t understand that they’d rather close their eyes and have someone else deal with it than know what goes on to their loved ones.” You shake your head in disappointment, “People care even less if it isn’t affecting a loved one. Just hang them out to dry, as long as it’s not my problem…” you are humiliated that you are one of the latter people.

 “But now that it is my problem, I can’t help but wonder what they are going to do to me.”

 Your roommate cocks an eyebrow and watches the emotions run across your face, “Well, they’re not going to give you medication.” She declares.

 You raise your head in alert and wonder just how sure she is of this, and also what is she implying? Are they going to give you electro-shock therapy? Or worse?  

 Your roommate leans toward you, some hair falling in front of her face, “Listen,” she says softly for the first time, “You don’t belong here.”

 You raise your eyebrows, surprised that you’ve heard this more than once since you’ve gotten here. She smiles gently and continues, “You’re not like us.”

 You look at her bleak, thin arms as they reach out for you, “You should leave while you can still go.” Her expression turns from kind to dreary and a chill runs down your spine.

 You are sitting too far from her, so her arms drop to her sides when she can’t reach you. She pauses and watches your throat as you gulp hard. She is definitely a patient, not a doctor, so you don’t think her warning message was a test this time.

 She works her jaw, clearly attempting to decide if she should say anything else.

 “I’ll be in the room. I hope I won’t see you there.” She says, not in an obnoxious way. She stands awkwardly, moving her limbs one at a time and with stiff gestures. You watch her walk into the dark hallway, feeling uneasy about your conversation.

 The headlights illuminate the overgrown driveway, occasionally lined with stone pillars. Dean drives slowly over the rocky terrain, keeping aware of his surroundings. He pulls up next to a sedan in the abandoned front lot.

 Dean kills the engine and the brothers get out of the car, quietly shutting the doors. Dean shines a flashlight on the face of the building; stone covered in moss and water stains. Dean whistles and tosses Sam a flashlight.

 They walk over a cement path, ivy crawling through the cracks in the way and along the walls of the building.

 “This place?” Dean squints at a window on the second floor with shattered glass in the pane, “You sure she’s in there?”

“I saw her run inside.” Sam says certainly.

 “Well, here goes nothing.” Dean sighs as they approach the large wooden door, grabbing the iron knob and pushing the door open. A loud creak echoes in the room and Dean aligns his gun underneath the wrist holding the flashlight.

 “Dean,” Sam places a hand on his arm, lowering the aim of the gun, “We don’t want to scare her if she is in here.”

 Dean looks at his brother skeptically for a moment, but nods and puts the gun in his belt. He looks around the room, dusty and lined with spider webs. Dean makes a face and gags, making Sam shake his head in amusement. The guy hunts evil for a living, but spiders and snakes skeeve him out. 

 Sam walks over to the reception area and reaches for the knob to the office, “Locked.” He sighs.

 “Hey, check this out.” Dean says over a clipboard, “Y/N filled out a form.” He waves the paperwork in front of Sam and hands it over.

 “Where did you find that?” Sam looks over the basic information, verifying that it was indeed Y/N. The date was recent, and her address is local. How was it possible that she hasn’t heard the haunted legends of this place?

 Dean slaps his palm on a counter jutting out from a reception window, “Right here.” He peeks inside the room, “Not much in there anyway.”

 Sam briefly looks up at Dean and nods, “Gotcha.” He tosses the clipboard down on a leather couch with deep wrinkles and sagging cushions. 

 “So...” Dean looks at footprints on dirty floors leading out of the room, “She comes in here, doesn’t notice it’s a mess, fills out a patient entry form and…” He shines his flashlight down the hallway outside of the room, “Thinks she hands it to someone?”

 Sam follows up behind Dean, “I guess so.” They walk past dark windows with faded curtains, “We’ll have to ask her about that.”

 Sam puts a finger through a moth-hole in one of the curtains, “I guess we see what we want to see.” He wipes his hands on his jeans.

 “It’s pitch black; did she imagine light too?” Dean wiggles his flashlight on a wall and peeks through a door, revealing an out of commission bathroom, “Doesn’t she shower? I don’t know if these pipes are working.”

 Sam rolls his eyes but replies, “I guess, if she came in the day time then there are enough windows that she wouldn’t need light.” He checks out the bathroom after Dean walks away and mutters, “I don’t know about the water.”

 “Well, did you smell her?” Dean adds with a chuckle.

 They walk in silence as Sam tries to remember anything particularly unusual about Y/N when he met her outside.

 Before Sam can give a recount he hears a faint sound and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, signaling a finger to his mouth.

 Dean reaches for his gun but Sam shakes his head, mouthing ‘I think it’s her’ and turning his head in the direction he thinks he hears the sound.

  “…ashamed of mental illness” he can just barely make out in the empty, echoing halls of the asylum.

  “What do you hear?” Dean asks, his days of blasting hair metal in the Impala catching up to his hearing.

 “Um,” Sam closes his eyes in concentration, “they can’t understand…close their eyes…someone else deal with … Here, I think it’s this way,” Sam opens his eyes and points through a door that leads to a room with a circle of chairs. 

 Sam walks carefully on the balls of his feet to avoid making noise, paying attention to the voice. Dean walks around a push cart stacked with meal trays and nearly walks into a cracked foot stool.

 “…what they are going to do to me.”

 Dean tugs on Sam’s jacket and exclaims, “I hear it!” in an excited whisper. Sam scowls at Dean, realizing he probably thought this was some sort of mental breakdown on Sam’s part.

 Dean shrugs and wipes the smile off his face when he notices Sam’s aggravated look. They both approach the doorway to the next room with caution, moving the beams from the flashlights out of the way.

 Sam signals for Dean to stay in the dining area while he tries to approach Y/N, “Watch out for spirits.” He says softly. Dean nods.

 Sam takes his steps with a light foot, noticing that Y/N is facing a hallway perpendicular to him, so he didn’t want to make her jump.

 He bites his bottom lip, unsure how to approach the situation. Sam was used to sneaking up on enemies, but that ended with one of them dead. How was he supposed to talk to you without surprising you and having you run away again?

 He cleared his throat lightly.

 You looked up and turned around, pausing for a moment.

 Then your eyes widened and you gasped, “You again!”

 “I see things and hear things that aren’t really here.” Sam says abruptly.

 “You…” a muscle in your eye twitches and you are taken aback by his sudden confession.

 “It’s past curfew, if they see you in here-” your heart races as you panic.

 “I used to hear the voice of Lucifer, constantly torturing me, and I could never tell if he was really there or not.” Sam was tense, but when he saw your face relax he let out a breath of relief.

 “Lucifer… the devil?” you screw up your face in disbelief.

 “Satan himself.” Sam chuckled, “I kept telling myself he wasn’t there…but he was so real. So in my head. Nobody else could see him, so I felt like my mind was slipping.”

 You start fiddling your fingers, unsure if you should believe Sam. It’s not much stranger than your roommate’s night terrors and almost-lobotomy, is it?

 “So why were you telling me I don’t belong here?” you chew on your lip, hoping for a reasonable explanation.

 Sam looks uncomfortably to his left, “Um,” he takes a tentative step toward the center of the room, “Why don’t you tell me what brought you here, and I’ll answer all of your questions in return?”

 You watch as he approaches the chair recently occupied by your roommate. He looks at it with a frown and decides to sit on the floor instead.

 “I was…” you start to recall, “Someone I knew…” you fumble over your words, unsure how to begin.

 “It’s okay.” Sam reassures, “Why don’t you start with when you got here.” He barely looks up at you, as even from the floor he reaches your shoulders in height.

 “I came here on Sunday. I told them…that I…hallucinated.” You stuttered. Sam didn’t interrupt, but his eyes urged you on so you continued, “They listened to me and took me to a room, so I’ve been here since.”

 “Took you to a room? Did they say anything?” Sam presses and you try to recall exactly how it went down.

 “I don’t think so, they just listened to me and smiled and went down the hallway so I followed them. When the nurse walked into the room she looked at me then after I sat on the bed she left.”

 Sam nodded and looked at the floor for a second, then he asked, “What happened after that?”

 You look to the hallway to your room, “Well, I just did what my roommate did… so when she went to group therapy or the community garden I did that too.”

 Sam contemplated your story and looked into your eyes with great care, “So what do you eat?”

 You realized that you hadn’t eaten since you’ve arrived, but neither did your roommate, so you hadn’t thought of that.

 “I haven’t been hungry, actually.” You give Sam a slanted smile.

 Sam’s face drops and his worried expression makes your smile fade away, “Is everything okay?” you wonder.

 “You haven’t had anything to drink either?” Sam questions.

 “There’s a water fountain there,” you point to the wall behind Sam, “But I haven’t been really thirsty either.” You shrug.

 “You don’t find that strange?” Sam suggests, but you hadn’t felt thirsty so you didn’t think it was that strange.

 “Okay. Could you tell me about your hallucination? Then you can ask anything you want.” Sam smiles weakly.

 “I saw an apparition. After I came home from work, it was just there in my house.” You rub the sides of your feet together nervously.

 “You’re sure it was an apparition? No chance someone was there? Or it was a shadow from the window?” Sam furrows his brow, determined to defeat your idea.

 “It had a face.” You shake your head, “I know it wasn’t real.” You take a deep breath in and look to an empty corner of the room, recollecting the image in your head, “It was the face of someone I knew.” You blinked your burning eyes, “They are dead.”

 Sam chews on his cheek, unsure of how to respond, but you clap your hands together, “Okay. So, Sam.” You shake your finger at him playfully, “So doesn’t that sound like I belong here?”

 You make a very awkward laugh and continue, “So why do you say I shouldn’t be here?” you cock your head and cross your arms, awaiting his response.

 A clang in the other room makes you hop up in your seat and grab the arms of the chair. A moment later a voice comes through the doorway.

 “Because you’re not crazy,”

 You grip the chair tightly as you peer over to the doorway, watching as a large muscular man you don’t recognize comes into the room with a crowbar.

 “What the hell?” You gasp.

 “It’s alright, that’s my brother.” Sam says, slapping a hand to his forehead.

 “Who are you?” Your eyes widen at Sam, questioning if you should have told him everything, exposing yourself when you don’t even know who he is really.

 “I’m Dean Winchester, that’s my little brother Sam. And I just encountered a very angry ghost in the cafeteria, so we should probably get out of here.”

 “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Your eyesight snaps to the crowbar gripped in his hand.

 “He won’t hurt you-“ Sam puts a hand out toward Dean and reaches for you before you interrupt, “How do I know YOU won’t hurt me?”

 Sam looks hurt, and you aren’t sure if it is a ploy but you instantly regret saying that.

 “Listen, Sweetheart, we can answer all of the questions you have, but we’ve really got to change our scenery.” Dean looks around the room, gripping the crowbar with both hands like a bat.

 “I feel much safer here than-“ you slowly stand up and move to the edge of the wall.

 “They’re right.”

 You turn your head to the voice, where your roommate stood in the entrance to the hallway.

 “You’re not as safe here as you think.” She says and waves her hand in front of her body.

 Your eyes flicker with light and you hold your arm in front of your face. When you pull your arm away you blink rapidly, seeing the room filled with rusted, broken chairs and dried leaves all over the floor. You shake your head and look around again, seeing cracks in the wall and a wheelchair with a bent wheel frame. 

 You turn around to the wall and try to catch your breath. Instead you see several layers of peeling paint and papers barely clinging to the wall and fallen along the floorboards.

 “What…” you cover your face, “What is this?” you walk backwards until you run directly into Sam’s chest and spin around to face him, “I’m hallucinating again.” You say with a rasp in your voice.

 “No.” Your roommate croaked, “You saw what you needed to see.” She takes a step into the room. Dean tightens up on his weapon.

 You turn to her, trembling, your throat itchy, “You said…”

 “That I was sent here to die.” She says through rotted teeth, “I did. We all did.” She takes a few more steps, and without realizing it you started walking toward her as well.

 Just a few feet from one another she groans, “That’s why you don’t belong here.”

 As her lips curl back over her decaying teeth she lurches for you and you squeeze your eyes shut as an iron bar comes swinging in front of you.

[gusenitsaa]

Charlotte (Part 1 / 2?)

Prompt: "How do you think things would have been different if (Killian) and Milah had had a child?" 

The current plan is that part 1 will take us all the way to Neverland. (oh yes, still) and part 2 will take us to storybrooke (yes YES,  still!) CS eventually, but most of this story does take place long before Emma is born and focuses on Killian!  

Thanks to @pirate-owl , @justmilah and @queen-mabs-revenge for headcanon angsting with me and inspiring me to put this on paper!  

Read on FF!

It wasn't like the first time.

When Milah learned she was carrying Baelfire it was a time of hope and limitless possibilities. This time… they'd talked about it and Killian had accepted her decision. It was too risky. She couldn't bring a child into the world when some magic she didn't understand and hadn't agreed to might bind the child to slavery.

But here she was, despite all their best precautions.

She wished she could feel pure joy, wished she could draw a little girl with her curls and her father's eyes. Wished all she had to fear was how rough seas might exacerbate her nausea. An infant on a pirate ship? It was absurd, even Bae- Her heart clenched at the thought of her first child, still so young. Still too young for the life they had chosen?

She didn't tell Killian.

He knew something was wrong, asked her to trust him and she did. She did trust him, but she could barely handle her own emotions, she wasn't sure she could handle seeing his eyes light up before he remembered. That look of worry that would settle onto his face, the way his eyes would go distant as he tried to find a way out. A way to protect their child from an enemy they couldn't see.

It took him nearly two weeks after she figured it out before he finally cornered her in their cabin. She'd been avoiding him, quite the feat when you're on a ship and the man you are trying to avoid is also your captain.

"Milah, please talk to me-"

"I can't-" she didn't quite meet his eyes and tried to leave, tried to escape before he saw. She'd nearly made it out of the cabin before he spoke, a note of desperation in his voice.

"We will find a way to protect the child." She froze, closing her eyes, and heard quiet steps as he came up behind her. She turned, burying her head into his chest the tears finally falling.

"How did you-" she started but shook her head. Of course he noticed. His arms tightened around her. "What if we can't? What if someone steals her from us." She hadn't noticed until that moment but was suddenly certain that it would be a little girl and he didn't question her.

"Then they will learn it is unwise to steal from a pirate."

"So we just wait?" she knew she sounded panicked but now that he knew the emotions she'd been bottling up exploded to the surface. " Do we just wait for someone to come and-"

"Shhh, Milah, love, we will not just wait. And tomorrow we will discuss the logistics at length. But tonight-" he pulled away just enough to kiss her softly. "I know it's not what we planned but, Milah are you… are you happy?" There was a nervousness in his eyes and she smiled in spite of herself.

"I'm scared, Killian. But yes, yes I'm happy too."

Returning to her small port again after all these years was surreal. She didn't think it was possible but somehow it seemed even smaller. She leaned against his desk with her arms folded glaring at him as he belted his scabbard around his waist.

"We agreed to this days ago, love," he told her, not needing to look up to feel the heat of her glare.

"I've changed my mind," Milah snapped, "You can't go alone. They say he's a healer but what kind of a healer deals in children."

"All the more reason for you to stay here. We do not know what magic he possesses, if any. What if he has a way of knowing you are with child? He may consider the child his due already. Promise me, love? That you will not seek out the healer? Give me one day. One day to find out the terms of that deal. To determine the situation, remedy it if I can."

She nodded glumly and he took her hand, pulling her closer, "I love you."

"I love you too, Killian. Please be careful."

"Always."

It was nearly nightfall before Killian found Fendrake. The man lived in a tent which was inconveniently mobile. He just seems to find you, was all anyone could say when he told them he sought the healer.

When he stepped inside the man looked unsurprised as though he'd been waiting.

"You made a deal with a man named Rumplestiltskin," Killian said, he hooked his thump through his belt loop, close enough to his blade need he draw it but with a facade of calmness.

"I did."

"I wish to know the terms of that arrangement."

"And why should I yield such information to you."

"Because you do not want me for an enemy," Killian replied tersely.

"Perhaps not," Fendrake smiled though and did not look worried in the slightest. A document appeared in his hand and the man looked it over. "What is it you want to know pirate?"

"What did he promise you?"

"A child. His second born child."

"His second born child?"

"Am I to understand congratulations are in order?"

"He has no second born child."

Fendrake sighed, "usually I don't have to bother reminding people that this is a binding contract until there is a second child," he grumbled irritably and the document vanished. Killian turned to go and Fendrake spoke from behind him. "Ah, he doesn't... But she will."

Killian turned slowly, his face a mask.

"I'll admit, it would be a stretch but deals can be funny things. Interpretation is everything. Let's talk, pirate, perhaps we can make a deal. To ensure my interpretation is to your liking." Killian smirked, he knew a blackmailer when he saw one.

"What is it you want, healer?"

"Your second born, of course. Your second born to ensure the safety of your first. I mean you may never have another child, so it's really-"

Killian moved so fast that the man didn't finish his sentence, letting out a small choking sound as Killian's blade flew, impaling the man through the heart. The man sagged and Killian pulled free the blade.

"Goodbye, healer." Fendrake collapsed, eyes wide and staring. Killian cleaned the blood from his blade with the sleeve of the dead man's tunic and sheathed it, leaving the tent without looking back.

When he got back to the Jolly Roger he found preparations to make sail underway, Milah hurried to meet him at the gangplank, her eyes flicking over him to ensure he was unscathed.

"Well?" she asked worriedly.

"It is done. The man told me that it is Rumplestiltskin's second child who is promised." Milah sagged in relief. "Then he told me it was a matter of interpretation and tried to interest me in the same deal. My second-born for my first."

"Killian, tell me you didn't-"

Killian shook his head. "He will be making no more deals." He glanced around at the men preparing to make sail and looked back at her with eyebrows raised. "What is this, Milah, I thought you'd want to stay. To go see your lad?"

"I did," she admitted.

"You… did?" Killian's face was confusion for a few seconds before his eyes widened. "The boy is below isn't he?" Milah nodded. "Your husband… let him go?"

"Not exactly. But I told him that this was best for everyone. What is he going to do if the soldiers come to take him away in a few years? Beg for mercy? I told him if he wished me to stop he'd have to make me stop. He didn't."

Killian nodded, "and the preparations?"

"Just in case. He's not… well liked and he won't fight his own battles so…" she shrugged. "Killian would you like to meet him?"

"Very much. What have you told him, about his father?"

"Not much. That his father loves him, but he can't protect him from the ogres on land, so we're going on an adventure at sea."

Killian nodded and Milah led him to their cabin. Bae was by the window when they came down looking over the water towards the port. He looked nervous but he smiled when he saw Milah.

"Are you sure Papa cannot come on an adventure with us?"

"No, my sweet boy. But we'll have fun won't we, you won't believe all the amazing things I'm going to show you." She ruffled his hair affectionately and he smiled. "I'd like you to meet someone, Bae," she looked over towards Killian who stepped forward now. "This is Killian, he's the captain of this beautiful ship."

"Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, my boy."

They'd planned on being back in port by the time their child was born but the storm had raged for the better part of a week, blowing them off course and with only storm sails, their progress slowed to a crawl.

It would have been fine. If their child (daughter, Milah insisted,) hadn't decided she'd had quite enough of her sheltered life. She came several weeks earlier than they were expecting her and really he should have known Milah's daughter would be as eager to see the world as her mother.

But bloody hell now? The storm had been raging for days and everyone was exhausted. And to make it worse the midwife who had been sailing with them for the past month was seasick thanks to the storm. Killian slipped into the cabin, shaking wet hair from his eyes. The cabin pitched and there was a groan of discomfort from the midwife. She still looked a little green but she seemed better than she had been this morning thanks to her near constant nursing of ginger tea in his borrowed flask.

"I'm sorry, love," he said taking Milah's hand, "we should have been in port weeks ago in case-"

"You should be topside-" Milah hissed, squeezing his hand tight. The ship pitched again and he tightened his grip on the cot to stay upright.

"Aye love, I just wanted to see you."

The contractions would return soon, she'd been counting in her head and Killian had picked the worst time for a visit. "Killian, I love you-" Milah started.

"I love you t-"

"But if you do not get out of this cabin within the next 45 seconds I might just rip your spine out through your throat, understand?"

He kissed her hand, "Understood."

"Captain-" the midwife called as he made for the ladder. "Some fresh water and maybe some more ginger tea?" she asked and Killian nodded.

"I'll send someone with both. Anything else?"

"It would be pretty helpful if you could keep the ship steady-" she grumbled under her breath.

"I'll do my best, love," Killian replied.

The storm raged for three hours longer before finally beginning to calm and Killian almost wished it hadn't. Without the sound of wind and rain he could hear Milah's cries from the cabin and it broke his heart.

He hurried below to the hold to check on Bae. The boy had gotten his sea legs quickly after a rocky start the first few weeks and now he could sleep through near any storm. But not, apparently, through the muffled sounds of his mother's cries.

"Is she going to be okay?" Baelfire asked the second Killian opened the door to the hold.

"Aye, lad," Killian assured him, "she'll be alright" Baelfire dove forward into his arms and Killian stiffened at first, unaccustomed to such affection from the boy.

Things were not smooth between them at first, it was difficult for the boy not to feel like Killian was trying to replace his father when they had to explain to him that he was going to have a younger sibling.

Killian rubbed his back calmingly. "She's going to be just fine," he repeated, hoping desperately the nervousness didn't creep into his voice.

Their daughter comes screaming into the world and into the first sunlight the crew had seen in a week. Some of the more superstitious of the lot spin tales already, already wrapped around the finger of the child who calms the storm.

Killian is not particularly superstitious compared to some of the men, but the moment he sees his daughter wrapped up in her mother's arms something in him shifts, a subtle thing that he doesn't fully understand until later. He presses a kiss to the top of Milah's head.

"I was right," Milah teased lightly, "she's beautiful isn't she?"

"Like her mother. What's her name?" They had talked about names for her a few times but he left the final choice to Milah in this moment. After all, it's bad luck to name the babe before she arrives… (perhaps Killian is a little superstitious.)

"Charlotte," Milah said quietly.

Milah had been worried about having a child so young aboard a ship but Charlotte had never known anything else. She was not prone to fitfulness but the first time they took her on land she screamed like a banshee until her mother relented and took her back to the gentle rocking of the ship at harbor.

"Just like her mother," Killian teased when Charlotte relaxed, calmed by the familiar movement under their feet.

She'd gotten her father's eyes, to Milah's delight and though her hair curled like her mother's it was lighter and sun streaked. She thought it odd at first and asked Killian about it. He smiled and tousled her hair affectionately. It was the same color as Liam's had been.

Bae adored his baby sister. Watching them together, Killian couldn't help but think it was Bae who reminded him of Liam, even more than the girl with her uncle's curls. Bae was quickly developing a protectiveness of the little girl that reminded him so much of his own brother it made his heart clench.

By the time Charlotte is six years old she's the apple of not only her family's eye but of the entire crew.

There are men in Killian's crew who would gut a man as soon as look at them but they are all politeness when they finally receive their invitation to the little pirate princess' weekly tea party.

Killian is half buried in a chart, his attention split between checking Bae's calculations and his little girl, who is currently reminding "Mr. Donovan" not to put the teacup down too hard or he might break it.

"Oh, right, of course," Donovan says apologetically and is rewarded with a bright smile.

"Thank yooooou!"

He glances up again when she she gasps in dismay and she is staring intensely across the table.

"Mr. Jacobson!" she chided, "That was the salt you just put in your tea!"

He struggles to bite back a smile and glances across the desk towards Bae who is not even bothering to hide his adoring smile. He's 14 now and starting to take on more duties around the ship starting with this. Navigation is not his favorite subject but when he puts his mind to it he does quite well.

"Well done, mate," Killian affirms when he finishes looking over the boy's work, Bae nearly glows with pride and Killian ruffles his hair affectionately, "we'll make a navigator of you yet!"

There is the sound of a scuffle from above and Killian tenses. The hatch opens and a man calls down.

"Unfriendly company captain-"

Killian shoots to his feet and looks at Bae, "stay here, watch after you sister."

Bae nods and Killian glances at the men who had been having tea with Charlotte, he jerks his head at them and they follow him topside.

Milah is talking to a man with his back to the when Killian gets onto the deck but he can read it in her posture, she's afraid. He hurries to her side and when he looks up at the man his blood runs cold too.

"Rumplestiltskin-" he says quietly and the man giggled.

"It's always nice to make an impression. You may have heard of me under a different name now, pirate. The dark one. Oh! I see my reputation precedes me."

Killian stiffened but Rumple continued. "Do you know what it's like to have your wife stolen from you? To feel powerless to stop it? It feels like having your heart ripped from your chest. Actually, let me show you." He reaches out and shoves his hand into Killian's chest. Killian doubled over with a hiss of pain. .

"No!" Milah cried, stepping forward. "Please don't hurt him."

"And now you beg for the life of your true love, the pirate. I didn't realize the power of true love before. It is impressive. I'd hate to break it up. Actually, no. I'd love to," he squeezed Killian's heart for emphasis and Killian fell to his knees with a groan of agony.

"It's not him you're angry with Rumple."

Rumplestiltskin chuckled and released Killian's heart. "I assure you I can be angry with more than one person at a time. But you're right… priorities. Do you know what it was like walking home that night…"

"Rumple…"

"Knowing I had to tell our son…"

"Please."

"that his mother was dead?"

"I was wrong to lie to you. I was the coward. I knew that."

"But that wasn't enough for you. You came back. You stole my son.I want my son."

"He's not here," Killian broke in quickly. "A seafaring life was too dangerous for a boy so young."

Milah nodded, latching onto the tale, "We asked a fairy to take him somewhere safe, to a realm far from the ogre war. Somewhere he'd be safe until he was old enough."

"You told me I couldn't keep him safe," Rumple hissed at Milah, "and then you send him off with some fairy."

"We just wanted to keep him safe-" Milah said carefully.

"Oh did we?" He glanced at Killian with unconcealed disgust. "We could have kept our boy safe, together," Rumple hissed, "but you tore our family apart."

"Our family was a miserable prison," Milah snapped, anger and desperation rising in her voice.

"Why were you so miserable?" the dark one sneered.

"Because I never loved you!"

In an instant Rumplestiltskin's hand is in her chest emerging with a glowing red heart. "Milah! No!" Killian charged towards Rumplestiltskin but is shoved backwards by an invisible hand. Ropes snake around him and he struggled against them, finally managing to free himself. He catches her as she falls and cradles her gently. She reaches for him, her fingers a gentle pressure on his cheeks. There are a thousand words in her eyes, sorrow, worry, fear, an apology. They are all left unspoken save one.

"I love you."

Rumplestiltskin's hand clenches and Milah stiffens for a moment before relaxing in his arms.

"No-" he mumbles. He lowers Milah gently to the deck, his hand brushing gently along her cheek for a moment before turning enraged eyes on Rumplestiltskin. "You may be more powerful now, demon, but you're no less a coward."

"I'll have what I came for now," Rumplestiltskin sneered. "You see, I think you're lying. I think you do know where my son is. I think you're going to tell me where he is-"

"You'll have to kill me," Killian spits, reaching for his sword.

"Ah, ah ah-" In a moment of agony fire explodes up his arm and he collapses in pain his left hand and a growing pool of blood on the deck. "Not until you tell me what I want to know-" Killian grabs a hook, driving it into Rumplestiltskin's chest but Rumplestiltskin just giggles.

"Killing me is gonna take a lot more than that, dearie."

"Even demons can be killed. I will find a way," Killian growled.

Rumplestiltskin raised a blade to his chest, settling the point above Killian's heart. "And how will you do that if you're dead? Tell me what I want to know, pirate, and maybe I'll let you live long enough to try to kill me. Otherwise this is just going to get really messy."

Killian hisses in pain as Rumplestiltskin leans forward, the point digging into his chest above his heart but unable to back away, held in place by some magic.

"NO!"

Killian's eyes widen in shock as Bae's voice echoes across the deck.

The magic releases him and he falls, his head spinning from pain and blood loss. In a moment Bae is in front of him, standing head held high between the dark one and Killian.

"Bae-" the dark one says quietly, his eyes softening slightly.

"You like deals," Bae said, only the slightest tremor in his voice. "Here is my offer. I will come with you, you will leave Killian and this ship alone. You will not harm him or anyone else aboard."

"Baelfire, no-" Killian murmured in horror.

The dark one looked genuinely perplexed for a moment. "Bae, don't you want to come home?"

Home? Baelfire's eyes slipped to where his mother lay on the deck and he fought the tears that threatened to come.

"That is the deal," Baelfire said. "You can take me by force, you can kill Killian and sink this ship but if you do I will run. Any and every chance I will run."

The Dark One nodded and Baelfire turned, kneeling next to where Killian had fallen leaning close. Killian wrapped his good arm around him, his embrace too tight, as though he could stop this just by holding on tight enough.

"I'm sorry, papa," he whispered in Killian's ear, too quietly for the dark one to overhear. "Take care of Charlotte."

And then Bae was gone and Killian fell forward, the place he had been only a wispy smoke remained.

For a moment no one moves then he shifts closer to Milah his remaining hand reaching for her as for a port in the storm. She's gone. Bae's gone and Charlotte- A sudden bolt of panic strikes through him and he's on his feet again. His mind has gone fuzzy from the pain and grief and loss of blood but he makes for the cabin anyway, the last place he saw her. He stumbles below, horrified that at any moment he'll find her beyond his reach like her brother, or worse... still and broken like her mother

The cabin is empty, the table still set for her afternoon tea party but she's gone. Half delirious with pain and grief he sinks to his knees.

Gone. They're all gone.

A hatch opens and Charlotte comes flying out and into his arms, he clings to her tightly, terrified she'll vanish if he lets go.

"I'm sorry papa, I know the rule, Bae told me not to come out until I hear the safety word but-"

He just holds her tighter, not trusting his voice.

Later he'll regret it, letting her see him like that, bleeding and terrified, but at this moment he can't do anything but cling to her. Darkness is creeping into the edge of his vision and he can feel the blood seeping into his clothes from his left arm, still hidden under his coat from Charlotte's view. She knows he's hurt, and he can see the tears slipping down her face. Doubtless she can smell the blood, see it seeping through, probably she can feel him shaking but he keeps his arm hidden beneath his coat, he can't stand the idea of her seeing that.

He wants to say something, to tell her he loves her but the words get caught in his throat. With the state he's in, he knows he's got about even odds of closing his eyes and not opening them again. She'd be alone and unprotected and his last words to her will break her heart just as Milah's had broken his.

Finally he lets the doctor pull him away from his daughter. Some part of him wants to try to protect her by letting the crew take her away, but he knows that's not the kind of protection she needs right now.

"I need you to do something for me, little love," he says gently. His voice comes out gruff and weaker than he'd like but she nods immediately, her face tear-streaked and determined. "Close your eyes." She obeys and he pulls her close again. "Don't look, alright, can you promise?"

"I promise, papa," she nods, eyes still closed. She buries her head into his shoulder and he finally takes his arm from beneath his coat, the sight nearly making him nauseous. He looks away, focusing on his daughter's curls as they tie leather straps around the stump to slow the bleeding.

At first he thought he was being strong for her when he choked back his cries of agony, but she clings to his good hand and whispers that she loves him into his chest and he realizes that she's the strong one. Just like her mum.

The bleeding stops eventually and the wound is cleaned and wrapped. He's feverish and woozy and there are times when the pain and the grief tempt him to despair, but he feels her hand in his and decides right then and there that he is a survivor. He refuses to leave her alone.

He heals, or part of him does. The brace and hook cover the missing piece of his body an icy chilliness covers the missing piece of his heart. Or tries. But for Charlotte he had no doubt he'd had spiraled into the abyss long ago. But the darkness never truly takes hold in his heart, thanks to his one little light, his beautiful daughter with her uncle's hair.

But Bae… Killian wants to keep Charlotte safe, keep her away from that monster. But Bae- He could not have loved that boy more if he were his own flesh and blood. Thinking of Bae trapped with the man who stole his mother right in front of his eyes makes him sick.

He seeks out the dark one, tracks the dark one's movements, follows him from port to port. Always careful to keep Charlotte out of sight but desperate for a chance to save his boy.

Killian caught up once, saw him through the crowd, tagging behind Rumplestiltskin with his eyes on the ground. The Dark One kept him physically safe, destroyed any that should even accidentally harm the boy in the most vicious of ways. But Killian cringed to see the bright eyed boy he loved so well with his eyes locked on the ground in front of him.

Killian tracked them through the crowds all day, waiting for his chance and it finally came when Bae waited outside as the Dark One finally went into a tavern to broker a deal. Killian slipped his hand over the boy's mouth and pulled him out of sight into an alley. Baelfire struggled viciously but Killian was too strong, when they'd put some distance between themselves and the busy street Killian finally relaxed.

"Be quiet, Bae, I mean you no harm," Baelfire stilled instantly at the familiar voice and Killian took his hand away from his mouth.

"Killian?" he whispered.

"Aye, lad," Bae spun around and launched himself at Killian who closed his arms around him tightly.

"You shouldn't be here," Bae mumbled into Killian's chest, "if he sees you-"

"He won't see me," Killian assures him. "The man inside, talking to the crocodile, It's Donovan. He'll keep him busy. Sadly they will be unable to come to terms in the end but he'll be busy for a while."

"Charlotte?"

"Misses her brother."

"I miss her too,' Bae said quietly.

"Say the word Bae, and I'll take you away, we'll run."

Bae shook his head, looking so much older than his 15 years in that moment. "He'll find us. If I break my deal, he'll break his. His magic…"

"I will find a way, Baelfire," Killian insisted. "We will be a family again. Do you believe me?"

Bae nodded. "There's a dagger," he said quietly. "It's the only weapon that can hurt him." He dug into his jacket and Killian saw a small secret pocket sewn into the lining. His mother's stitchwork. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Killian.

"How did you know to carry it today?" Killian asked, the paper disappearing into Killian's own jacket.

"I've carried it every day since I found out. I knew you'd find me eventually." Bae shrugged, "I have to get back. He has a way of knowing when someone isn't serious about a deal. Donovan may be the best poker player on the Jolly but it won't take long for him to be found out."

"We're not giving up on you Bae, we're tracking his movements," Killian said quickly.

Bae nodded, a small smile flickering onto his lips for a moment and he hugged Killian once more. "Love you," he murmured.

"I love you too, lad. Keep your chin up, we're always nearby."

"Tell Charlotte I love her too?"

"Of course."

Bae nodded and scampered back out towards the street. Killian leaned back against the wall. His nails dug into his palm. Every instinct told him to follow, to get him back, damn the consequences. But damn the consequences was an almost certain path to his own death and more importantly, Charlotte's.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper. On it was drawn a dagger impaling a human heart, clearly drawn in Baelfire's own hand. He stared at the drawing for a few moments before putting it back in his pocket.

He had a stop to make on the way home.

When he returned to the Jolly Roger his forearm was carefully wrapped. Under the bandage Baelfire's drawing was faithfully inked into his skin with only one addition of his own. Her name, a permanent reminder of what he had lost, (and what he still had to lose.)

Killian seethed silently, pacing back and forth along the deck. He'd come topside to try to keep from waking Charlotte.

It had been months since they'd learned that Rumplestiltskin had let Baelfire fall into a portal. As much as he hated that Baelfire was now alone in some unknown world without magic, he'd realized this was perhaps the best chance he'd have. If he could get there before the crocodile… Rumplestiltskin could not hurt them in a world without magic. That was a place where Killian could truly protect them.

But crossing realms was not easy under the best of circumstances and- he paused his hand going to his blade as a bright light began to move towards the ship. By the time the light reached the deck of his ship his blade was leveled at a woman in blue who dusted herself off and looked up at him.

"I mean you no harm, Killian," she said, hands raised. "I'm here to help. I've heard your wish. And I mean to right a mistake that I made."

"Who are you?"

"You can call me blue," the woman said, inclining her head slightly when Killian sheathed his blade.

"What mistake?"

"I heard Baelfire's wish too. Gave him a magical object that would help him reach a world without magic. He meant to take his father-"

"The dark one is not his father," Killian hissed.

Blue nodded, her expression conciliatory. "He meant to take the dark one there, where he couldn't hurt anyone else. I tried to help him but in the end he passed through the portal alone.

"You created that portal?" Killian asked, voice tight with anger.

"Not precisely. But I have something which can create another. You can follow h-"

"And you're offering this now? It has been months."

"The magic I offer is not easy to find even for one such as me, you know this."

"And what price will you extract for this magic?" Killian asked suspiciously.

"The journey is its own price. I have only one magic bean, your path home will likely be most arduous. And the land Baelfire has been taken to is a dangerous place filled with dark magic. A place called Neverland."

Killian's blood ran cold, "Baelfire is in Neverland?" Killian hissed, voice tight with horror.

"You've been there?" Killian nodded tersely. "Then you know what dangers lie in that place."

"Then I must hurry."

The blue fairy reached out a small glowing bean in her hand. "Once the portal opens you need only think of the place you wish to find and you will be there. Good luck, Captain."

Then Blue was gone and Killian closed his hand around the bean.

Neverland. The one place he never wanted to set foot in again, was now the one place he desperately needed to go.

"To Neverland."

Off to Never-never-land!

Also tagging @mryddinwilt​ , @theonceoverthinker​ , @ouat-and-spn​ and @arandompudley​  because I’m pretty sure this is the millian headcanon that I was being asked about though admittedly I am not sure.

On to chapter 2