#but he already dealt with that card last night

[sennenpharaoh]

Nice try anon, but his magician has that card now.

It's in better hands, and it will stay that way.

[simpee9000]

Not Just Friends - 8 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Words 2.6k

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

"It's been two weeks," you pointed out, telling yourself and him.

"That doesn't mean you have to be okay already," Katsuki huffed at you, crossing his arms as he leaned against the makeup table in front of you.

You were going on for the interview that you promised that night. Truth quirk and all. They were prepping you right now for it, covering the dark circles under your eyes as they made sure to add highlights.

"I go back to work tomorrow, I want everything to be dealt with before hand," you dismissed. You wanted your plate clean so you could throw yourself fully back into work, you were itching to use the equipment. "Besides, Aizawa is here. He'll make sure to turn off the truth quirk if needed."

He grumbled, watching you intently as you got up, makeup finished and TV ready. "I don't like this." He didn't want you to go back to step one, even if you claimed to be fine.

"I know," you patted his arm, he's been trying to convince you not to. But his PR manager advise you to do it, knowing if you switched up that the public would think the worst.

An assistant knocked on the door, peeking through when you told them it was okay. "You're on in five," and with that, they left.

You swallowed nervously. "It's not to late," Katsuki offered.

"I said I'd do it, so I will," you looked yourself over in the mirror one last time, brushing your clothes smooth before you walked to the door. Katsuki following behind as you waited behind the curtain, ready for your cue. You made eye contact with Aizawa who was on the other side, next to the interviewer with a truth quirk. You gave a small wave and gained a nod back.

"Remember that you can dodge the question, it's not considered lying," Katsuki informed you for the millionth time, going down his prep list, "I studied them, they make you say the truth but not blurt it, so you have time to form your words."

"And now we have Dynamight's girlfriend," the talk show host called your name, greeting you on stage. "She'll be giving us all the details of her juicy relationship with our number two hero! All under a truth quirk." You walked onto the stage, giving Katsuki a nervous smile before turning to wave at the crowd.

It wasn't your first interview but it was the first major one. A huge live audience that filled the room. You shook hands with Gossip, the hostess nickname for the public. Shaking hands with the truth quirk interviewer as well before sitting down. Aizawa stayed off stage, ready to cancel things if needed.

"Nell, here," Gossip called attention to the truth quirk, "Known as 'Spills' will activate her quirk and ask questions about her secret relationship with Dynamight." Nell waved at her introduction, smiling brightly. "We've opened questions to the audience as well, so let's get started," Gossip grabbed a stack of cards from her desk, nodding to Nell to start.

You crossed your legs, hands clasped in your lap as you waited for the effect.

Gossip handed Nell the cards to read out. "You were the one on the phone with Dynamight two weeks ago, correct?"

"Yes, called me while I was making dinner," you laughed trying to add anything you could to the questions because you wanted good press.

"How long have you been dating?"

"Three years," you answered easily, feeling the small buzz of the truth quirk in your mind, "Since second year of high school, even though I liked him way before that." Well, you haven't meant to say that, the truth quirk making the small bit of information slip out.

Gossip grinned at what you were saying. "And you've never liked Deku? No romantic feelings there?"

"He's like my younger brother, absolutely no feelings there," you confirmed.

"You don't even find him attractive?"

"I do, just not like that. I only have eyes for Katsuki really," you didn't even know why you were anxious at this point. Part of you was worried it'd make you slip up, say something in the wrong way and make it seem like you wanted him.

"How cute!" Gossip gushed to the crowd. "Well now that we have that settled, lets get to the nitty gritty." You paled at that.

Opening your mouth the protest before Nell interrupted you, "What about Dynamight annoys you the most?"

You rolled your eyes, "He leaves his socks everywhere. Literally only his socks, everything else he is a neat freak about."

"Anything else?" they pushed for something more.

"He literally argues with himself while getting ready, calling his teeth stupid for getting dirty," you ranted, glad you had no real issue with him.

Nell and Gossip shared a look, unsure of where to go. "What do you love most about him?" the decided to switch from negatives to positives, trying to feed his fan base.

"Oh," you paused, mind swirling with too many truths, "He remembers all the small things," you settled on, talking fondly, "He bought an extra chair for his office because he knew I hated the ones he had. He might not talk a lot but he does so much."

The crowd swooned at how fondly you talked of him.

"Why are you with him?"

"Cause I love him?" you questioned back confused, paleing when you realized you haven't directly said it yet. You've been together for three years and knew you loved each other, it was just hardly, if ever, spoken.

"How about we open questions to the fans?" Gossip turned from you and pointed at someone who raised their hand.

"What's Dynamight's biggest weakness?" the crowd called out, Nell immediately asking you the question.

You froze, Aizawa was being distracted and couldn't save you. You faintly heard Katsuki's loud foot steps coming up, trying to save you.

"He loves his back being popped," you answered, truthfully, the interviews losing the spark in their eye as you didn't give good enough gossip. "Seriously, he loves it. Practically melts afterwards."

Katsuki stood next to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to stand. "This shit is done."

"Dynamight," Nell called out as Katsuki dragged you away. The truth quirk likely making him stop. "Do you seriously love her?" She spit those words out in a manner that reminded you of the break in.

"Yeah, so fuck off," he barked over his shoulder, pulling you off stage.

---

In just the drive home, your phone was blowing up entirely. You were trending on Twitter, Tiktok, and any social media already. All they needed was an hour. You scrolled through TikTok as you curled in on the couch, swiping from one video of you to another video of you. People were gushing over your relationship, loving how he protected you and how you talked about him.

It turned the fan girls more on your side, having gotten a glimpse of your life with him. They concluded that you were one of them. You even saw videos of how you cheered him on during the first-year sports festival. They took any social media post with the two of you and over-analyzed it. Talking about how you looked at each other.

"Still looking at that shit?" Katsuki called from the kitchen. Currently packing up the leftovers of dinner.

"It's cute," you defended, "They found a photo of us during graduation," you lifted your phone over the couch for him to look, hearing him shuffle over to look.

It was a photo of you two hugging after the ceremony, probably seconds after he asked you to move in with you. "This is horrible for my image," he complained as he saw the caption, "Makes me look fuckin' soft."

You rolled your eyes, looking up at him from where he leaned over the couch, "You are soft."

He scoffed, "Sure."

Humming, you got up from the couch, moving to head to your room, wanting to grab a book from a box. You hardly unpacked, your room still empty as you've been spending the past few nights in Katsuki's room.

"Hey Kats," you called from your doorway, seeing more boxes in your room than before. Probably and entire third of boxes that you didn't put there, you were at work all day, busy with meetings while Katsuki got home early.

"What?" he asked when he met you in your doorway, looking over your room.

You stepped in, glancing into an open box and seeing Katsuki's stuff filling it. "What's all this?"

"Figured with you sleepin' in my room all the time we might as well share," he crossed his arms as he shrugged, leaning into the doorframe.

"Really?" you looked up at him, taking your eyes of the open box, lighting up inside as you looked at him.

"Why not?"

You've been waiting for this since he first asked you to move, but you knew that if you freaked out he would back out. You bit back a huge smile, joy seeping through your expression regardless. "Want to set things up then?" you offered, answering his unasked question of it was okay.

He didn't give an answer before he moved in the room fully, grabbing a box of his clothes and going into the walk in closet. You stepped out of your room, seeing how his old room was empty minus a bed. Smiling, you moved back into your room, grabbing another box of his clothes and placing it beside him before grabbing your own clothes and finally unpacking. You took two of the walls of the closet, him taking the last wall, having less clothes.

Cycling through each box until they were all unpacked, your room looking like a mixture of the two of you. His comforter but your sheets on the bed, pillows stacked the way you loved and his limited edition All Might alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. The dresser being spilt for the two of you with small touches of each of you adding to the room. Giving it personality.

It made you giddy, to see everything done up as a combined. You let a bright smile grace your features as you changed for bed, Katsuki showering in the connected bathroom while you slid under the covers. You grabbed a book from your nightstand and flipped to the bookmark.

Reading through the rest of the chapter before Katsuki came out of the bathroom, ruffling his hair under a towel as he walked in. Hanging the towel up and shaking his head like a wet dog to fluff it back up. He stayed shirtless, how he's been sleeping the past few nights, and only wore his boxers.

You eyed him over your book, watching his arms flex with any simple motion he made. Eyeing him as he walked to his side of the bed, slipping under the covers fully before wrapping his arms around your waist.

The motion was surprising, filling your stomach with butterflies as you accepted his hug. You were propped up on pillows, making it easier to read with the posture, his arm slipped easily under you, his other going under your book. He squeezed light, wearily of the wound that was still present on your left side.

"Your shower is so much better than the one in the hall," he grumbled, digging his face into your shoulder. His shampoo scenting the air as you leaned your head onto his.

"Our shower," you couldn't help but correct him.

"Do we want the old room to be your office? The other mine?" he questioned.

You closed your book, setting it on the nightstand as you held onto his arm. "Maybe one can be a guest room? Your mom called and said she wants to visit," you suggested.

"That hag been callin' you often?"

You slapped his arm for how he addressed his mom, "She's worried."

"Hm," he dismissed, "I don't care."

"The interview wasn't that bad," you changed topics, "Just made me say softer versions of the truth."

He took his head off you, moving to sit up so he could look at you, "They asked you about my weakness? Do you know how bad that coulda been?"

"But it wasn't, I did what I said and nothing bad happened," you matched his glare.

He rolled his eyes, falling back onto you.

"I surprised how cuddly you are," you said, not to tease but point out.

"Fuck off," he scoffed, moving to flip away from you. You hooked your arms over his shoulders, trying to pull him back but just got flipped back over with him, letting out a squeal of surprised. Situated right on his lap, close to his face. His hands held your thighs as you straddled him unintentionally. "'m not cuddly," he pinched your thigh.

"Sure," you teased now, "That's why you've been all over me."

"I can finally touch you, think I'm not going to take advantage of it?"

You pulled back, sitting up right on his lap as you looked down at him. Brows furrowed, "Is your watch always on?"

He shrugged, "Not always, but most of the time, 'round you."

Your stomach dropped, you moved to grab his hand and saw that it was on. Turning his quirk off. "You can't use it that often," you told him, worried.

"I turn it off before I sleep," he brushed off, moving his hand away from yours.

"When was the last time it was off around me?"

"When I was asleep last night," he answered easily.

"Katsuki," you frowned, "That's not good for you, you need to turn it off." You reached for his hand again.

He snatched it out of your hand, "The fuck's your problem?"

"I don't want every time you touch me you need that stupid watch on," you complained. It made you feel disconnected from him, like he had to hide his true self.

"It's not on all the fuckin' time," he argued.

"Then you should have no problem turning it off right now," you challenged. His face was all scrunched in distaste as he looked at you.

"I don't have shit to prove."

"You're using it as a crutch," you dug, "I shoulda never built it for you."

"So you would of prefered staying how it was? Don't want me to touch you?" he argued, getting frustrated that you were upset. Defaulting into anger.

"I'd prefer you," you clarified, "The actual you that doesn't need to suppress his fucking quirk."

"I don't need anything," he hissed, "I was doing it to make you fuckin' happy but now you're all bitchy about nothing."

You widdened your eyes, pushing yourself off his lap finally and moving to your side of the bed. "You'll kill yourself," you commented, "Not having access to your quirk is deadly."

"No I won't," he huffed, not moving from where he laided.

"You're right, cause you can turn it off," you decided, "I'm not going to touch you until I know it's off."

He sat up right, "Really?" he looked down at you.

"Yep," you popped the 'p', "I only made the watch for work training, not sex training like how you're using it."

"That's ridiculous," he tried to reason.

"Well, I'm going to be 'bitchy' about something that'll kill you," you crossed your arms, standing your ground.

He shifted, "So we're going back to square one? That what you fuckin' want?"

"Sure," your chest felt tight, hating how frustrated he was. But your side made sense. "I want you alive."

"I'm not going to die."

"Yep, cause I'm not encouraging you to turn it off anymore."

"Can't kiss you or anything then," he tried to threaten, failing to change your mind.

"Okay," you shrugged. Internally mourning the loss of it already.

"Seriously?" he was in disbelief.

"Goodnight Katsuki," you turned onto your side, making him unable to look at you anymore.

When he huffed and turned away you were worried he'd leave. Go back on sharing a room. Truly test how far you were willing to go.

But all he did was adjust onto his side of the bed, angrily turning his lamp off, darkness coating the room.

At least you had that, but who knows how long you would. You clutched at your chest as you sunk in on yourself. It would suck to go back to how it was two months ago. Not being able to kiss him, or hug him freely.

You've gotten so far and had to throw it away. But it was necessary. The nitroglycerin made his heart run slowly, he needed to have his quirk flowing or you didn't know what would happen. You weren't trying to risk it so you could feel him up.

---

-Next Part-

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[zae-heeyyy]

Piquancy- I

Summary: You and Arthur spend time at the saloon. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 3,093 Tags: High honor Arthur, developing relationship, alcohol and intoxication, fluff, before the Blackwater Massacre

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a/n: I took a break from writing, and when I started again, this came out lol. Got carried away, so I divided it into several parts. Part 1 is very tame; I can't say the same for the next ones. I'm feeling a little rusty, but I hope you still enjoy!

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

A thunderstorm reigned over West Elizabeth, and several associates of the Van Der Linde gang had holed up in the Blackwater saloon, seeking refuge from the downpour. A handful of them sat at the poker table: Sean, Karen, Davey, Javier, Jenny, Arthur, and you. The gang had taken advantage of an unlimited supply of beer––provided they had the cash–– and were a few drinks deep. You were the only one hanging onto your sobriety and the only one sober enough to keep your head in the game.

You felt particularly lucky tonight, partly because you’d played a few good hands and partly because Arthur, whom you’d long admired from afar, had taken to being stuck to you all night. You'd convinced him to dance with you earlier in the night when Uncle hounded the pianist to "play something good." Afterward, the broad-shouldered outlaw paid for your pot in the poker game “for the dance,” he'd said.

His generous donation turned into quite an investment for you as you dealt the last card of the round, a king of hearts, giving you a full house.

“Dammit!” Davey yelled, slamming his cards down and busting out of the game. He pointed an accusatory finger at you, “You’re a cheat; I know it!”

Karen glowered at him and rolled her eyes as she added her cards back into the deck.

“She ain’t cheating; maybe you just suck,” she mocked, smiling mischievously.

Arthur leaned back in his seat next to you, keeping his temper even but putting a protective arm around the back of your chair. “Tonight just ain’t your night partner; go have another drink, walk it off, and shut up.” He and Davey held each other’s gaze, both impassive and unreadable. Finally, Davey averted his eyes and mumbled under his breath.

Arthur leaned over, and the heat of his breath tickled your ear. A rumble of laughter built up in him as he whispered to you, “he ain’t used to dealing with beautiful women with brains— you're making him feel emasculated. “

You peeked over at Davey, who had safely directed his gaze to the deck of cards and stifled the giggle that bubbled inside you. Arthur had straightened back up but kept his arm resting on the back of your chair. Warmth radiated off of him like sunlight in the spring. You wanted nothing more than to be basked in it, but a move like that wasn’t in the cards, so you focused on your winnings, boasting as you scooped the chips to your pile.

Your gloating session only lasted for a short second before one of the saloon’s working girls added the poker table to her list of stops. As she spoke, one of her gloved hands perched a little too comfortably on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Any of you boys looking for a good time?”

Leaning forward slightly, the cowboy shifted his chair closer to yours—not enough to draw attention, but enough to angle the girl’s gaze toward Davey. You were sitting closer to him now than anybody else at the table, and neither of you minded.

“Maybe another time,” Arthur told her, his tone kind but dismissive. His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly. Then, with a knowing glance toward Davey, he added, “But my friend over there is more charismatic than he looks."

Davey’s demeanor did a complete flip, the look of aggravation on his face now replaced by a closed-mouth grin. By the time the woman was at his side of the table, he’d already stood to whisk her away.

“Men.” You mocked, and Arthur chortled low to himself.

“Amen, sister,” Jenny said, shaking her head in more mirth than annoyance as she watched the pair climb the stairs. A thick Irish accent joined the conversation.

“Don’t ya' go lumpin’ me in with the likes o' Davey. It’s not just about me when I’m with my lady. I make sure she’s properly looked after, too.”

Sean threw a lax arm around Karen's shoulders as he finished his declaration. She shrugged him off, faking irritation, though a coy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Yes, the whole camp hears just how satisfied your woman is.” Javier chimed in, smirking at Karen over his glass of whiskey.

Karen shot him a sharp glare and stood abruptly. “You’re an asshole,” she snapped, pointing a finger at him. “And you—” she shoved Sean—“keep your hands to yourself.”

Karen stalked off away from the table, Sean close on her heels. “Ah, come now, darlin’! Don’t be like that!” He chased her clumsily, bumping into chairs, making Javier and Arthur laugh. You swatted Arthur’s arm and shot daggers at Javier.

“Men are like roosters,” you said, disapproving. “Proud and obnoxious, but not a single egg to show for it.”

Jenny giggled to herself but looked dreamily across the bar to Lenny, who was engrossed in conversation with Hosea.

“I’d agree with you, but every time I’m with—” she cut herself off, averting her eyes and ignoring everybody else’s knowing gaze.

Javier whistled under his breath, and Arthur cackled, loud and toothy, as he waved an arm across the bar towards Lenny. "Atta boy, Lenny!" he yelled over the noise of the saloon. The young boy's furrowed brow made the whole table throw a fit, even Jenny, trying her best to look nonchalant.

Despite the merriment surrounding you, a twinge of something unpleasant scratched at your insides, something envious and wistful. You were happy for Jenny; she deserved someone like Lenny. He was a good kid, one of the finest you’d known, given his circumstances. And you wanted what they had, even if they were still figuring it out themselves. Though the laughter had died down, and the game continued, you couldn’t help but notice Lenny across the room, a smile on his lips as he kept his eyes trained on Jenny, studying her as if he’d never see her again. You were distracted by the thought. Arthur took notice and nudged you with his elbow.

“What’s that look?” he asked, and all eyes turned back to you. You were in the hot seat now, Javier having raised a brow and Jenny looking concerned. You turned your attention back to the previous conversation.

“I just never––” you trail on, trying to find the words, “well, no man I’ve ever been with made me––” you stopped, feeling like you were starting to make a fool of yourself. Arthur’s eyes turned timidly back to his cards, and Javier leaned back, smug.

“Ah, that’s why you always have a stick up your ass.”

Jenny and Arthur jumped in with a course of objections to Javier’s crassness, but you didn’t miss a beat. “You would be the authority on all things asses,” you hit back, “matter of fact, how’d that late-night job with Bill go the other day?”

You were rewarded with ripples of laughter from your allies at the table, Javier, clearly trying to hold in his own, frowned and clutched his chest in dramatic fashion.

“Ouch,” he voiced, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, sorry. Take whatever I have left, but leave my pride, please,” he scooted his chips to the middle of the table and tipped his hat in departure.

The poker game died down with the last bits of laughter. Jenny had turned, placing her hand atop yours, her expression pensive.

“So you’ve never...” she trailed off, lowering her voice, “a man’s never made you...” she didn’t say the words as if realizing how taboo the conversation was, especially in front of a man. You cringed, the awkwardness crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“Forget I said anything,” you said, rising hastily. Before he could even think, Arthur’s hand shot out to grab your wrist. He let go just as fast as he’d caught it, but the rough touch of his fingers lingered on your skin like embers in a smoldering fire.

“Hey now, where you running off to?”

You smoothed your skirts and gazed down at him, “far away to not make a further fool of myself.”

Arthur chuckled, organized his chips with one hand, and stroked his beard with the other.

“Sounds like the fellers you’ve been friendly with ain’t worth their salt. They should be the ones embarrassed."

Neither of you tore your eyes from the other for a long while. Finally, you let out a breath and a doubtful sigh. “Maybe,” you murmured, then pointed over your shoulder at the bar. “How about another drink?”

Arthur joined you for your first and only drink of the night, then had himself another and another. Over time, you’d learned that Arthur was day or night when he was drunk. Tonight, he was all sunshine, laughing louder than usual and leaning too close when he spoke. In all his attention, you’d let yourself forget about your previous self-reproach.

Completely inebriated now, he tugged on your hand, pulling you away from the bar and back towards the piano, his chipped-toothed smile lighting up his whole face. You let him haul you towards the lively music, shocked by his sudden excitement to dance with you. This dance was different from the first; you were acutely aware of how his heavy hand settled firmly on your hip and the way he looked through you with yearning eyes.

“What happened to ‘I’m not much of a dancer’?” you asked as he twirled you to the music.

He didn’t respond, only dipped you and laughed when you yelped at the sudden pull of gravity. You clutched his forearms, trying to keep yourself from toppling over; you both fumbled a bit, him in his drunkness, trying to keep you both steady. With a quick yank, he pulled you back up against him, your bosom flush against his chest. You joined his laughter and decided chairs were much safer than the makeshift dance floor.

Jenny’s voice broke through your laughter as she and Lenny passed by on their way out. “Never seen you dance like that, Arthur,” she teased.

As the night grew older, the energy in the saloon dwindled, as did the number of people inside. The remaining caravan of outlaws rode back to camp, leaving just you and Arthur behind. Your conversations with the cowboy had moved past reminiscing about the good ole days and lighthearted banter to something more quiet and intimate. Listening to him talk, even drunk off his ass, was like floating downstream on a lazy river, easy and impossible to resist.  

Sleepiness crept up on you, a yawn escaping mid-conversation; Arthur caught the contagious inhale like a passing train, his own yawn following close behind. Heading back to camp was the smart idea, but it was clear that Arthur was too drunk to even consider mounting a horse. He didn’t argue when you convinced him to get a room for the night.

“You’re lucky. Last key left,” the barkeep informed him, sliding the key across the counter. You started to step away, but Arthur’s hand found your wrist again, just like it had earlier in the night. He didn’t move this time, though, his grip steadfast and purposeful. Then he brought you in close, close enough to smell the leather of his hat, the cigarette smoke in his coat, and the whiskey on his breath. Great lakes glimmered down at you, full of longing and quiet intensity.

“Come with me.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder as he slid his hands into yours. Though his forwardness and touch weakened your legs, you tangled your arm in his to ensure he was steady. Chuckling to himself at the sudden role reversal, he dipped his head, his face close to yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, close to your ear. Goosebumps formed on your arms, like raindrops rippling across a stream. Then, you shivered when his head fell into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing you in with closed eyes. “And you smell so nice.”

Every fiber of your being fought to keep your composure; you didn't want him to move. You wanted to feel his lips on your skin and his hands in your hair. But you couldn’t be sure of his feelings—not with the whiskey clouding his thoughts and his words slurred from the bottle.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan.” You laughed to ease your nerves as you pulled him along to the stairs.

“No—” he said, shaking his head defiantly, “not Mister. Morgan, just Arthur,” he insisted, “unless you want to be Missus Morgan.”

A self-assured smile unfolded on his face as his boot made contact with the first step. “You’d be a fine Missus Morgan,” he slurred, one hand still in yours, the other clutching the railing for support.

You tried to trudge on, but Arthur wouldn’t, standing stiff as if the wood had turned to concrete. When you turned to face him, you expected that same smile you’d heard in his voice a second ago, but this time, his mouth was set in a deep line, and his eyes were not on yours but fixated on your mouth. He folded his lips inward, afraid he’d lose the ounce of control he had left if he stared at yours too long.  

His chest rose in a deep sigh, and his voice came out quiet, a passing shadow in the night, “I mean it.”

Your pounding heart tried desperately to burst out of your chest. It pounded against your rib cage hard, as if escaping would relieve the unbearable pressure his words built within you. Tentatively, you tore your gaze away, patting his hand with your free one.

“C’mon, Arthur,” you said gently. Ignoring him felt safest, so you did, focusing on getting him to the room despite your heart hammering at his words.

When you finally reached the door, he reluctantly ripped his hand away from yours like a magnet being pulled from metal. The gunslinger drunkenly fumbled with the key for a moment and paused before twisting the knob.

“I’d treat you right,” he said, his back turned to you. “Treat you better than any of those fools–– Treat you how you deserve.” He looked back at you as the last of his words fell from his lips.

“Arthur, you’re drunk,” you said with a half-smile, pushing you both through the door. He disassembled himself like a tornado blowing through the room. His gun belt went first, hitting the floor with a clank, then it was his bandoleer, satchel, coat, boots, and socks right after that. When he was free of all his equipment, he flopped down on the bed with shut eyes.

“Might be drunk, but I ain’t a liar,” he mumbled, then chuckled, “not to you, anyway.”

Reaching for his hat, you took it off for him and set it aside on the nightstand.

“If you still feel that way when you’re not swimming in whisky, let me know, Mister. Morgan."

He grunted assuredly, then turned to face you, opening his heavy lids.

“I said just call me Arthur,” he insisted. You didn’t say anything–– just stared back at him. He spoke after another second, “always felt that way 'bout you,” he admitted, a look of quiet vulnerability washing over his features. Your legs wobbled like a newborn foal, but you stood firm.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” you said, shifting to leave.

“Wait." His voice came out fast and unsure. You froze and turned back to him, “would you stay with me if I asked?” And those sad, sad eyes made your chest ache. If he wasn't drunk off his ass, your silence would've unnerved him, but he was too far gone to notice.

He'd lost the fight against his eyes, and they were closed again. His hand fell limply over the edge of the bed, calloused fingers opening up to you.

“Shouldn't be on the trail by yerself in the middle of the night.”

And he was right; it was dangerous and stupid for anybody to be on the road so late at night, especially a lone woman.

“Can get my own room,” you stammered.  

Arthur sighed deeply and desperate, running out of ways to convince you.

"No," he swallowed, "no, you can't."

And you’d remember the barkeep telling Arthur he was lucky to have secured the last room key as everybody sought shelter from the storm. “Just stay 'til I'm asleep,” he cut into your thoughts, "to make sure I don’t do anything stupid. Can’t have the camp golden boy out of commission now, can we? Who’s do all the heavy liftin', robbin', and killin' if I'm laid up with a broken arm?”

You didn’t argue anymore. The truth was you’d wanted to spend every moment with him. You wanted his arm back around you, and you wanted to relish in his laughter. He had that effect on you, both drunk and sober.

“Fine," you tried to hide your smile, "but only til you fall asleep.”

Bliss transformed his face from shadow to light as you strolled to the bed. Arthur shimmied over, giving you space. He laid flat on his back, and you followed suit, hands folded on your stomach, your body mirroring his. Silence fell over the room like fog, and you thought he’d finally gone to sleep. Then he let out another breath of amusement but didn’t open his eyes.

“Yep,” he bellowed, “I tried, you know. Tried to keep away from you. Not because I don't like you, but because I like you too much,” he continued, not giving you a chance to respond. “And I’d–” he paused, what little filter he had left trying to stop him, but it wasn't enough. “I’d bed you right too. Damn those bastards that had you and didn’t do it right. I’d do it right."

You froze for a long while, trying to build the courage to face him. Words were lost to you, but you rolled over to face him anyway. Mouth agape, his chest rose and fell with the cadence of sleep. Disappointment fell heavy on your chest as you adjusted your eyes to look at him, to really look at him like you'd never been able to. He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen; the sentiment would've made him laugh if he could've heard it. You returned to your back, willing your feet to move, but they didn't. Before you knew it, you were fast asleep beside him, lulled by the crackle of the fireplace and his deep breaths. It was the first time in years that you'd slept through the night.

next

[lavenderspence]

silly poker night reveals | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | Word Count: 1.8K

Content warning: basically just funny, or crack, alcohol mention, gambling addiction mention

Summary: A poker night with the silly crime men gets disrupted when a certain someone decides to prove he's not a psychic.

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Patrick Jane, Richard Castle, Seeley Booth, Harvey Specter

A/N: One day, I just really wanted to write a fic with all my favorite silly crime men and have them be snarky to each other, and that’s what I did. This was literally written for the fun, for the vibes, for the hell of it, and then I just could not, not make it about my husband too. So, even if you’ve only watched one of the shows, give this a read, I think it's fun. enjoy🤭

and thank you to @reidsstargirl for beta reading this 🥺💕

masterlist

“You’re late.” You said after you pulled the door open. A rumpled blond was sitting in front of you - a white dress shirt, a black vest, and a gray suit jacket thrown over his shoulder. 

He flashed you a lazy smile, all teeth, “Yeah, well, when have you known me to be punctual?” He pushed past you, stepping into the apartment, with no care in the world.

His eyes ran around the room, finding it empty of any other presence, “You little minx, you lied to me.” He turned around, eyes running through your body. 

You smiled, eyes sparkling, “Yeah, well, I had to get creative if I wanted you to be on time, Jane. You have just enough time for a power nap, go enjoy the couch.” You threw his words back at him, and then waved a hand around, gusting to the emerald couch. 

You made your way to the kitchen, picking up a half-full glass of champagne. Walking around for a second, you looked at the man on the couch and waited for the 15 minutes until 7:30 to pass, so you could welcome your other guests too. 

You were waiting on Aaron and Spencer - they were coming straight from work, deciding to stay around an extra hour after you to finish up. Harvey was flying in from New York, Castle was driving down, and Jane was already snoring on your couch, and Booth was coming after closing a case. 

You arranged these poker games once every two months, depending on how all your schedules aligned. You’d worked with all of these silly assholes at one point in your life. Sometimes, they needed some time to just goof around and play some games, nothing serious. 

A few other of your colleagues joined occasionally - Rossi and Morgan loved the snark, and Emily was a fan of disturbing the testosterone with you from time to time. But all of them were busy, so it was just you and the usuals tonight. 

12 minutes later, you were welcoming everyone in, and Jane was rousing from his nap, looking even more rumpled than before. 

Spencer and Booth took their usual places in front of the TV, where you’d already queued a baseball game, and left them some snacks. The others each took a place at the table. 

You usually played just one game, so you took your place as the dealer and shuffled the cards. 

The conversation was sparse for a few minutes while you dealt the cards. 

“Why’s Clark Kent not playing?” Rick asked all of a sudden, gusting to Booth with his head. Booth usually joined the gathering every few games, still not entirely comfortable coming every time. His addiction wasn’t something that you’d brought up or were looking to bring up during a night like this. He usually stayed away from the table, engrossed in a game of baseball on tv, or bothering Reid for any useless facts and calling him a squint. 

“Let him be Rick, he needs the night out even if he isn’t playing.” Your answer was vague and it would stay that way as long as Booth wanted to be there and stay away from the game. 

“And the kid?” It was Jane’s voice, and he raised a hand and pointed at Spencer. He was usually sitting the games out too, since the last time you and Hotch had played with him he’d hustled you. 

“Go on, tell him.” You prompted Spencer, as he bookmarked the page he was reading. 

“I’m good at poker.” It wasn’t convincing and it wasn’t the truth. 

You shook your head with a laugh, “Nooo, Jane’s good at poker, Castle is good at poker. What are you good at?” You asked, your eyes meeting Aaron’s for a second. 

“I'm good at counting the cards, and banned from several casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Pahrump.” Aaron’s lips twitched, a barely there grin appearing for just a second before it disappeared again. 

“Can I borrow him for a poker night with my author buddies? Maybe even Kate? I really need a win.” Castle asked. 

“He’s not winning against Kate, Rick. She will sniff him out before he even sits at the table. Now, Ryan and Esposito, on the other hand, you can easily steal some money from.” You told him as you took a sip from your drink. 

Everyone else was having a drink - whiskey was the preferred drink at your table, Booth was having a beer and Spencer was sticking to water. 

“Anything to drink Jane?” You asked again. 

“Chamomile tea, two sugars please.” 

“You do realize this is a poker game, and not an afternoon tea with Her Majesty, right?” Harvey’s usual snark was making a comeback for the first time tonight. 

“But her Majesty’s sitting right there.” Jane's chin jutted towards Rick. It was no secret that out of every man currently in the room, Rick was probably the most pretentious one, closely followed by Harvey.

“Haha, very funny.”

“I didn't lie, did I? I highly doubt that the Ferrari parked downstairs can be bought on a government salary.” Quipped Jane.

“How do you know it's not Harvey's?”

“Because I'm not a pussy driving a bright red Ferrari around New York City, thank you very much.” Harvey threw a few chips in the center of the table. 

“Well, said Ferrari costs anywhere between 70K and 120K. A Special Agent’s salary is around 135K, and 170K a year for Supervisory Special Agents. So realistically, yeah, we can’t afford it.” Spencer shrugged, turning a page in his book, not even phased by the looks everyone was throwing at him.

“I like this kid, he’s such a squint.” Booth laughed and gave Reid’s shoulder a little pat. Spencer tensed for a second but quickly relaxed again. 

“Dammed it, I overpaid 30K for this one.” Castle scoffed, shaking his head. 

Harvey produced a business card from somewhere and slid it toward Rick. 

“In case you need it. Fair warning though, get on my nerves, and I’m giving you to Louis.”

“Aww he has a heart.” Rick pouted.

“Never repeat that, never.” The brunette warned.

“And a lot of snark.” You smiled, looking around. They all might have serious jobs during the day, but they were all extremely silly when they were off of work.

The game continued on for another 15 minutes, conversion flying by until Booth���s voice rang around you.

“Okay Jane, no offense, but I need to know. What’s your shtick? What made the FBI want to hire you as a consultant?” Seeley asked, turning a sobriety chip in his hand. 

“Ugh, offense.” 

“Oh come on,” Booth waved a hand around, “I’m one of the best sharpshooters out there,” you rolled your eyes and so did Rick, “Hotchner’s an ex-ADA, Y/N’s a weapons expert and a linguist. Reid over here is basically Einstein.” 

“Well, actually, Einstein’s IQ is believed to be somewhere between 160 and 180, and mine’s 187, so technically, I surpass Albert Einstein.” Seeley wasn’t happy being interrupted again, but he let it slide, used to being interrupted by his own team.

“So Jane, what makes you such a special asset to the FBI? You're not still pulling the psychic card, are you?” To anyone, it might seem judgmental, the way he asked, but you knew it was anything but. He was curious, but he also valued his job too much not to ask. 

Jane leaned back in his chair, laying his cards face down and his hands on top of them. He looked on over you, head to toe, and then his eyes focused on your left - to Aaron. 

You saw his eyes shine for a second, and shook your head at him, already knowing what was going to come out of his mouth. 

“There is no such thing as psychics. Just a very good eye for reading people. Like for example, all night Hotchner’s been a broody, quiet bastard, safe for any time Y/N talks. His eyes light up and he relaxes back into his chair.” You watched Aaron’s posture too tight and reached a hand under the table to lay over his leg.

You were glaring daggers in Jane's direction, but once he was on a roll, there was no stopping him. “Earlier, when she put his glass down, his fingers on the hand closest to her body, twitched. His cologne is expensive, freshly applied - he probably has a spear bottle in his office.  He's been checking his watch, waiting for the night to end, so we'd all go home. Not him though, he's staying over.”

He played with the edge of his cards as he watched all eyes turn in your direction. 

“Oh, and the murderous look he's been giving Harvey every time he catches him looking at Y/N a bit too closely. Also, the clenching of the jaw - seriously knock it off, you won't have teeth forever.” Jane warned before he leaned back into his chair, looking just a tad too proud of himself.

The silence was defeating for a few moments, no one dared to utter a word.

“I don't think they wanted that to be shared just yet.” Rick muttered

“No shit.” Aaron's fingers wrapped around your own as he gritted out.

“And I didn't want to be lied to, but alas…” Jane added, flashing you a grin.

“Oh, you petty asshole.” A grin was making its way onto your face and you didn't know why.

“Oh, I'm about to become even more of an asshole - full house.” He threw his card in the middle of the table, close to the chips.

“Awww, you really are an asshole.” Rick leaned back in his chair, defeated and pouting.

“Takes one to know one, Dicky.” He smirked.

“Are you okay with this?” You turned around and asked Aaron quietly, for a moment forgetting the room full of men you’d worked with over the years.

“I'm good, although being profiled wasn't my idea of fun for the night.” He admitted just as quietly, reaching to push your hair away.

“I'm sorry.” He went to close the space between you before you heard the scraping of chairs.

“Okay kiddos, mom and dad need us to empty the apartment. Go on, out the door.” Seeley announced. You rolled your eyes at his bullshit before you started giving goodbye hugs. 

“If Hotchner's the dad, who's the daddy?” Harvey asked jokingly as he pulled you into a hug.

“Ask Louis tomorrow.”

“I didn't need the mental picture, thank you.” He shuddered and walked towards the door with the rest.

“Don't ask dumb questions then.” You called out, before you turned towards the good Doctor, “Oh and Spence? Keep this on the down-low, would you?” You asked, still not exactly ready to share this with your team, even after having the whole thing come out this way.

He smiled sheepishly and scratched at the back of his neck, “Yeah…too late.” and just then both your and Aaron's phones went off. 

There was no question about it, there was a fun morning waiting for you tomorrow. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[gremlingottoosilly]

[If you need to be mean] chapter 2

Chapter 1

Konig decided to meet his new favorite civilian at the cafe you work at. Unfortunately for both of you, you're both socially awkward. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig's perspective

— Did something good happen, colonel? You are practically shining. 

Horangi always had this special ability of telling nonsense with the most serious face and deep voice. He also was the only one in his unit to ever be brave enough to joke with his superior – even though all the other KorTac members usually don’t risk their asses to be put on fire list because of some silly joke. He is the closest König has to a friend – and it’s kinda sad, actually, that a broken gambling addict is the only person who can read his emotions so well, even with his hood and permanently sour expression. 

But something good did happen – you happen, of course. 

He spend a few days of self-reflecting, drinking and punching training manekens in the gym, trying so fucking hard to put your adorable civillian face out of his mind. You were out of sight alright, but the way your features would get distorted into something even more adorable every time he closed his eyes, was concerning. He dealt with those little obsessions before – nothing that a few good rounds of jerking off until he would feel nothing but emptiness and hatred to himself couldn’t handle. He surely can’t fall that deep down, he only saw you for like an hour and it was literally three days ago! 

— I read your reports about the last terrorist encounter. Good job, Horangi. 

— And I heard about that civilian girl you pulled, sir. Thought we are bringing those to the police, not their houses. 

— I had to make sure she wasn't a spy. 

— And she wasn’t? 

König thinks – would be far easier if he would have an official, legal reason to keep you locked up on the base without the right to come out. Would be far easier for him to just think about you as an enemy, so he would have normal reasons for thinking about you constantly, and not feeling guilty. It’s normal to think so much about your enemies – this is what keeps you alive on the field, if you can determine their shortcomings early and make sure that you can fight them. He would love having you as an enemy – it would at least give him some info before starting obsession over little ol’ you. 

— No. 

— That would give us at least some lead to the terrorist cell. Feels like all locals are protecting them from it. 

— I understand your frustration. But at least they are not cutting our pay. 

— We might as well rebel if they’d try to. 

— We are not stepping on terrorist’s route. 

— I was joking, sir. Only thing that’s left here except for card games. 

Horangi hates stationing in this country as much as König is – and, given that he is a sergeant and doesn’t have as much rank expectations, can talk about this openly. This operation is perfect except for the lack of intel, lack of action and lack of basically anything to do – the local forces are handling minor threats, while mercs here are mostly to show off how the government has money to hire them. KorTac would pay for actually having to fight some bad guys around here – but the bigger ones are hiding and lower ones are already getting tracked down by the local military. 

The only interesting thing to do, seemingly, is to obsess over local girls – and König thought he is better than this. 

But he isn’t losing sleep over thinking about how scared and fragile you looked that night. Especially not even going to think about how adorable your little pout was, and the way your hands were trembling. He definitely doesn't want to know every tiny detail about your life, what you like and what you hate, what is your favorite position in bed and the color of underwear you are currently wearing – or even if you are wearing one. And he isn’t some sort of creep that would spend an obnoxiously long amount of time registering on social media – god, he is too old for this shit, it literally feels even more humiliating than his whole school experience – just so he can find your accounts and get instant masturbation material. 

You really shouldn’t post so much half-naked photos – yes, this is a reel from your last summer vacation and yes, this swimsuit looks beautiful on you, but have you ever considered that some creep(not someone like him, he is palming himself very respectfully) would use those photos as a way to get themself off? Terrible, scary, he can’t wait for you to post some new photos – maybe in something that he would buy you, way skimpier and more expensive, so he could protect you from those people. 

He looks at your posts about work – and he hates this stupid blue bird app because it never works for him, always filled with some assholes who are trying to argue with literally everyone, and the way he can’t even see your posts properly because of the weird ads. No, he doesn’t need a “Thing that would make your dick longer” he literally has a problem with making it smaller. No, he doesn’t need some dumb T-shirt even though he kinda reflects with the funny pun about pokemons and would love to wear something containing his major interest even though it would look ridiculous on a 6 '10 killing machine. 

But König reads all of your short posts about the way you hate working in customer service, and his hand is almost slipping to the ad about wedding rings. You hate your job, he hates his – practically soulmates, even though he doesn’t really hate the killing part of his employment, he just doesn’t want to be in charge of people and making them steal the fun of destroying. He would, however, agree to get as many ranks as possible if that would mean providing for you. If that would allow him to be by your side and listen to your sweet voice, he would agree for the next promotion even if higher ups would want him to make some PR wawes and become a fucking fashion model. 

But he is completely sane about you. Totally normal. Absolutely nothing is wrong with him when he can’t even think about visiting you in real life, but he leaves a like on every of your posts in every social media he has – you have terrible online safety habits by the way, he can already see what the inside of your apartment looks like, your place of work from three different angles, and how the front door of your apartment is held together by a very easy to destroy lock. He could snatch it in one deliberate kick, not even speaking about just shooting it. Not like he would need to, he wants you to be with him willingly. Or, at least, don’t fight him too much in case he would actually lose his patience and do something drastic. 

It has already been three days and he feels like he is going crazy. He had those things before, overthinking about tiniest details in someone he never truly knew, but even then he’d understand that he can’t be with them – it could be his school crushes that were, ironically, crushed because of his anxiety. It might be some casual flings with his fellow soldiers that would either get killed in the field or never happen because it would be fraternization. Some random people he saw at the airport and already imagined life with multiple kids and a dog. He always knew he had a problem – but it was never like this before. Never dangerous. 

The problem is – he knows that he can have you. 

Maybe not in a traditional way, he doubts that you would just marry him on the spot, but he can court you at least. He can shower you with gifts or ridiculous tips at your job, he can just snatch you away and leave you as his perfect little bedmate. He can make his men kidnap you, and while it is inhumane and you don’t deserve this, he would calm you down – and then have his happily ever after. 

He knows that he can have you – and it drives him crazy. He could stop himself previously, when he didn’t have anything for himself to be considered desirable – but now, with his rank and all the new opportunities and money it brings, he can’t stop but fantasize. 

You under him, panting and blushing, lips puffy from kisses, skin glazed from sweat and marked with his teeth.

You under him, so wonderfully tight, not letting him go even for an inch – and you are perfectly taking him, no matter how gigantic he is. 

You under him, smiling, cuddling after a long night – every night after a mission, where he could spend his free time deep in your body, listening to your melodic moans and little whines. 

You under…

— Can I…can I take your order, sir? 

He is a disgusting human being because lives of thousand people are on a stake, he would just doom them all if he wouldn’t find those terrorists soon – and he wastes time on sitting in this tiny ass cafe, trying to place himself on the small seat while being all too nervous to just talk to you. Like a person. Of course he had to go to your shift – he already determined which days you were working because it increased the number of angry “I hate my job and want to kill my manager” posts on that dumb social media, and he knows which hours you work at – of course it’s almost night time, the closing shift, because he simply can’t have himself not worry about you. 

He is a creep, weirdo and all that words in a song that he’s been blasting in his tiny headphones all of these days because he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the way you are munching on the pen you are using to write his order. Oh, yes, order. He is supposed to order something, he can’t just give you money for how adorable you look in that white apron – even though you are absolutely stunning and should get money. 

God, he would murder everyone in this building just for them to never look at your legs again. 

God, he would bury himself between them if only you’d allow him to.

— Sir, is everything okay? 

He served in the military for far longer that you lived, probably. Most of his life, he got used to being referred to as something honorable, or referring to other people like that – and he never thought that just being referred to as “sir” would make his dick twitch in his pants. He crosses his legs, hoping not to get too imposing – he already towers over the tiny table like a giant he is, barely even fitting in it. He thinks he has a healthy amount of self-control – then he looks at you again, and thanks all the gods he knows for the mask he is wearing – at least under the black surgeon piece and dark glasses you won’t really see his blush. Or that little twitching in his eyes that is indicating danger. 

— Sorry, I…can I, um, have a coffee? Bitte…please, I mean. 

He hates how nervous he is – like high school again, asking his crush out just to be ridiculed. But you look perfect like this – controlled environment, you can’t just laugh at him and say that he is a weird nerd from another class, you have a manager who is controlling of such behavior. He would never tell on you, of course, he wants you to be happy, even if this job makes you the most miserable – even though he kinda thinks of you as a weak for this, his job literally involves killing people and he doesn't argue that much! 

But you giggle – sweet, innocent sound, it drives him crazy even more than he previously was. It doesn’t feel like those girls at school – yes, he still can’t let that go, even though his therapist says he has to – and he loses all control at how beautiful you sound. He wants to take you away right now, pay you for your workplace however you get them, and just use you as he wants – no matter how socially unacceptable. He protects this country, he has the right for a little prize, right? No, this would be terrible, he shouldn’t just harass sweet little civilians like you, he should…

— What type of coffee, sir? Do you want some dessert? 

This is a typical question, he was at cafes and coffee shops a thousand times but, for some reason, it feels almost like you are teasing him. You bite the end of your pen with those adorable teeth of yours – he wants to feel it on his fingers, he wants you to leave bite marks all over his body as a sign of marking him as yours. He smiles under his mask, hoping that you would somehow feel it – how happy you make him feel, how hard it’s for him not to lose control. 

— No. Just coffee. 

— Sugar? 

He would like some sugar, of course – but the one he wants is probably not for sale, even though that adorable white apron of yours makes you look like a candy. He would love to unwrap you from those silly clothes and devour what belongs to him for the right of protector, but he knows how scared you might be. He is not a good person, he killed more people that he could count – countless fathers, sons, mothers, he shouldn’t even think about having a right for a family of his own after all of this. He is not a good person and his moral code changes with every kill he gets – but for hell sake, he wants to be nice with you. You deserve it, he knows. More than he is, for sure. 

König doesn’t really like sugary stuff, it was always too childish, made him too energetic, disrupted his very peculiar way of eating things. Sweets makes him only more hungry, makes him crave more, and he wants to be as serious as possible – so he usually drinks and eats stuff that is no tastier than a pile of dry sand. But he responds before he can think, too focused on that shiny lipgloss you have on your lips. He would lick and bite it all – soon, he hopes. 

— Ja. Thank you. 

— Good choice, sir.

Your lips are curling into a small, shy smile and he likes sugar now. He isn’t sure if you are telling everyone that their order is a good choice, maybe you just want to get more tips, but he hopes that maybe, he is special. Maybe there is something nice happening to him after all. A small reward for not being a total monster on the last mission he had, even though he could. He can’t do anything but to stare at you, his only saving grace is the dark lenses of his glasses – he can’t wear his hood in civil situations, unfortunately, people would stare, stare, stare and that would make him want to pull their eyes out. 

But you smile and he smiles also, even if you can’t see it. He is looking at your legs and, fuck, he is a disgusting old creature that preys upon younger women because he never had a positive experience before. He is a total creep and a monster that should be put down already – but he stares at your legs under that waitress dress, and he would pay your manager a few thousand Euros to cut the length of your skirt in half. 

Then he sees all the others looking at you the same way – old people, young people, there aren’t a lot of guests at this time in the evening, most people are afraid of going into public places while the war on terrorism is going on. There aren’t a lot of people while it’s almost closing time, but he doesn't even want to think about all the other men looking at you like this. Devouring you with their eyes, probably leaving sleazy comments as you go through the small cafe, just as overworked as your other coworkers. He wants to take you from here. 

You don’t deserve people looking at you like you aren’t even a person – only he can look at you respectfully, stripping you with his eyes. He can be soft for you, can be perfect – if you would just let him. 

König doesn’t want to be a creep around you, but he was looking at your legs for five minutes already, picturing the way your body would look under all of these clothes, and his cock gets painfully hard. He thanks himself for wearing normal, baggy pants, not something tighter – at least his embarrassment is completely covered by his clothes. 

— Here is your coffee. Anything else? 

You look nervous, of course – but he seems way softer than he was a couple days ago, at night. The absence of his creepy mask is obviously helping, and because he is sitting, you don’t have to tilt your head too high, causing your neck to stretch uncomfortably. He looks awkwards, like a big dog that still tries to fit into his old bed, and it causes you to smile a little bit more. You made sure to place a couple of sugar cubes on the plate, so he could decide for himself, if he wants to use them all – but the mere thought of that giant of a man, a colonel, hardened soldier liking something silly and sweet is making you giggle. 

He looks way softer than he was that night, and you can almost forget about how scared you were – how you were thinking that this would be the end for you, that one, overthinking part of your mind already making up the scenarios of getting martial lawed because of the broken curfew. You can even see his hair – and fight the urge to touch it a little. He is still who-knows-how-old and still a military presence in your peaceful country. 

You still want to ruffle his hair. 

He still wants to take your clothes off and make you his. 

— Nein, thank you. 

He stares at the cup for a good few seconds – if he wants to drink, he needs to actually take it off. He has many scars on his face, and his mouth sometimes feels like it has more dead skin than alive one – he doesn’t want to attract attention. Some people are already staring at his badge and how awkward a giant man like him looking in that cozy, tiny place – but he also wants you to see how much pain he can withstand without getting killed. How he can protect you from anything because there literally isn’t anything he won’t do for you. You would appreciate a man with scars, it’s a sign of bravery, right? 

Then he thinks about all the times he would take off his mask and how people around him would look at him – with pity, with fear, with disgust sometimes even though he is certain that his face isn’t as deformed as some other parts of his body. He even almost managed to grow a beard once! Then he had to scrub it all off because hair was growing in very uneven patches and he looked like something crawled on his chin and died. 

König fought in countless battles, spent his youth training to be the best killer possible, took part in many major conflicts and killed hundreds of people while feeling nothing but recoil. He isn’t afraid of anything – except for talking to people sometimes, maybe, and even now he is trying to work on it with his therapist, instead of just killing anyone who looks at him funny. He isn’t afraid of the dark, of death, of uncertainty in his life. But he is afraid of you looking at him unmasked and thinking that you, in fact, find him disgusting. 

You almost want to take your time to look at what he will do – is he going to take off his mask? Is he going to drink right through the fabric? You have too much work to just stay at his table and stare, even if you want to – but you are trying to give him occasional glances as he just…sits at his table. Not even moving, just staring at the cup and sometimes moving his head to look at you – or just ornaments at the wall behind you. Yes, probably the ornament. 

König sits at the table and, well, he doesn’t even want to drink his coffee because just looking at the way your ass sways under that terribly short skirt is enough to set him on fire. He wants to take you home with him – even though his home is all the way up in Austria. He would take you, you probably wouldn’t even be mad at you – you could be a perfect little family. He already waited too long to start one, never finding anyone who would win his heart for a long run but he was sure that this three-days-obsession would last long. He isn’t sure, however, if he likes it or not. 

He ended up not drinking at all – he knows that he can’t just waste multiple hours, he already got his lieutenants covering the spot with paper work while their commander is away at searching for the love of his life. He wants to be with you longer, probably walk you home again and make sure to protect you from any creeps that would want to attack. He can’t have that, it’s obvious – he is a colonel, unfortunately, he is still on the hunt for those terrorists, he can barely give himself an hour of free time these days. 

He already indulged in his fantasies too much when he folds a 100 Euros banknote and puts it into the bill – not sure about how much money it is here, not wanting to give you any trouble with exchanging currency, he just hopes that would be enough for you to at least not worry about food for a few days. Or buy yourself something nice – what girls like these days? Guns, books, some fancy lip gloss, a hat for their adorable little turtles? He would buy you a pet turtle, he always wanted one as a kid – right before his father said that all lizards are products of sinful corporations and a lazy pet like a turtle, unlike a giant dog breed, is completely useless and unmanly. 

He doesn’t want to be here when you’ll get the bill – he is too afraid that he didn’t gave you enough, that you'd be disappointed. He would love to give you more, of course, but he doesn’t want to just shove you the money like you are some sort of cheap whore – he wants to give you gifts, something meaningful, to steal you from poverty altogether. König is an expert in infiltration and escaping arts, he can exit the location without anyone noticing a thing, even with his size – and then you look at him, directly into his eyes, covered by sunglasses – and your face is twisted in shock as you realize what exactly he left you. 

— Wait, sir! Please, I…god, I will get you the change right now, I’m so sorry, it’s closing shift, I…I’m sorry, I completely forgot…

You are almost begging him to stop and let you give him his money, a honorable deed really – but all he can think of is how nice you would look on your knees, begging him to fuck you already. How perfect you would look all whiny and spoiled, asking him for something expensive, whatever your cute head would want. You would look so complete on his lap, tugging on his shirt and asking your daddy for a new toy. You would…

— It was a tip. Take it. 

He wants to be able to tell you how perfect you look, how he wants to just throw you over his shoulder in a totally non-creepy way and make you his little wifey. How he would take multiple months of leave to just be with you, marry you, breed you. He wants to have a way with words, but they are useless to him – he can’t even say he likes you, it’s embarrassing, he is almost forty, he got his rank as youngest colonel in history of KorTac, he can literally have almost everything he wants – except for basic social skills. 

He feels like a creep, an old man trying to steal that perfect girl from the shiny world, and he hates himself for it – but then you blush and he can almost convince himself that yeah, you like that creep too. 

— I…shit, I mean, sorry…thank you, sir. 

— Don’t wander at night again. 

He feels like a scolding father and you giggle again, too innocent and naive to understand his thoughts. 

— I won’t. Promise. 

He then slowly leans closer, puts a hand on your shoulder again – goosebumps are running on your skin. His head is near yours now, he is whispering in your ear – and you are almost sure that you shouldn’t have come closer to him like this, that it’s unprofessional from your side, that everyone is staring at you. They are – and you try to ignore it, but…

— Wear shorts under your skirt next time. Never know who might look at your legs like that. 

You would slap him here and there. You would scream and run away right now, but for some stupid, dumb, completely terrifying reason, you…almost like how protective he sounds. And the money he gave you is also helping – even if just a little bit. 

König looks at the way you blush even more, and he knows already that he won’t ever let you go. 

Tag list: @iwritesjud3

Please write if you want to be tagged in the next chapter!

[applestorms]

i love near so goddamn much. i finally read the c-kira and a-kira post-canon one shots all the way through last night and AAAAAAAAA my heart. nate river 🫵🫵🫵

c-kira in particular hits me hard bc you can really see that he's still reeling from the events of the main story. it’s a very specific era of near that’s so horribly awkward and insecure about his place in the world, about his role as L, and has so very few people left behind to support him-- really just lidner, rester, and gevanni. so much of that story is about near struggling to figure out who he is and who he wants to be in the wake of Everything, scrambling around in the shadows of all these false gods and blown up egos, trying to grow up and be a Person in the smoking remains of all these people who killed themselves with their own hubris. i mean, just look at this page:

LOOK AT THIS. near is almost shockingly expressive in this story, his grief and regret is fucking Palpable in a way that you very rarely see with a guy like him. it really gets to me that this is the story where near actually opens up about his mixed feelings surrounding the original L, about the interview he held where he picked near & mello out to be his two successors, and all while hiding himself within these massive card towers that you only see to be these giant L's at the end-- a kid barely out of his teens already getting dwarfed by the enormity of the history he is expected to continue and represent. the winner of the game who's only prize is the legacy he now holds on his shoulders, the grief he is cursed with as the only one left behind. this kid barely has anyone now, never even got the chance to truly, fully know what he lost in the first place, these all-powerful figures that have dictated every inch of his life from the moment he stepped foot in that damn house.

and i mean, goodness. what did we expect? i can talk all i want about the cinematic parallels of light & L as opposites, but look at near & mello in literally every piece of official art-- near truly loses his other half when mello dies, and you can just Feel the discomfort, the deep-seated, underlying imbalance in his soul through this shit.

a-kira near, on the other hand, has had the time to grow a bit more at ease with himself, but he still gets to me in a slightly different way. i cannot emphasize enough how utterly fucking perfect the decision to make his hair longer is-- for so simple of a detail, it really sums up so much about his character. this version of an older near feels like a guy who's been stuck outside of time for ages, barely even noticing the constant shifts of the outer world as he holes himself up in his room, hardly aware of the way that his own body stretches and grows and changes with each passing day. doing his job, all just for a bit of entertainment. there is still that distinctly privileged, childish part of him that hides in his forts of toys and makes whatever demands he pleases, but it's more smoothed over, more exhausted, more Done.

he's packed away the grief by this point. dealt with it properly? not necessarily. but the wound isn't as raw now so he can set it aside to be ignored or looked over more easily, focus on the things that he wants to. blow up his toys when they don't meet his standards.

i strikes me as important that near's view on the new kira's shifts so much over the course of even just these two little stories. in the c-kira story, near is so Quick to shit on the new guy as fast as possible, literally snarking him into submission with the fear of his presence alone until he writes his own name down. we never see this "cheap" kira, this pathetic fake that couldn't possibly stand up to the original. (projecting a little there, nate?) he's barely more than a panel or two of hands, and then he disappears from the story forever.

in a-kira though, you get something a little more desperate, a little more hungry-- near really fucking wants to meet this new guy, purely for the sake of talking to him, and is a lot quicker to respect him & the depth of how well he's thought through this plan. at first it seems like he's intrigued by the idea of finally finding yet another equal, someone to match his freak after years of standing on his own, and knowing DN you're inclined to trust that the mind games will eventually happen. but, in the end...

he loses. and doesn't he seem so happy about it?

minoru really is the perfect match for near in a way-- a new, passive kira, uninterested in the bullshittery of killing and shinigami and evil murder diaries, to reflect and match the tired, new L who was done with his job before he even started doing it. RIP minoru dying due to shinigami bullshit, but i'm genuinely happy that this is the ending near gets, the chance to finally lose at something without having to pay the price of human lives for it. winning has almost never been a truly positive thing for near-- his winning wammy's house only gave him the many pressures & stresses of a job as L, his winning against light only gave him a dead mello and a notebook to quietly burn, hell, all of this shit happening at all is what made mello resent him so much in the first place.

but now he can lose. and i think he's all the better for it.

near is immature, yes, he bossy and snarky and blows up his toys without giving a fuck what anyone else has to say-- but he doesn't get ahead of himself in the way that light and L and the others did, a trait which ultimately lets him win but also leaves him behind to shoulder the grief of a generation. but now he can lose, he can let the fate of the world fall of his shoulders for just a moment, and everything is still going to be okay. it's good to see him getting older. it's good to see that you can still move on and grow, even when it seems like the legacies of the past are locking you away in a cage. i'm glad these manga exist, and i'm glad near can still make it out alive.

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter two

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): mentions of blood (finger cut), mansplaining 🤢, angst

author's note: second chapter! sort of a filler chapter while we see a glimpse into jj and reader's relationship. the plot picks up the next chapter. also thank you so much to the lovely people who already joined the taglist, i hope i don't disappoint <3

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“Come on, you piece of crap,” Y/N mumbled, falling back on her hands and giving her knees the relief she needed from squatting for the past fifteen minutes. She groaned as she removed the flashlight lodged between her teeth. The generator for the charter shack had shut down in the afternoon but with all the Pogue’s campaigning to get people to show up to the impending courthouse hearing, the shop had been closed and no one bothered fixing it. 

Y/N looked out to the water, staring at the moon as it hung low over the water. She hadn’t wanted to come out here to fix the generator, much preferring the comfort of the hammock she had been lying in, but she doubted anyone else was thinking about it. If she didn’t get this thing working tonight, the lights would be shot for the early-morning charters, and JJ would never let anyone hear the end of just how much business they were losing – even though he could’ve been out here trying to fix the problem.  

As much as Y/N wanted to try to repair the generator with a begrudged attitude, she knew she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit JJ was partly why she was out here so late. She didn’t hate JJ Maybank, not by a long shot. Y/N believed hatred should only be reserved for people with dark hearts, full of evil and malice. JJ was not only far from that level of rotten but also a good guy. In her heart of hearts, she knew he was probably one of the best guys on this island. But knowing someone wasn’t a bad person didn’t mean you had to like them all the time. 

And God had she spent the last few months severely disliking him. She just wasn’t the type of girl who could exercise enough patience when someone like JJ ran amok. John B had told her a few times that JJ had a rough go at life and sometimes that made him act irrationally, impulsively. But hadn’t they all? It wasn’t even a question– she knew they all had been dealt some shitty cards. She never understood the way the Pogues would let him off with an exasperated expression or a few angry words when they’d all seen hard times. They had lost all the money they’d gotten from the El Dorado gold over stupid decisions and she felt like she couldn’t even be mad about it. 

Sure, there was a rare beauty in what they’d created due to the aftermath of those decisions. She hadn’t felt the sense of belonging she got when she was with the Pogues in this eclectic home they’d built since she was thirteen. She’d known other types of love, like the love she received from Terrance, but it wasn’t like this, like the love only a family could give you. Terrance had taken care of her and Cleo in ways a father should have, but that didn’t change the fact that he was their captain. She answered to him and had to follow his every order, no matter how she felt about it. That kind of dynamic couldn’t produce unconditional love, even if she knew a deep kind of love still existed. With the Pogues, she knew it wasn’t like that. She’d gotten through the tests of loyalty they never explicitly told her she was taking and that gave her a permanent spot on their DIY family tree. But why did that love have to mean they stayed broke forever?

So, yeah, she couldn’t always stand JJ and his quirks, sue her. Yet, here she was, on a late night, the only light around her from the moon and the flashlight she held, trying to make sure JJ could do something that made him happy tomorrow. She could admit, probably only to herself, that she cared enough about him to want that. Since she’d stolen Genrette’s letter from JJ, her stomach had twisted every time she thought about it. JJ’s tense family relationships, or lack thereof, weren’t a secret, though Y/N didn’t know the extent of how bad it could get. To think that he now had to deal with the possibility that everything he had known was a lie and that everything he had endured growing up hadn’t been written for him made her feel sick. The one thing she could cling to on nights when her mind seemed to play a constant loop of her worst childhood memories was that she knew where she came from. She knew her name and she knew what that meant, even if her name was all she had left to show for that part of herself. JJ might not even have that. 

At some point, Y/N had found herself closing her eyes as she listened to the distant slap of waves against the pilings and occasional creak of the shack. There wasn’t much Y/N could do for JJ, nor was there much she wanted to do for him, but she guessed it wouldn’t hurt to repair some dingy generator. It’s not like she didn’t have experience doing these kinds of jobs.

Sighing, Y/N stuck the tiny flashlight she’d brought back between her teeth and resumed her crouching in front of the black and yellow box. The beam of her flashlight shook slightly as she spoke her next steps aloud, trying to find where she kept going wrong. Y/N wasn’t a patient person, though, and as more time went on she felt the same frustration creep up. Her movements began to grow quicker with every passing second, trying anything and everything that could work. In her franticness, her fingers slipped, grazing a sharp edge, and she hissed pulling it back to examine her finger. Sucking in a breath, she rolled her eyes at the cut on her finger. Somehow she’d managed to cut herself deep enough that she’d need to wipe off the blood and find a bandaid. Just as she was going to get up, she heard the sound of familiar footsteps padding against the deck. Y/N could recognize the sound of  JJ’s workboots anywhere. There was a time she used to look forward to that sound, though she’d never let anyone know. That was before the blond-haired boy had shattered her trust. 

“What are you doing out here?” JJ asked, not waiting for her to turn around and acknowledge him. With one last glance at her finger, Y/N moved to look at JJ. From the light of the moon, she could see he was wearing a muscle tank and some shorts, his hair tussled in every which way indicating he’d likely been sleeping before this.

“Fixing the generator,” Y/N said, flicking her flashlight to the box behind her. “It shot out earlier today.” She turned the flashlight back towards JJ, causing him to flinch from her shining the light directly in his eyes.

“Jesus, don’t blind me,” JJ covered his eyes with his forearm, waiting until Y/N moved the light and mumbled a ‘sorry.’ He moved closer to where Y/N was standing to try to get a better look at the generator behind her. “I didn’t realize the generator was acting up.”  

That was odd. JJ always noticed when something was wrong around the store, especially if it could influence his chartering. He must have been really out of it today if he hadn’t noticed something as big as the generator being out. 

“Yeah,” Y/N said, deciding against pointing out how worrisome it was that JJ hadn’t noticed. “But it doesn’t look like the piece of shit can be fixed. I’ve checked everything that could be wrong.” 

“Did you check the fuel levels?” JJ asked, sticking his hand out for Y/N to pass him the flashlight. 

“First thing I did.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N let him have the object. No point in stopping the inevitable.  

“What about the oil levels? Or the air filters. Maybe they’re blocked.”

“Nope, checked both those things.”

“Alright let me just check the wiring. It cou–”

“Already did that,” Y/N’s voice was a bit louder now, forcing JJ to snap his head up. “And I have a cut to prove it. Now is there any more advice you want to mansplain before I leave?” Y/N’s arms crossed across her chest, not trying to hide just how irritated she was with JJ. When did she ever?

JJ blinked, his mouth opening and closing. He shook his head, looking down. The slight tilt of his head was her only indication in the low lighting that he looked ashamed. He kind of looked like a scolded child. She hated that she found it cute. 

“No, ‘m sorry,” JJ muttered, moving away from the generator and stopping directly before Y/N. “Here, let me see.” 

Before she could try to stop him, JJ flashed the light to where Y/N’s hand now rested uncrossed. Comparing both her hands, he reached for the one that was bleeding, before mumbling a curse under his breath. JJ’s touch was gentle as he tilted her hand to assess the damage. JJ’s thumb grazed the back of her hand in a steady pattern. Y/N wasn’t sure if he noticed the way his touch lingered or if it was just an unconscious reflex, but the moment his thumb skimmed across her skin, she felt a rush of warmth spread through her, settling deep in her chest. Her breath caught and she couldn’t figure out why such a simple action was suddenly making her so aware of him. 

“Got yourself bad,” JJ said, his voice coming out in a whisper as if any increase in volume would shatter this moment around them. She wasn’t sure why, but Y/N didn’t want to be the one to shatter it either.

“I-it’s nothing,” She assured him, the level of her voice matching his. “Just a cut.”

“Yeah, but you’ll still need to clean it.” JJ’s hand lingered on Y/N’s for a moment longer, before stepping back and giving the girl some much-needed space. “I’ve got a first aid kit, one sec.” 

“The first aid kits we bought are in the house, not here,” Y/N reminded him, her voice returning to its regular cadence, when he stepped towards the door of the shack. “Remember?”

“I keep one here,” JJ explained, stepping through the doorway that led to the tiny store. A moment later he returned with what looked like a blue and white first aid kit. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the box in JJ’s hands. The Pogues had bought a bundle of two first aid kits when they had opened the store because Pope insisted that it was important to keep one on hand. But those kits had been red and white, so when had JJ bought this? Or why? It seemed kind of a waste.

Without saying a word, JJ sat himself down on the steps that lead up to the deck and motioned for Y/N to join him. 

“JJ, I can clean the cut. You don’t have to worry about it,” Y/N assured him, not moving towards the stairs.

“There ain’t much light, otherwise I wouldn’t insist,” JJ called back, shifting through the supplies in the box. “I know you’re tougher than a little cut. I just want to help.” There was something in his tone that told her it might be more than a want. “I won’t screw it up, don’t worry.”

Y/N suppressed a sigh, letting her head fall while he couldn’t see. Maybe she was too harsh on him. She didn’t want him to feel so dejected around her, she just expected more from him. Hesitating for only a minute longer, she moved to sit next to him on the rickety staircase. Wordlessly, she positioned herself so her knees were turned towards JJ, her bare skin brushing against the fabric of his shorts. She waited as JJ pulled out the necessary materials and took the flashlight from him when he held it out to her.  A moment later, JJ looked up at her, making her breath catch again.

The shadows softened the sharp edges of his face, hiding most of him from her view, but the faint moonlight caught just enough – the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, and the faint outline of his lips. The limited light didn’t do much to illuminate his features, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken. The way his eyes, even in the dark, seemed to fill the gap of silence between them, was unnerving. The shadows seemed to lean into him, framing his face like a half-finished sketch that was the most captivating piece of art she’d ever seen. JJ was handsome in every light, but there was something enchanting about him in the moonlight.  

“I’m gonna need your hand,” JJ spoke, breaking Y/N out of her trance. 

“What?” Y/N asked, too dazed to cringe at how dense she must’ve sounded. She watched JJ’s lips stretch into a smirk and again, even in the dark she could see that teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Your hand? You know, to clean the cut?” JJ broke eye contact with Y/N to look at her hand, which was tucked away at her side. With JJ’s eyes concealed from her, Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and looked down at her hand too. 

“Oh, right.” Y/N extended her arm, so her hand hovered above the first aid kit in JJ’s lap, silently berating herself for her lapse in focus. She thought JJ would definitely be letting that go to his head, but instead of taking this moment to embarrass Y/N, JJ simply took her hand in his grasp.

“Flash the light this way,” He said, his voice only slightly teasing. “Perfect.” He worked in silence, letting go of her hand to open an individually wrapped alcohol wipe before his warm fingertips wrapped back around her palm. The silence would have been a nice change of pace from JJ’s incessant need to fill any quiet moments, but right now Y/N didn’t trust herself. The less they talked the more she’d stare.

“Thanks,” Y/N controlled her voice so that it didn’t betray any discomfort as she spoke. “So um… how are you doing?”

“Hm?” JJ asked, the small sound endued with confusion.

“About the letter,” She clarified. “That news is a lot to handle.” She felt JJ’s hand tighten for a moment before loosening up. He chuckled, not stilling his movements as he placed the bloodied wipe next to him.

“You could say that,” JJ’s tone carried a sense of amusement, but she knew it was just a front. He let her hand go again, to unscrew the cap of the generic Neosporin. When he began applying the ointment to the cut, he didn’t take her hand in his again, instead letting it hang in the air. “I’m fine. Don’t really believe any of it anyway.”

“You don’t?” 

“You do?” JJ said, looking up at her. Y/N turned the flashlight in her hand to get a better read on his expression, causing JJ to flinch back like before. Shielding his eyes, he shouted, “Stop doing that!” 

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Y/N said frantically, but her apology was overpowered by a fit of laughter. 

“Seriously! You keep doin’ that and I’m gonna need a seeing-eye dog, woman.” JJ quipped, causing her to laugh even harder.

It took her a moment to calm down from her laughter and when she looked at JJ he had a small smile on his face. Simply chuckling, he shook his head and started to apply the ointment. Not wanting this conversation to pass them, Y/N continued with her earlier thought. “It’s not that I do believe it, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility. It could be real.” JJ’s smile disappeared, but she could tell from the position of his shoulders he wasn’t upset. 

“It feels like it is…. Impossible, I mean.” Y/N nodded as he spoke waiting to see if he’d elaborate. When he remained silent, she didn’t push. JJ needed to talk to someone because she had seen how everything played out disastrously when he didn't. But she wouldn’t push him to talk to her. They’d been better friends at one point. JJ had been one of the first people she bonded with when she’d joined the Pogues, aside from Sarah who she had felt an immediate inclination towards on Terrance’s ship. It didn’t matter though, that she’d once considered him her (second) closest friend in the group because she definitely wasn’t that person for him. She probably had a large part to play in that, but acknowledging that didn’t change how things were. She knew she had no right to force him to talk, so she shifted her attention to something else to fill the space between them. As she searched for another topic, she noticed JJ was already wrapping the bandaid around her finger, meaning he was almost done. 

“So, since when do you keep a first aid kit here?” Y/N asked, not wanting him to leave just yet– not after their first good moment in a long time. “This one’s different from the ones we got with Pope.”

“I’ve had it for a while,” JJ shrugged, throwing the bandaid wrapper to the growing pile of trash next to him. Y/N aimed the flashlight at the box of medical supplies, taking a proper look at it for the first time. It was a total wreck: silver wrappers spilling out, oversized bandage wrappers crumpled haphazardly, and a few tools resting on the rubbish she couldn’t properly identify. She’s not sure why the mess surprised her considering the kit belonged to JJ and he could be a bit clumsy, but how had he used so much already? 

“How long is ‘a while’?” Y/N pressed, leaning forward to shuffle through the mess. She shifted through the mess, tugging out a half-crumpled roll of gauze. “This thing’s been through the wringer. No wonder it took you so long to find the stuff.” She tossed the gauze back up in the box, noting the moment his expression changed. 

“Yeah,” JJ said before his jaw tightened and he stood up abruptly with the box in his hands. “It works fine.” JJ roughly set the first aid kit on the ledge of the shack, turning to face away from Y/N. 

Y/N frowned, not intending to have stuck a nerve with him. “Hey, I didn’t mean–”

“You know what?” JJ interrupted, spinning completely to face the generator. His movements were sharper now, less fluid. “I’m just gonna check one more time. There’s gotta be a way to fix this.”

Y/N rose to her feet, her stomach already clenching with the fear of an impending mishap. “JJ, stop. Leave it. I already–”

“I’m sure you checked it properly,” JJ cut her off as he crouched beside the generator. JJ’s hands moved frantically, tugging wires, and removing lids. “You probably just missed something, that’s all.” 

“JJ, hold on,” Y/N urged, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and shining her flashlight where JJ was still working. “Let’s just—”

JJ shrugged her hand off, his movements growing more erratic.“No– relax…just relax. It’s fine, see? I’m just gonna–” JJ kept twisting wires and prying things that didn’t need prying, parts that even Y/N hadn’t dared to touch despite spending the better half of her life on various ships.

“Please. Stop,” Y/N insisted. She knew this JJ, she’d seen him too much recently. “You’re making it worse.” JJ visibly flinched at her words but didn’t slow his movements.

“I’ve got it!” JJ snapped, his voice loud in the silent night. “I can fix this. Just let me fix it.” Y/N heard the way JJ’s voice waivered at the end, but she didn’t have time to figure out what it meant. Suddenly, JJ began to hit his hand against the side of the generator mumbling, “It just needs a little push.” 

Y/N’s protests fell on deaf ears as JJ continued his harsh beating of the generator, his movements extreme as if the generator had personally insulted him. JJ’s didn’t stop, until finally, miraculously, the entire deck lit up. Y/N looked around, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. There was no way…

“See?” JJ got up from the floor, his arms spread out on either side of him as his breath began to slow down. “Just needed a magic touch.” As he walked closer to Y/N, JJ gave her a pointed look that was no doubt meant to say ‘I told you so.’ Y/N pursed her lips, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting he’d fixed the problem. It wasn’t because she hadn’t been able to do it herself. It was because once again JJ had let his impulsive behavior take the wheel and this time he just got lucky. Pushing past her ego, Y/N was about to say thank you when –

A loud SNAP interrupted her, followed by a mechanical whine before she was met with complete silence. And darkness. Save for the orange sparks flying out from somewhere in the generator. JJ cursed under his breath, as he and Y/N ran down the stairs and off the deck. It was silent as they watched to make sure nothing else happened and the sparks didn’t lead to a fire. When she was sure there wouldn’t be anything else, she turned to JJ, her jaw set in annoyance. 

“You’ve got it?” Y/N repeated his words back to him, dripping in sarcasm. “You broke it, JJ.” 

JJ didn’t take even a second before defensively responding, “Well, it was already mostly broken.” 

Scoffing, Y/N looked to the sky, praying to anyone who’d listen to give her patience. “Mostly broken? It was off, JJ. Off and fixable. Now it’s dead. You just killed it.” 

JJ’s hand moved to the back of his neck, as he muttered something under his breath. He tilted his body away from Y/N which made her furious. Stepping to the side, she faced him head-on. 

“You just couldn’t leave it alone, huh? Why do you always have to–” 

“I was trying to help!” JJ argued and she couldn’t miss the unguarded, almost raw way he sounded, but she had to ignore it. Because no one else would tell him how bad this really was. “It wasn’t working before either, what’s the difference?”

“The difference, JJ,” Y/N said, her teeth grinding against each other. “Is that before we could have called a mechanic to fix it. Now, we need to buy a brand new generator. With money, that I don’t need to remind you, we don’t have! And we’ll be cut off from any profit we get from everything in here.”

They stared at each other, the flashlight beam caught awkwardly between them. JJ’s face was once again shrouded by darkness, but she could see the pout of his lips. 

“I’ll figure something out,” JJ’s voice was quieter now. “It’ll only cut into the early morning charters. We can keep track of profit the old school way– pen and paper.” 

“The early morning charters are half our business,” Y/N shook her head. “Just– stop making excuses, alright?”

JJ’s shoulders fell as he nodded, “Okay…” 

Y/N stared at JJ, not responding or furthering her chastising. JJ wouldn’t meet her eyes and she was glad. His usual bravado was missing as he tugged at what she presumed were loose threads on his shorts. If he had the gall to keep arguing right now, she would’ve lost it even more than she already did. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything more, so she just shook her head and left back towards the house.

“Y/N,” JJ called, his voice so quiet it was almost inaudible over the waves. Y/N just ignored it and continued on her path. She wanted to turn around, she wanted to tell him they’d figure it out. But she didn’t know that they would and she hated to lie. With that explanation to herself, she kept walking away from JJ, not knowing she was delivering the final blow to his heart.

taglist: @tpwkyarely @ayy1234567 @theater-bitch

[fandomscompilation]

Black roses (Kaz Brekker x Reader)

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: slight Kaz Brekker x Reader

Warnings: mentions of cheating (?)

A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so sorry for not posting for so long and not continuing on the two series I had going on. I lost inspiration for both works, seeing them as a copy of the show and not my own work. But no worries, I'm back to writing and plan on letting new parts out soon! But in the meantime enjoy a little one shot and maybe there'll be more to come during the wait! Let me know what you think and remember my requests are open 🫶🏻

Gif is not mine!

Once a month pigeons flocked to the Crow Club, even Ketterdams citizens went to play The Pure Luck. The game was led by a young woman. Her shuffling didn't allow anyone to count the cards, for she had her own chaotic ways. Some believed even she didn't know what would be dealt. Others believed she was so deciving that nobody suspected anything. But no matter the rumors and theories people still crowded her table.

The thing was not everyone was allowed to play at her table. She chose those that could sit down and have a chance at luck. She lured people in with her charm. Her easygoing nature allowing players to relax and enjoy their night. The table was always full of jokes, banter and laughter. It was a sight to see.

"It seems you're out of money, Sir." The girl smiled at the man across from her. There were only three players left. It was their last chance at winning and this man was desperate to have his money back at least.

"Two cards." He said throwing them to her for a change. She looked to the table before meeting his gaze again.

"Two secrets. Are you willing to pay the prize?" Her innocent voice reached his ears and after a small huff the man nodded to the cards thrown. She shuffled her cards quickly and put down the first one.

Nothing escaped her eyes. He was sweating, his lips twitched almost unnoticeably. But she trained herself to notice those minimalistic changes. After all he was playing her game now.

"Still a chance to back down, sir." He met her eyes only to nod again.

"The second one." He said looking at her hands. She shuffled the deck again and put down another card. The man frowned before showing his cards. He lost.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. Congratulations Mrs. Frederick, you can collect your special prize at the bar." They all shook hands before she led the man to the back room.

It was just a small storage converted into lookalike office. One desk, two chairs. "Two secrets sir."

The night life at the club continued while the two talked. For anyone from the outside it was a regular occurrence, but for those that knew it was crucial. For the girl was not a normal dealer of cards. Each month she would collect secrets and unbeknownst to others she'd then meet with Dirtyhands himself.

When he entered his office she was already in front of his desk, shuffling her black deck of cards. He circled the desk and took his sit while she kept her eyes on the cards.

"He's been having an affair, three years." Her soft voice filled the silence. He only hummed starting at his own work. "It started after him and his wife couldn't start a family. So he found someone else. A man."

"And why is it important?" He asked making her put down the cards.

"Because he works at the Ravkan embassy and he got the job thanks to his father." She put down her deck and leaned back in her chair. "If one would learn of his meetings and accidentally send one of Ravkan's aristocracy to see, then his father would learn the truth and take away his position."

"Why would one open a seat at their embassy?" Kaz asked meeting her eyes. She smiled lightly with a plan already made.

"He had an ultimatum. If he marries then the job is his. But-" She leaned in closer to him. "he has a younger brother. One that enjoys life and could be easily manipulated. He would fit in just well in our city."

"And what about Mrs. Frederick?" Brekker asked going back to his work. She shrugged going back to her shuffling.

"Her son is getting divorced due to him falling in love with another woman. One that works at one of the clubs." She said lightly but still risked a glance at him. And she was right to do so, cause his jaw twitched.

"Really?" Kaz drawled scribbling even harder now.

"Well, he's head over heels for her. Mrs. Frederick said he plans on bringing her flowers tomorrow for it's the day he'll be legally divorced." She wasn't ignorant enough to not realise it was her, who the man loved. But she also knew his nature. The man was known to have affairs and to think with his manhood more than his brain.

"Not an important secret." Brekker said before sending her off. She went straight to her room, just one floor lower and sleep soon caught up to her.

The next day she spend on the Crow Club's floor. She didn't deal that night, but she still played few games and talked with frequent visitors. People loved her company for she gave them a sense of calm and security in a twisted place.

It was noon when Mrs. Frederick son, Joseph, entered the Club. He was in a formal attire with a bouquet of red roses in his hand. The Crows watched how he scanned the floors and his face broke out into a wide smile upon noticing Y/N. She was enjoying her drink with Inej and Jesper during one of the rare quiet moments.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." The man said stopping only a step away from her. She twisted her body to face him and gave a light smile.

"Of course not. Are you looking for someone?" She questioned softly and as innocent as she could. After her talk with his mother she hoped he would not approach her in the open, but she was wrong yet again.

"I'm actually here for you." He said still smiling oblivious to her discomfort. "And those are for you too." Joseph handed her the bouquet.

She looked from his face to the flowers. The bouquet looked quiet expensive for a city like Ketterdam. But no matter the prize she didn't want to give the man false hope if she accepted the gift. She was aware of his affection but for her he was only a player at her table, a man with secrets she could use.

"That's really kind of you, Joseph." She started lightly and breathed deeply. But before she could decline a cane met his elbow making Joseph retract his arm.

"Red roses, really?" Kaz drowled glaring at the flowers like they had pricked him already.

"I'm sorry?" The man frowned straightening up. The three Crows looked between the both of them in shock and confusion. Kaz Brekker was acting possessive and it was not a daily occurrence.

"You talk about your affection openly and yet you don't know that Y/N prefers black flowers." He said already sporting a look of a winner. He was confident in his knowledge about the girl and her likes.

"Why would the colour matter? It's about the gesture." Joseph argued looking back to Y/N in hopes of continuing their conversation. But yet again Brekker spoke up.

"I was trying to be nice. If you won't stop harassing one of my workers I will remove you from my Club." His words were now spoke in the harsh tone that was associated with one and only Dirtyhands.

"You have no right to do that." The man huffed going back to smile at Y/N. "She wants me here." The silence that followed was full of tension. Both man turned to look at her in expectation. Either she'd make Joseph be removed or accept his gift and let whatever this was continue. Her eyes went from the roses to Kaz who calmly met her gaze.

"I'm not a fan of red." Her soft voice broke the silence. Joseph tightened his jaw in anger, while Kaz gave a slight smirk. In moments few Dregs had the man removed while the Crows watched.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, we've got a job tomorrow." Brekker said heading back to his office. They sat confused before Y/N sprang to her feet and ran after him.

She barged into his office just to have him waiting with two glasses of wine. He was not a fan of wine. Neither did he like flowers in his office, but there, on the side of his desk was a bouquet of black roses. They eyes met only for a moment. But it was enough to make her sit down in front of him and enjoy the drink in silence, while he worked and she smelled the flowers.

[wtfdemother]

One Snowy Night

CW: Day 5 of Fluffvember ☃️🤝 or Kinkvember idrfc at this point, but the point is, you and König are a couple of insatiable freaks who couldn’t wait to get home and traffic is… boring. something, something, oral sex NSFW

Nights like these were a pet peeve, you both are tired, worn to the bone. You just want to go home and forget about the day, or in this case the last couple months. Working for KorTac had its benefits… rest wasn’t one of them, unfortunately for either of you. The stress of the company gradually took its toll, peace treaties were broken and things felt on the verge of spiralling out more than ever.

Hell, a bullet whizzed past König’s ear two days ago and you thought you might’ve lost him when his body hit the floor. He was fine, thankfully, but you have to be careful nibbling on the shell of his ear now. That and potential internal ear damage, you really should’ve checked your comms before letting out that terrified screech.

If it wasn’t for the icy roads that night, you would be at home by now, probably enjoying a nice bubble bath with your husband. Alas. You cursed Mother Nature and her unpredictable timing. The tension in the car hung heavy in the air, only the soft blaring of 80’s rock songs pierced through the silence, that and the occasional squeak from the windshield wipers. König had the heater on, so it was a nice contrast to the cold outside.

You snap from whatever daze you were in when the poles stopped whizzing by. Before you knew it cars began to line up, the flow stopped, and König almost shuts off the engine out of frustration. “Verdammt Scheisse…”

You let out an apologetic chuckle, leaning your head against his shoulder and he returns the feeling with a defeated laugh. “I’m sorry, Schatzi. We’ll just have to wait it out.” He sighs deeply, rubbing his weary face with a broad hand. “Ah, mein Gott… you can’t be serious. There’s no way,” you feel his forehead dig into your shoulder as he leans over to your side, voicing his vexation. “Baby, why do we have such bad luck?”

König groans in relief and he visibly relaxes upon feeling the pressure of your lips against his head, the velvety murmur of your voice as you soothe him and his worries. “It’s not bad luck…” you chime in, discarding your seatbelt to move in closer. “It’s the cards we’ve been dealt with. Now’s up to us to make the most of our shitty hand, yeah?” You don’t give him time to think as you’re already kissing on his jawline and down his neck. “I hate it when you shave… keep the stubble.” He laughs softly at your whining, muttering something about regulations before you cut him off with a nip to his skin. “Nuh, no. No. None of it, I don’t wanna hear about that forsaken company keeping my husband from me. Shut up and let me love you.”

And he lets you, guiding you gently on his lap, pushing his seat further down so you could straddle him in the car. “Schatzi… what’re you planning, mein Herz?” He smiles against your lips, digging his fingers in your hair. You swear that it’s nothing as you grind against him, that all your thoughts and actions are purely… for his benefit, kinda. Sorta. Maybe. He thinks the opposite when you finally dismount from his lap, he tries to pull you back in, but you swat away his hand before he could do anything.

“Tsk, I thought this was for my benefit?” König whines, curling a lock between his fingers as he eyes you with a curious expression, peering down at you. “It is,” you say, untucking his shirt from his waistband to kiss down his happy trail. König’s eyes flutter shut when your intentions dawn on him, he mutters a word of praise as you begin to unbuckle his cargo pants. Then something else dawns upon the Austrian, the smallish fact that you were in public sends wary tingles down his spine. He tugs gently at your hair, “Uh, Schatz? Do you really think this is a good idea? What if we get caught?”

“We’re not getting caught…” you undo his fly, and suddenly all of König’s festering thoughts were a thing of the past when his cock springs free and slaps you on the side of your mouth. You both repress a chuckle, failing miserably when you snort out a laugh. König gives you a sheepish shrug, “Was? I’m an eager man, and so is my cock. Sue me.” He gently toys with your bottom lip, cupping the side of your face with his hand. “I love you, meine Liebe.”

“I love you too,” you say, pressing a kiss to the tip of his leaky dick, carefully peeling the foreskin back to reveal his shiny, dusty pink head. Your husband quirks a brow as he thinks that your love might’ve been directed to his erection and not him, he can’t believe he’s getting jealous over his own body. You pat his meaty thigh twice, feeling the slight glare above. “Don’t worry, my love. You’ll always have a second place in my heart.” König sputters, “Second?? That’s… unfair.”

Teasing aside, all thoughts at a comeback fade away when the warmth of your tongue begins to swirl around his sensitive tip, collecting the beading precum from the slit. He grips your hair a little tighter, “My love… oh, das ist gut…” Lascivious slurping could be heard from inside the car, drool begins to dribble down the sides of your mouth as you take him in fully. The familiar musk of sex hits your nostrils, you pull back with a wet pop to reveal the glistening flesh of his member only to dive back in.

His hips begin to buck to the rhythm of your head bobbing, meeting you halfway. “Mein liebling,” König‘s voice is hoarse, strained through gritted teeth as he tries to hold himself from spilling on your tongue. “I don’t think… I can last much longer, please…” Your hands are splayed on his thighs, keeping them apart while you hum with your lips wrapped around his prick. He grips your hair harder, hissing from the heat. “Du bist so böse, kleiner Schlampe. Why must you tease me so much—? Oh…ja, like that, don’t fucking stop.”

His grunts and praises go straight to your cunt, you can feel your hole clenching around nothing, making yourself wetter by giving him pleasure. You pick up the pace, nails digging deep into his thighs before sending him toppling over the edge. König throws his head back against his seat, his mind fuzzy with the need to chase his high. You sputter and gag on your own saliva, tears burn the corners of your eyes as you feel a broad hand slowly push down on the back of your head, causing your nose to be buried in curly tuffs of light coloured pubic hair. You take him to the hilt, feeling his cock pulse with every spurt of hot cum he sent down your throat, hearing you gulp frantically as to not waste a single drop.

Once he’d softened, you pulled back, wiping a smear of white sheen on your chin before buckling into your seat again, ignoring the sticky mess in your panties for the time being. “Oh, look. Traffic is moving.” You chirp, leaving your partner breathless and dazed. He snaps out of it as cars begin to move around him, he hurriedly plants a kiss to your knuckles, apologizing if he was too rough with you towards the end before gripping the steering wheel.

“I…I will make this up to you, taube. When we get home. Hmm?” König says as he passes a green light, you hum along, nodding absentmindedly as you tuck him back in, zipping him up.

[pianokantzart]

By The Numbers (Pt. 3/END)

Luigi hoped to use one of his own special talents to give the Super Mario Bros. Plumbing company the leg-up it needed to succeed. But as usual, for all his good intentions, the younger of The Mario Brothers finds himself in over his head. Final part of a three part story!

Part one: X Part two: X

Also available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52624285/chapters/134094502

______________

“Luigi, what’s going on?” Mario’s tone was stern, his eyes flicking between the men surrounding his brother as he stood with hands clenched into ready fists. He was hatless, a pair of overalls thrown over his pajamas, one of his shoes left untied in his apparent rush to get dressed. Luigi was slow to answer. He knew that even if he didn’t look so ragged, caught in the middle of four strangers, his brother had already guessed he was in danger. Luigi’s poker face only lasted as long as the card game, in all other instances he couldn’t lie to save his life… or anyone else’s. Before he could say anything, he felt a burly arm envelop his shoulders and draw him close, holding him firm while the other three men formed a barrier between him and his brother.

“Oh… Luigi is just out for a little night on the town,” Warren said, carefully enunciating the name as he spoke it for the first time, “What’s it to you?”

Through the dark Luigi could see how his brother’s chest rose and fell– a tell-tale sign that his emotions were getting to him, but before a fist could be thrown he gathered his breath, released it with an audible exhale, and buried his hands into his pockets in a noble effort to hold himself back. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’ve already called the cops.” Mario pulled a familiar touchscreen phone from his overalls and waved it threateningly. “Let my brother go, and we won’t press any charges.”

This seemed to cause a bit of a stir amongst Luigi’s captors. The nameless three exchanged glances, and once they had all silently indicated to each other they did not know what to do, they turned to Warren for direction.

Warren, much to Luigi’s distress, tightened his hold on him, his arm sliding subtly from Luigi's shoulders to around his neck.

“I think you’re bluffing,” was the firm reply. “What do you say to that?” Mario said nothing. He returned the phone to his pocket, squared his shoulders, and started walking closer at an even, determined pace.

Warren’s three underlings moved in to intercept, but as Luigi had witnessed so many times before, they were blindsided by the amount of fight that was contained in someone who looked so small and innocuous. Mario knew exactly how to leverage both his weight and size, what angle to jump at to connect skull to jaw, and how high to jump in order to lay a sturdy kick into someone's throat. He was experienced in dodging blows from opponents twice his size, and was fast as he was strong.

But it was still three against one. Going up against those odds was difficult, getting out of them unscathed was impossible. For every blow Mario delivered and dodged, something connected and sent him reeling. Blows compounded, and despite the damage he dealt Mario was clearly having a harder and harder time getting back up.

“Don’t!” Luigi yelled, tears pooling in his eyes and trickling down his cheeks. He struggled to wrench free from Warren’s grip, and for his efforts he heard a light “click,” and finally got a decent look at the knife… a folding knife with a needle-point blade. 

“That’s enough, all of you!” Warren commanded, keeping the weapon firmly pressed against Luigi’s jaw. It took a few seconds for the thugs to untangle themselves from the fight and back down, during which Warren leaned close to Luigi’s ear, and whispered instructions in a tone that made the plumber’s blood run cold.

“I suggest you talk your brother down, before we do something you might regret.”

Struggling to regather his breath, Luigi looked over the scene and calculated the odds. Through the dim light he compared the scattered wounds of his attackers to the ones on his brother. Mario was still standing, but was leaning slightly under a bruised rib, his breaths audible through a face that was already beginning to swell. Three against one. The cards were not in his favor. But the odds never mattered to Mario. His hands remained clenched as he crouched back into a fighting stance and stared Warren down, the blade the larger man held against Luigi’s throat the one thing holding him back.

“Mario! Just go!” Luigi pleaded.

“Lu.” Mario’s gaze softened as it shifted to his brother. “It’s gonna be okay, I’m–” “You’re gonna get us both killed!” Luigi interrupted frantically. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want you here! I don’t want you trying to save me!”

His older brother looked startled at this. A look of hurt and confusion creased his face, black and blue and speckled with blood. Luigi felt his stomach twist with regret, but he far preferred that over watching Mario continue to test how much punishment his body could take. Luigi knew that tonight was a culmination of his own weakness. He was not going to let him keep paying the price for that.

“Everything was fine until you showed up.” Luigi spoke quietly as he doubled down with a cracking voice and tears flowing freely. “I don’t need you. The sooner you’re gone, the safer I’ll be. What part of that don’t you understand?”

Mario’s surprised look turned thoughtful as his fists unclenched, and he crossed his arms irresolutely in front of his chest. He carefully looked around, gaze shifting from the three goons, to Warren, to the knife, to Luigi, where his gaze lingered for a long while. As Luigi met his eyes, an unspoken exchange brought him to the unsettling conclusion that no matter what he said, Mario wouldn’t leave– or more, couldn’t leave. He couldn’t turn his back on him. He was too frightened about what might happen. Mario further softened his body language, raising his palms and lowering his head. “Okay, okay… just tell me what you guys want.”

“Whatever happened to having called the cops?” one of the goons mumbled, rubbing at his bruised jaw and wiping away the blood in the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, you called my bluff on that one.” Mario said, forcing a strained chuckle. “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of my brother, but we can figure something out.”

“One moment you’re trying to crack open skulls, the next you think you’re some sort of master negotiator,” Warren muttered. He pressed the blade a little harder against Luigi’s jaw, eliciting a pained squeak and a small trickle of crimson. Mario stiffened, his bruised eyes widening.

“Please! I-... What do I need to do to fix this?”

Warren chewed his lip thoughtfully. After giving each of his men a quick glance, he made an offer while clicking his knife closed to his sincerity. “I’ll tell you one thing you can do: hold still. Things are about to get very unpleasant for you, but if you prove you can control yourself, we’ll give your brother here another chance to make things right.”

Mario didn’t know what that meant, he was afraid to ask, but knowing what was at stake he simply nodded. Luigi didn’t understand either, but felt a horrible dread weighing down on him as Warren’s underlings approached Mario one by one. The first reared back, taking his time in aiming his fist at Mario’s temple. It connected without resistance with a gut-churning crack. Mario let out a grunt of pain and swayed under the impact, but otherwise didn’t move. “Mario!” Luigi shouted. Through vision blurred with tears, he saw his sibling smiling up at him. “See?” Mario muttered, blinking away the darkness that danced at the corner of his vision, “I can control myself.” No sooner had he said this, the second thug delivered a blow of his own. In a roundhouse kick that looked straight out of a corny action movie, he knocked Mario’s legs out from under him. Mario slowly and carefully stood back up, but made no further signs of resistance.

The third thug, who had received the worst injuries of his companions, hung back as the other two tested whether or not their opponent would stay true to his word. Seeing Mario remain still despite the attacks, he held a hand out toward Warren who– to Luigi’s horror– handed him the switchblade, which the thug calmly flicked open while approaching his brother. Luigi wanted to scream, call out a warning, do something other than just stand there, but found himself frozen in place save for his quivering limbs and knotted stomach, until a flicker of coherent thought in the back of his mind pointed out that Warren’s grip on him had loosened. He wasn’t completely free, the arm was still wrapped around his neck, but he had a little bit of wriggle room…

___ “Push off with your back leg and twist your hips like you’re swinging a home run.” His father explained, adjusting Luigi’s posture. The ten year old shifted his footing as directed, taking care to keep his thumb outside his fist, between his first and second knuckles on his index and middle finger. ���Keep your elbow in. Don’t aim at the head, but behind it.” His father continued as he extended a large calloused hand, nearly as big as Luigi’s head, “Pretend my hand is the face of someone that… um… someone trying to hurt your brother!” Luigi crafted the scenario in his mind, tightening his fist, working himself up. “That’s it. Now swing! Hard as you can!” ___

Luigi’s whole body twisted and his arm shot out in one short, controlled action. He felt his knuckles crack across Warren’s face and the cartilage of the large man’s nose snap. There was a tiny yelp of shock, Warren releasing Luigi to clutch his bleeding face with both hands. Everyone’s attention was captured, the whole scene paused in astonishment. Luigi didn’t waste a single second as he dashed down the alley, snatching up his sibling, practically throwing him ahead in his desperation.

“Mario! Run!”

The command was unnecessary. They fell into sync as they sped away. They could hear manic footsteps and shouts behind them as their pursuers regrouped and gave chase, but if there was anything Mario was better at than fighting, it was running, and if there was any skill in which Luigi surpassed his brother, it was the art of escape.

Together they bounded over chain link fences, across brick walls and fire escapes, rounding sharp corners and leapfrogging over garbage cans, keeping side-by-side until any sign of their pursuers was left far behind, lost completely in the loud bustle of the New York streets as dawn finally broke over the city.

Mario and Luigi took refuge in a corner store across the street from their home. Harry, a friend of theirs, ran the place from six in the morning until two p.m, and played tennis with them on weekends. He was just then turning the sign from “closed” to “open” when he saw Mario and Luigi approach, Mario holding on to Luigi's shoulders for stability.

They claimed they were mugged. The full story didn’t feel worth delving into. Harry considered calling the police, but Mario and Luigi turned down the idea. Given that their attackers hadn’t successfully stolen anything, and Mario had dealt out a fair amount of damage himself, they doubted anything useful could come of it.

They took Harry’s suggestion to call an ambulance into a bit more consideration. Mario looked himself over carefully, and after determining that no bones were broken or organs ruptured, turned down that idea as well. They did, however, happily accept the offer of ice, bandages, and access to the storage room, where they could get themselves cleaned up before heading home.

Soon, Luigi was sitting by his brother on a pallet of paper towels with a first aid kit open on his lap. He decided to start with Mario’s raw knuckles, having decided to wait until after the ice brought down the swelling in his face before he tended to the worst of the damage.

“So, what are we going to tell the family?” Luigi asked after he and his brother had finally settled. “Same thing we told Harry.” Mario said, wincing a little as his brother brushed gravel out of his injured knuckles and dabbed them with antiseptic, “We’ll tell them we got a sugar craving around midnight, decided to take a walk to the nearby 24/7 pancake house, and got mugged along the way.”

“Why would I go to a pancake house in my Sunday best?” “Oh, I don’t know!” Mario snapped, pulling the ice away from his face in exasperation. “What, you want me to tell them that you decided to sneak out and pretend to be Stu Ungar for a night?”

Luigi shrugged, barely even blinking when his brother raised his voice at him, finding it rather comforting that he still had that fire in him regardless of his injuries. Even so, Mario looked regretful, letting out a heavy sigh and pressing the ice back against his face. “No way. They’d never let you hear the end of it.”

Luigi gave a small nod, less of agreement and more of numb acceptance. He rifled through the package of adhesive bandages, trying to find the little H-shaped one designed for knuckles. Finding none, he decided to settle with simple gauze and bandage tape. “Mario, I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he finished tying off his brother’s hands. “Heh, not as sorry as you’re gonna be when Nonno gets wind of this. For a guy who needs a walker he sure can swing that thing, and he doesn't miss!” “Not about that. I mean…” Luigi swallowed back the tears building in his throat. “...I-I mean about what I said back there. The whole ‘I don’t need you’ thing.” “Oh that!” Mario let out a good natured laugh and shook his head. “Don’t even mention it Lu, you were just trying to keep me safe.”

“But I didn’t… I mean I should’ve…” Luigi stuttered and trailed off as he felt the tears continue to choke him, creating a painful lump and cutting off his words. That wasn’t all he was sorry for. It wasn’t even the beginning. He didn’t mean to put his brother in that position, make him feel like he had to turn himself into a punching bag. He didn’t mean to nearly get him stabbed... maybe even killed. He didn’t mean to keep getting lost, keep getting cornered, keep attracting trouble, keep forcing his Mario into these sorts of situations. He couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with him. “Hey.” Mario’s voice pulled Luigi from his thoughts. He felt his brother gently take hold of his wrist, and lift his trembling hand into the air. “That was a pretty good left hook back there.”

Luigi looked at his own hand as Mario brought it up to the light. It was still marked with Warren’s nose blood, smeared across his knuckles in an ugly brown stain. He felt a glimmer of pride then, seeing the evidence of his little moment of heroism, though he wasn’t so proud that he wasn’t unnerved by the literal blood on his hands.

Using an antiseptic wipe to wash his hand clean, Luigi decided to switch subjects and ask a question that had been on the tip of his tongue ever since Mario first swooped in to rescue him. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“Well, you weren’t too far from the casino you kept researching in your internet search history.” Mario smugly pulled the phone from his overall pocket– miraculously undamaged. “I just followed the address, and then followed my gut, until eventually I found you. Not a moment too soon, from the looks of things.”

Luigi smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Heh, I just wish you’d found me sooner. The night would've gone a lot better if you picked me up right after I won all that mon-” he froze mid sentence, his eyes widening in sudden recollection. The money! He couldn’t believe he almost forgot about the money! “Hold on! I want to show you something.” Mario was confused, but didn’t protest as Luigi took the phone from his hands. Eagerly he exited the internet page, switched to his bank app, and was relieved to see that despite losing his debit card and nearly getting robbed at knifepoint, the total in his checking account was still the same as it had been when he’d first left the poker table and deposited his earnings. “What’s that big grin about?” Mario asked, noticing his brother's change of demeanor. Luigi handed the phone back to Mario, and took no small amount of delight in watching his expressions disbelief and elation.

“Luigi! Is this for real!? I swear if you’re pulling my leg-”

“The average cost of starting a plumbing business is around twenty grand, right?” Luigi interrupted, chuckling proudly. “Twenty five thousand should cover it.”

Saying the number out loud, a part Luigi couldn’t help but feel perplexed. It had seemed an exorbitant amount at the poker table– no doubt it was an incredible sum to win in one night– but it didn’t seem like a number worth being threatened the way he had, not by a guy who appeared as well off as Warren. Luigi suspected either Warren’s issues were based more in pride than money, or he had been pigeonholed as a far more prolific and wealthy gambler than he actually was. Someone worth robbing. In any case, they were 25k richer, and Mario was over the moon.

“We- we can get a van! With a logo and a custom paint job!” he declared, struggling to keep from shouting as he wrapped an arm around his brother, “We can restock our tools, get the name trademarked! Get the permits and a website and- ah, ow!” Too much excitement. Mario’s aching skull began to throb and his split lip that had just started to heal was bleeding again. Luigi tenderly unwound himself from his brother’s hug, settled him back down, and began dabbing at the bloody lip with a cotton ball.

“First let’s see how much the doctor bills are going to cost.” Luigi remarked with no small amount of concern, “you may feel well enough to avoid an ambulance, but I’m not convinced you didn’t crack a cheek bone or something, and we’re no longer insured...”

“We’ll be fine. We’ve got our life savings on top of your winnings!” Mario let out another hearty laugh, still high on excitement despite the surge of pain, “In fact, bet if we… well… nah. It’s stupid.” “Stupid? No way.” Luigi pulled out another antiseptic wipe, waiting for Mario to hold still enough for him to tend to a particularly ruddy scrape on his cheek. “Couldn’t be any stupider than sneaking out to play poker. What’s the plan?” “It’s not a plan so much as it is an idea.” “...And? What’s the idea?”

Mario winced as his younger brother finally succeeded in laying the stinging cloth against his injured face, but quickly bounced back into a smile.

“Say Lu…” he said, eyes shining with excitement, “how do you feel about making a TV commercial?”

[bg-brainrot]

Of Bets, Bluffs, and Briefs

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: It's another night at the Elfsong for your group of intrepid adventures. After a hard day of fighting evil, you find a way to sit down, unwind, and undress through a game of strip poker.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Strip Poker, Nudity, Alcohol, Innuendos, act 3 unascended Astarion

Word count: ~3.2k

Partly inspired by this amazing piece of fanart from @krembruleed, ty to @thedomesticanthropologist for putting it on my feed!

--

It's hard work being a hero. Though you suppose one could hardly tell by the current state of your group.

What you had originally thought would be a harmless game of cards– a way to destress with your companions after yet another life-threatening situation– had turned into quite a different type of danger. Right now, you are perilously close to losing your last two items of clothing in a high stakes, winner take all, game of strip poker.

It had begun innocently enough.

"Soldier, what do you think?" Karlach had asked you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You were all sitting together playing a game of cards, drinks in hand, crowded around a circular table in your room at the Elfsong. 

You'd lifted your eyes from your hand to look at her, directly on your right, and asked, "About what?"

"About raising the stakes a bit," she'd responded with a little eyebrow wiggle.

In your defense, your hand was fantastic. Your mind was mired in all of the possibilities it could afford you. That being said, maybe you should have gotten clarification before agreeing. "That sounds like a great idea, Karlach."

So now here you are, wearing only a pair of underpants and socks, regretting the fact that a single good hand led you to this sorry state of undress. You’re no stranger to being naked, but something about being half-naked, elbow to elbow with your friends, with nothing but a few flimsy cards between you? Well, you are starting to feel a touch exposed.

The rest of your team doesn't seem to be faring much better: Wyll is down to his white briefs; Karlach has a pair of bracers and her underpants left; Lae'zel is down to just a headband she'd nearly forgotten about; Shadowheart has both a bra and underwear left; Gale is wearing his purple underpants and an amulet; Halsin is already out of the game, completely nude, sitting at the table and simply appreciating the freedom of it all. You rather suspect he wasn’t trying as hard as the rest of you to keep clothed.

There is, however, one among your crew who is nearly no worse for wear, save a pair of missing boots and a missing cape. Astarion, with all of the pride of someone who has had four winning hands in a row, smiles wickedly at the group over his latest hand of cards.

“Come on, Astarion,” Karlach whines, leaning forward on the table. “You cannot possibly have another flush or I am calling bullshit.”

“My dearest Karlach,” he starts, voice coated in only the sweetest of honey. “You wound me. I am simply playing with the hands that I’ve been dealt, same as the rest of you.”

“And your hands just happen to include a full house or two?” Shadowheart questions, raising an annoyed eyebrow at him as she crosses her bare legs.

Astarion’s fanged grin grows. “Maybe I’m just lucky?”

You have begun to strongly suspect foul play as well, given the vampire’s downright unbelievable ‘luck’ so far. “Astarion, if you are cheating, I will be incredibly cross with you,” you say as a way of warning. He doesn’t need to strip in front of the group if he doesn’t want to, of course, and he could just as easily have avoided the game altogether. No, he seems to have another motive behind his near-perfect playing.

“My darling!” he exclaims, placing a single pale hand on his chest. “The rest of these jealous dimwits I expect, but you?” He makes an exaggerated show of wiping away a fake tear with one of Gale’s many forfeited articles of clothing.

“Excuse you!” Gale cuts in. “You may have won the hand, but I expect my robe to be in perfect condition once you return it to me.”

“I thought we were playing for keeps?” you ask, turning to Karlach. Or was this not as high stakes as you’d expected?

“Of course we are!” the tiefling answers with gusto. “Otherwise where’s the fun! The fear! The excitement!” She punctuates each statement by pounding on the table, nearly jostling everyone’s flagons onto the floor. 

The point was made though and you simply hear a resigned sigh from the wizard. “I cannot lose my last pair of enchanted underwear,” he grumbles.

“Then maybe you ought to try winning,” Astarion retorts, the gleeful look never leaving his face.

You take a sip from your drink, surveying the situation. You’re playing 5-card draw, a simple version of poker, rife with opportunity for Astarion to cheat. But why cheat? It’s a game for fun, despite the silly fear it’s clearly instilled in you all. And it’s not as if he’s wearing his best gear or outfit.

You take a look at your hand, another dud– no opportunities for a straight, no pairs for a full house. Your best bet is to draw and hope for a pair, but you suspect that won’t nearly be enough to beat whatever Astarion is crooning over. With only a pair of socks and underpants to your name, you know when you’ve lost. So you know it’s time to do what you do best. “Well then,” you say, placing your cards face down on the table and leaning back. “What happens if I fold?”

“Fold?” Lae’zel asks with a glare. “Would you truly abandon your efforts this deep into the battle?”

Little does she know that you plan on losing the battle to win the war. “Yes,” you respond easily. “What does that do?”

Karlach’s face scrunches up as she considers the possibilities. No one has tried to back out yet, but surely, you need some kind of punishment for trying to avoid the ‘strip’ part of strip poker.

“How about you buy the next round?” Wyll offers, ever the gentleman. His eyes are carefully trained on yours, and you’re not sure if the blush that colors his cheeks is from the drinks he’s had or the proximity of your bare chest.

“Hells no!” Karlach answers immediately. “That’s getting off too easy– we need actual consequences here.”

Astarion, to your immense suspicion, has yet to say anything. When you look over to him, he’s inspecting you with narrowed eyes, hands folded over his facedown cards. The corner of his lip lifts as you make eye contact with him, and he asks, “What’s the matter, love? Running away from me, are you?”

It’s as you thought. He doesn’t want to strip everyone down– he wants to strip you down. “Why would you think that?” you counter, crossing your arms in challenge. “Are you so certain you’ll win again?”

“I’ve got it!” Karlach exclaims. “You need to be the one to strip someone else down. And you’ve got to go real slow.”

You’d already been staring at Astarion’s face when Karlach made the declaration, so you immediately clock the slight bit of annoyance that furrows his brow. Everyone save Lae’zel and him was down to their underwear, so it was easy enough to imagine how that particular exercise would go.

Karlach, you’re a genius, you think. Aloud, you simply say, “Sounds fair to me.”

“Ridiculous,” Astarion mutters. You strongly suspect he would rather you reserve any undressing for him, but you’ve already folded and he’s likely already cheated his hand.

Everyone completes their draws, hands are placed face up on the table, and Astarion’s ludicrous bout of good luck is staring at you all once more– this time in the form of a straight flush.

Lae’zel slams her hands on the table. “You swindler,” she growls, pointing at Astarion with an accusatory finger.

The vampire raises his hands in defense, leaning away from the table. “I am nothing of the sort!” He does shoot you a wary look before clearing his throat. “And what of our lovely leader?”

It’s time for your punishment. “Do I get to pick, Karlach?” you ask, looking between your companions in turn.

“Of course not!” she says, clapping you on the back. “Let’s draw cards for the privilege of your nimble fingers, shall we?”

Everyone agrees easily enough, and it’s not long before they’re all pulling from the stack, the highest card to be the ‘victor.’ Lae’zel draws a queen, Karlach an eight, Gale a four, Wyll a jack, and Shadowheart an ace.

You turn to the cleric, who seems entirely unaffected by the whole ordeal. “Would you prefer the top or bottom?” she asks you, with a slight purse to her lips.

Despite his earlier misgivings, Astarion’s quick with a sultry sounding retort, “Oh I think we both know which you prefer, darling?” Karlach can’t help the snort that escapes her any more than Gale can hide the startled cough.

You ignore him and the rest of your companions, getting up and walking to where Shadowheart is seated. “Let’s just do the top,” you say, moving her hair out of the way.

“Very well,” she responds, sitting up a bit straighter for you. “But be quick about it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Karlach immediately interrupts. “Be as slow as possible, soldier. Or you’ll have to do it again!”

“Don’t worry, love! You know exactly how slow to go,” Astarion quips, looking at you through his lashes.

You ignore his quip. To appease Karlach, you make a show of it: delicately removing each strap, undoing the back latch. All the while, you hold eye contact with your vampiric lover, as if taunting him, saying ‘this is what you get for cheating.’ He watches, lips making a hard, annoyed line. Shadowheart’s top removed, you return to your seat.

Once everyone else has relinquished their articles of clothing, the game is down to you, Karlach, Shadowheart, Gale, and, of course, Astarion.

Halsin places an arm around an embarrassed Wyll’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, my friend. Now you are free of any constraints, allowed to observe and appreciate the game as one would the natural world.”

“Sounds lovely, Halsin,” he answers, ducking his head a bit. “I think.”

Lae’zel, for her part, seems perfectly fine to have lost the headband, not any more naked than she was before. “Tchk, hurry and finish the game. Why is everyone in Faerun so interested in the nude form?” It’s a fair question, but none of you answer it as another set of hands is dealt. 

You observe Astarion the entire time, noting every subtle movement of his hands, watching as you try to pin down an extra card or a slip of his sleeve. But he’s ready for this, looking at you as he inspects each new card. “So, darling,” he drawls. “Are you planning on folding again?”

“That depends,” you reply, looking at your cards quickly. Nothing too impressive, but better than the last hand. “Are you planning on cheating again?”

“Gods above,” he mutters, fanning himself with his cards. “My poor, undead heart can’t take much more of these accusations.” Your eyes catch a slight jerk of his hand, and you know what you must do. 

“I’d like to fold again,” you say, looking back to the tiefling woman on your right.

“Alright, soldier,” she agrees with a snicker. The glimmer in her eyes is enough to show that she knows you’re up to something. 

“May I fold too?” Gale grumbles, now truly down to his last magical pair of underpants.

Karlach thinks about it for a moment, realizing the flaw in her plan. “No,” she finally states. “Only one person per round.”

Everyone finishes drawing and plays their hands. Unlike last time, everyone turns to Gale, who has won with a pair of tens. “I won?” he asks, turning toward Astarion, whose expression is quite blank. His hand had been miserable, as if he’d drawn for worse cards– which you suspect he might have.

“Let’s see who I shall strip then,” you say, laying out the stack for the remaining three. You already know who will emerge victorious, sure that there’s an ace up his sleeve at this very moment. Shadowheart draws a seven, Karlach a ten, and, low and behold, Astarion draws an ace.

“Aren’t I the luckiest vampire in Baldur’s Gate?” he says, smiling up at you as you walk around the table to him. “What will you be taking?”

You tilt your head at him, debating the possibilities. But you start simple, slowly, carefully removing the blouse from his head. The entire time, you smile with satisfaction. Because you know you’ve won.

Shadowheart and Karlach now sit there, naked as the day they entered this realm of existence. The tiefling gives you another clap on the back with a laugh, as she whispers loudly at you, “Avenge me, soldier!”

And avenge you will. 

You fold another four times. Each time, Astarion somehow, miraculously, loses. And each time he sighs deeply, dramatically as you approach him to peel off yet another piece of clothing. 

The second time, he whispers, “You cheeky thing, how could you?

On the third time, he whispers, “Don’t you want me to win?”

On the fourth time, he whispers, “Fine, but don’t think you’ll get out of this.”

That’s how he loses his greaves, his pants, his socks, and a necklace, leaving him in only his bright blue briefs.

When you go to fold for a fifth time, ready to remove Astarion from the game once and for all, the man sighs before even viewing his cards and says, “I fold.”

You look at Karlach, as if she might be able to save you, but she only shrugs at you. Her eyes seem to say, ‘It’s in the rules now!’ 

And you suppose it is. So you and Gale each discard, draw, and play your hands. Your three of a kind beats his pair, and Astarion reluctantly strips the wizard of his last, purple pair of enchanted briefs.

I’ll return it to him after the game, you think, as Astarion deposits the pair in front of you with a smirk.

“I’m a few articles of clothing poorer, but I do believe I did rather well, didn’t I?” Gale says, sitting back down, wincing slightly as his bare cheeks make contact with the wooden chair. 

“As well as you can when that one cheats,” Shadowheart says, gesturing toward Astarion with her glass of wine.

“I am innocent until proven guilty,” Astarion replies, sitting back down in his seat, ready for the final showdown.

Now it’s just you and Astarion facing off. You, with a pair of underwear and socks. Him, reduced to his underpants.

“Oh, darling,” he says, leaning back enough that his entire bare torso is on full display. “Do you really think you’ll be able to defeat me in a game like this?”

“I think I like my odds,” you say, leaning back in much the same way. “Karlach, would you do us the honor of dealing?”

“My pleasure,” she responds, cards shooting out of her hands at an alarming speed.

Everyone watches on bated breath as you both draw your hands, look over them silently. You really do like your odds now. Cheating will prove hard for Astarion to do without sleeves to hide cards, and everyone is watching him carefully, waiting to catch the pilferer in the act.

Good, you think, slipping a few cards out from under the table. Two can play at this game, and only one of us waited until the right moment to cheat.

You deposit your extra cards subtly back on the discard pile when no one is looking, and fan your remaining hand out– what stares back at you is an impeccable, unbelievable royal flush. You know you’re going to win, there’s no doubt about it, so you allow yourself a little taunt. “Now that you’re about to lose, my love… whatever compelled you to cheat? What do you gain out of this?”

Astarion looks back at you, eyes straining around the edges as he debates what to discard. “Not that I cheated,” he starts, with a smile that comes out more of a grimace. “But I thought it might be nice to rightfully win one of your undergarments. And perhaps to keep it out of the hands of these lecherous fools.” He gives everyone else at the table a glare in turn before discarding and drawing back up.

Oh, you think. That’s sweet, in a weird, slightly concerning way. Much like the man who now turns back to you, a wide, unabashed smile on his pale face. “I see,” is all that you say in response. You look down at the royal flush in your hand. You can’t lose with this, and you can’t very well try to cheat again when you’re both done drawing.

You turn to Karlach. “Can I still fold?”

“What!?” she cries, looking at you like you’re insane. “Why would you do that, soldier? You’ve nearly got ‘im!”

“Darling,” the man calls from across the table. You look into his fierce, red eyes, narrowed with determination. “Don’t you dare lose to me on purpose. Especially when I know that you’ve beaten me at my own game.”

The smirk he gives you is all the encouragement you need. “Fine,” you say, laying out your preposterous, beautiful hand. Everyone at the table gasps, save Astarion. He only looks at you warmly before laying out his sad, single pair of nines.

“Well played,” he says, standing up. A second later, his blue underwear is off, like a flag of surrender. In all of his naked glory, he walks around the table, places his briefs in front of you, and smiles. “I’ll get you next time, my sweet.”

You look up at him, aware that all of your companions are watching the exchange with rapt attention, but also finding that you can’t bring yourself to care. “You can have me now, if you’d like.”

“Lady of the Moon save me… please control yourselves,” Shadowheart says, downing the rest of her wine glass. She stands up, ignoring the dizzying display of love next to her. “That’s enough of that game, wouldn’t you all say?”

“Yes, why don’t we find something a bit… warmer to play?” Wyll suggests, standing up after Shadowheart. Halsin, Lae’zel and Gale follow, leaving you, Karlach, and Astarion behind. 

The tiefling usually knows when to leave the two of you to your own devices, but can’t resist one last comment. “Thanks for avenging me, soldier,” she says, wrapping you in a warm, bare bear hug. At Astarion’s low, annoyed groan, she releases you, laughing. “Join us again once you’re done doing whatever weird flirting you get up to!”

She leaves the two you be, and you turn toward Astarion. “So,” you say, scratching the back of your head ruefully. “Was that too much?”

He shakes his head at you, white curls bouncing lightly. “No, I’d rather say I deserved it a bit– But only a bit.”

You laugh at the admission and hold out a hand for Astarion to bring out of your chair. He takes it, pulling you up and into his arms. Your bare chests press together a moment, and the chill of his skin on yours leaves goosebumps all along your arms. “Thank you,” you murmur, realizing that your faces are too close, skin too exposed.

Astarion doesn’t seem to mind, leaning a bit further into you. “You’re quite welcome, my dear.” He drops his voice to a whisper, meant only for your ears. “What do you say we finish our ‘weird flirting’ before we rejoin the group?”

“Only if you promise to keep the sleight of hand to a minimum in our next game,” you whisper, looking between his red eyes.

He sighs, his cool breath tickling your face. “Very well.”

“And next time, just ask me for the underpants,” you grumble, before finally pressing your lips into his.

[askinkiskarma]

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Avatar!Reader x Lo'ak

Word Count: 3.5k words

Warnings/notes: angst, mentions of death and mourning, cursing, mentions of smut

Synopsis: Neteyam's death leaves more than a few wounds behind, and you and Lo'ak must find a way to navigate the aftershocks together.

A/N: well, this hurt. i love this song, and as I was listening to it one day, this idea came to me, and so here it is. i would say enjoy besties, but i feel like that's just me rubbing salt in wound. as usual, can't wait to hear your thoughts and I appreciate every reblog, like, reply, follow etc. love you besties xx

I know you hear me when I cry, I try to hold it in the night

While you're sleepin' next to me, but it's your arms that I need this time

The tent was dead silent as you entered it, a tortured sigh and the sound of muffled sniffles you tried your best to stifle, the only thing that could be heard. You almost worried for Lo’ak as you made your way to your shared mat, as he was even more engulfed in deep slumber than he usually was, no snores or breaths discernible. You found yourself reaching for his mouth and nose just to check that he was indeed still alive, the sound of your own heartbeat deafening you, your palms already coated in an increasingly thick layer of sweat that you rubbed on your thighs, as the unpleasant thought burrowed through layers of your mind until it reached the front, until the flashbacks almost took over you. 

When his breath coated your palm, you breathed a huge sigh of relief that woke your mate up, and the tears that didn’t even have time to dry from 20 minutes ago started pouring down your face again. 

“Baby, what’s the matter?” 

You didn’t know how to explain, and you knew you couldn’t even reasonably begin to try without telling him where you were, where you went every night after you were sure he was fast asleep. 

“Nothing, just had a nightmare.” 

Lo’ak sighed and opened his arms for you to fall into, and you did, clinging to him like he was your life support, and to be honest with yourself, at this moment in your life, he probably was.

“Another one, baby?” 

You felt the hole in your heart bleeding inside your chest, pooling blood in the pit your felt in your stomach, where it’s been bleeding for months, where it wouldn’t stop, not until it filled you up and spilled around you.

“… yeah. Another one.” 

Look at the cards that we've been dealt

If you were anybody else, probably wouldn't last a day

Every tear's a rain parade from hell

You loved Lo’ak. You had no words to describe how much Lo’ak meant to you, how much he has meant to you your whole life, ever since you were just a 5-fingered freak and a tiny human finding happiness and meaning in this life that seemed to clobber the both of you to the ground whenever it had the chance. You have been best friends since you were born, and you didn’t think that was ever going to change. You were grateful for him, and his presence in your life, that saved you, both literally and figuratively, multiple times throughout your 19 years of life. You were grateful for his heart, that sometimes felt like it was too big to reasonably ever fit inside his body, and his mind, that somehow never tired finding new ways to make you smile, and his own smile, that shone brighter to you right now than any star in the sky, than even the sun itself as it was engulfed by Polyphemus before Eclipse. You were grateful that he chose you as a mate, and grateful to know that, in light of everything, there was now no one else in the world you would rather embark on this life-long journey with, no one else who could even begin to understand the fucked-up mess that was your mind - partly because you and him shared in that, you shared the pain and the grief, and you were forced to navigate it together. 

You felt sleep slowly engulfing you, and you knew the nightmares wouldn’t be far behind.

Though I wish he were here instead, don't want that living in your head

He just comes to visit me when I'm dreaming every now and then

Nightmares became not only expected, but almost desired in your life, as even in nightmares, even in the worst nightmares your mind could ever possibly conjure up, at least he was still there. He was there, here, in your life, and when you touched him, and you felt him, and you heard him, it felt real, it felt better than any reality. Even the nightmares where you relieved the worst day of your life, over and over, like a twisted comic joke, still brought you some sort of sick post-hoc comfort, until the morning came, or until the dream ends, and the arms that are wrapped around you aren’t the ones you need.

The ones you needed, you left behind just a little less than an hour before, and despite it just being a vision, a metaphysical experience that would never manifest itself in the real world anymore, his warmth still lingered on your skin, his scent still flooded your nostrils, his eyes were still ever-present in front of your own, even with them tightly shut. You could feel him, like he was still here, like he used to be when you were still you and he was still him, and he was still here and he was still yours. 

“Yawne, I think we should do it. I think we should tell everyone, it’s time.” Your new blue body seemed to fit perfectly in Neteyam’s, a dream come true, it seemed, a gift from Eywa herself. To be able to be here, in this meadow, at this time, tall and supple and cerulean-skinned, without a mask to hinder you, with finally nothing in between you and the boy you’ve been in love with longer than you could remember. You received an Avatar as a present on your 18th birthday, and you’ve wanted nothing more than to spend every second of your new life with the person you could now freely be with, no biological, or physical barriers in the way, the person that occupied every thought in your mind and has explored every inch of your body, and it still didn’t feel enough. Never enough. 

“Tell them what, Teyam?” Neteyam rolled his eyes, and you smiled at the way he knew you were just making him say it out loud, because you enjoyed how the words rolled off his tongue. He’s always had an accent speaking English, just like you did when speaking Na’vi, and you found it hotter than the pits of hell, which is where you felt like you were headed sometimes when you played these kinds of games with your beloved.

“Must you always do this?” You chuckled slightly against his chest, and you tried not to focus on how the intimacy and feeling his naked body against yours, powerful and muscular was making you slightly dizzy. You will never get enough of this, and you couldn’t believe you would never have to. 

“You’re stuck with me now, you can’t reconsider after so many years, especially now that I have an Avatar.” He pulls your closer to him, which you thought was physically impossible, but he loved nothing more than to prove you wrong. The kiss on your forehead was so normal and habitual for him, for you both, and yet it didn’t stop the goosebumps travelling down your neck, or the butterflies in your stomach, or the scrambling of your thoughts. 

“I wouldn’t want to reconsider, yawne. Which brings me back to what I was saying.” You sighed, allowing yourself the chance to clear your mind of the bad feelings plaguing you, of the unshakable perspective that this wouldn’t go down well, or be accepted, or even tolerated in the clan.

You were a Sky Person, an alien. Even though you grew up with the Na’vi, that simple fact, unmovable and completely beyond your control, never changed. And even now, even in this body, the stares never stopped, and neither did the incessant chatter, about how you were still a demon, still wrong, still not fit to be around the Olo’eyktan’s children. Neytiri and Mo’at warmed up to you in time, but you knew that it was not nearly enough to matter, not enough for them to willingly accept you as Tsa’hik, which is what Neteyam wanted to make you by announcing it to everyone. 

A tender, slender finger on your chin and the slightest pressure lifting you face to meet his pulled you out of your reverie and his warm smile and intense gaze drowned out any fear immediately. It was a gift of his - and a curse for you, because you could very rarely think rationally when he looked at you like that. 

“I want to tell them. I’ve loved you for what feels like my whole life. And now I get this gift, this incredible gift, and I get to know that you will be mine forever, that we can mate before Eywa, that I get to feel tsaheylu with the only woman I’ve ever wanted to feel it with.” 

It felt surreal to you, almost like a dream, this love. This love that felt so good, that was almost too good to be true, and you wondered sometimes, fear overtaking your mind, as it always did, what would be the price you’d have to pay to balance it out. He always told you that - that nature has a balance, that life has a balance. That Eywa makes sure to reinforce that balance. Well, you were so happy, it felt like the world was pink and fluffy and weightless, and it was yours to take and he was yours to love and nothing else mattered, as long you had him. So what would be the price to pay? 

“I want to do this right, my love. I want to prove myself to your family, to your mother and to the Tsa’hik. I want to learn, I want to earn my place among the people. I want to take my Iknimaya. Once I do, we can tell them, and you can do whatever you want to me, and that’s a lifelong promise, Neteyam.”

Neteyam. Neteyam. Neteyam.

Baby, you do it so well

You been so understanding, you been so good

And I'm puttin' you through more than one ever should

And I'm hating myself 'cause you don't want to

Admit that it hurts you

“Wake up, baby… come on.” Lo’ak’s voice drowned out the wails you didn’t even realise you were letting out until it was too late to stop them, too late to pretend they were anything else but what they were. 

“It’s me, ok? You’re alright. You’re safe.” 

“Lo’ak…”

You loved Lo’ak. So much. And the hatred you felt for yourself every time he had to pull you out of a nightmare about his brother, every time you found yourself wishing it was him instead, every time you wondered how your life would have turned out if Neteyam never left you, it ate at your soul, gnawing at the already bleeding edges of the hole in your chest. He deserved better, you know he did. And yet he stayed, and he loved you, because despite everything, you both knew there was no one else, not for either of you. The trauma bonded you, it made sure you were made for each other, like two pieces of a messed up puzzle. 

As ironic as that sounds, maybe that’s why you never mated before Eywa. Because of the past, and the trauma, because in truth, despite not saying it out loud, it scared the shit out of both of you. Because you both knew deep down that there are things you can’t recover from and some truths better left unspoken, and feeling each other’s emotions and desires, your deepest fears and fantasies, at least right now, would be the one step too many, one step in the wrong direction, one step off a cliff. 

“You went to see him, didn’t you?” You felt heat rise in your cheeks at being caught red-handed. All you managed was a meek nod. 

“You always have nightmares when you see him.” There was a heavy silence that enveloped the room, but eventually, Lo’ak sighed and continued. “…How is he?” 

It was your turn to sigh. 

“He’s good. He’s… Neteyam. He misses you. He talks about you all the time, wonders why he hasn’t seen you in a while.” 

Lo’ak’s frown was visible even under the cover of darkness, and you knew you should drop it, but you couldn’t - not when you knew he’d regret it, he’d hate himself even more than he already does if he doesn’t find a way to be there for his brother, to see him, to allow himself a way to move on from the guilt that plagues him everyday. 

“I will. Just been busy with training, with strategising meetings, with my dad. But I will.” You didn’t tell him how you knew he was lying since you saw Jake there almost every time you went, and even if you didn’t, Neteyam told you about how often his dad came by and all the little chats they have. 

“Ok. You know best. I just think you should go before it’s too late.” Lo’ak scoffed, annoyed with you as he rose, legs crossed in front of him, a hard expression on his face. 

“Too late for what?! It’s already too fucking late.” 

“Too late to say you’re sorry.”

The flickers of light peering through the weaves of your tent reflected in his eyes as the tears flooded them, and you felt so sad for Lo’ak, and so sad for yourself, so sad for all the pain that didn't seem like it would ever be healed.

“He doesn’t fucking remember anything anyway. How am I supposed to apologise to him if he doesn’t even remember what happened? What’s even the point of it all?”

His tears hit your skin as he shook his head and let them out, and you reached for his face, brushing what was left of them with your thumb.

“You could still apologise. Not because he would remember, but because you need to. Because the guilt will kill you if you don’t. Because he’s your brother, and he loves you, and he misses you. Because you miss him too. Because this way, the last memory you have of him doesn’t have to haunt you forever.”

“It should haunt me forever. I ruined everything. His life, my family’s life… your life. I’m not an idiot. I know you loved him, and he loved you. I know if you had a choice, it would have been him.”

 

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again over him,

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again intead of ghostin' him

Lo'ak's words shocked you. You never got the chance to tell his family, or the clan, in the end. You never got the chance to make him yours, and he never got the chance to feel the mating bond, the one thing he wanted to so badly. He never got the chance to be a father to your children, the way you used to dream about together, he never got the chance to raise a family with all the lessons he had learnt from his own parents growing up. He would never enter your bedroom again, banging his head against the frame of the door that was way too tiny for his 9 foot tall body, smiling as he always did when he spotted you reading by the foot of the bed. You would never get the chance to teach him a new English slang you learnt from a show, or play him a song you learnt on guitar, or allow him to rest his head on your lap, watching as his tail moved erratically in a display of pure, incandescent happiness. Your Iknimaya came and went, and he wasn’t there to witness it, or cheer you on, and you would never get to fly together on your ikran, never get the chance to share so many moments you reserved just for him, that you now had to live without, that you now had to wish away into the ether, and let it go, alongside your dreams and hopes, alongside the future you always wanted and you will never be able to have. 

All you had were glimpses, flashes of light in the dark, whenever you saw him in visions the tree blessed you with, where he was still there, and he was still him and you were still you, where you still had him and your life was still alright, if only for a little while.

“I can’t wait for your ceremony, you know?” Your back was flush against his chest, and you loved the warmth that irradiated off of it. it felt so real, just like it used to when it was real. He has always been your own personal sun, something you made sure to tell him as often as you could, and you couldn’t help wonder if this is why your body’s been cold since he left. Like the actual sun could never achieve what he did, like no other body could, like nothing could. You hummed mindlessly, allowing the breeze to touch your skin, just like his kisses up and down your neck did. In here, he didn’t know that he died. He would never know. In here, everything was all right, everything was serene and calm, everything was just the way it should be. The last time he visited the tree was a happy time, and you were so happy that was the last thing he remembers, the last thing he always would. He would never had to know the pain of death again, and knowing his smile would be forever captured in here, just like his spirit that was evergreen and so, so beautiful was, it was the only thing that allowed you to go on. As long as he was alright, and he was happy, you could still sleep at night. 

“Is it just because we finally get to have sex in front of the Tree of Souls or…?” You said with a chuckle and his lips detached from your neck, and you could just about picture his frown, just about picture the roll of his eyes and the little pout he always had on whenever you said something that was so widely outrageous in his mind.

“Yawne…” 

“I’m kidding, jeez! I can’t wait either. I can’t wait to be yours forever.” At least in here, you could always pretend. In here, you could, for a little while, entertain a fantasy, allow it to pass through you, allow yourself the happiness you’ll never know again. He tightened his grip on you and you felt his breath on your hair and a small kiss at the top of your head.

“You’re already mine forever. You’ll always be mine, and I’ll always be yours.” 

You couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks on onto his arms, or the words that followed. “I’ll always be yours, and you’ll always be mine.” 

We'll get through this, we'll get past this, I'm a girl with a whole lot of baggage

But I love you, we'll get past this, I'm a girl with a whole lot of baggage

It was your turn to console Lo’ak as he was crying with his head in his hands, and knowing the pain he must be going through, the pain in which you shared, it struck a chord in you that seemed to wake you up a little, that allowed you out of your constant dreams and nightmares, of your visions and forsaken desires and focus on him, and watch him, and see him. 

“I know this isn’t what you wanted, ok? I know that it’s not your ideal scenario and I’m sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know that it’s my fault you and Neteyam will never get to be together. It kills me, the pain and the guilt, it eats at me every day and I -“ you shut him up with a kiss, that felt warm and needed, that promised to at least try to mend some wounds in your soul. 

“Stop. You know it’s not your fault. And if you don’t, then that’s why I’m here. To show you. And reassure you that I love you, and that Neteyam loved you, and neither of us would ever blame you. I’m here to keep you sane, just like you’re here to keep me sane. And it’s fucked up, and it’s weird sometimes and the guilt I feel is just as strong as the one you feel, but we’ll make this work. Because I love you. Ok?” 

You loved Lo’ak. And you knew he loved you, too. And while it wasn’t how you imaged your life to turn out, you knew your happiness had always been Neteyam’s priority. And at least for him, you’d try to find at least the shadow of it again, and you knew the best place to look for it was in your new mate’s light. 

taglist: @fanboyluvr

[delopsia-archive]

Rhett Abbott Masterlist (Part One)

Part Two (Warmups, edits, moodboards, and misc) Ask Archive

Fics

About Last Night ₊ ˚ ✧ You shouldn't be here; you shouldn't be beneath Rhett Abbott, shouldn't have your legs hitched over his hips, but kissing him is so natural. Easy. Like you were always meant to be wind up here, your hands in childhood best friend's hair and his disappearing beneath the shirt you so shamelessly took from his closet all those years ago. Maybe there was a truth to those undying rumors that once followed you like a plague. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Aches & Pains ₊ ˚ ✧ You might not be able to avoid the aches and pains of the world, but at least you’ve got each other. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Almost Ecstasy ₊ ˚ ✧ You’ve finally convinced your old cowboy to have sex with you. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

A Sight For Sore Eyes ₊ ˚ ✧ "We're really going to fuck here?" For a man with a history like his, Rhett sure can be fussy about location, "what if someone sees us?" AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Babydoll ₊ ˚ ✧ You don't expect him to pull his fingers out from you completely, shimmering in the light as he draws his hand from your clenched thighs. A protest is already boiling up on your tongue, but he holds up a singular finger before reaching into his coat pocket. Plastic rustles, and then...there's your vibrating plug, the bright pink one that is just a hair longer than the other ones that you own.  AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Blame Me ₊ ˚ ✧ You can't remember the last time you watched an entire family go white in the face, so pale that they match the marble columns upholding your ceiling. Their stunned silence allows you time to pay attention to what's happening between your legs. Absolutely no shame in Prince Rhett as he pushes his nose into the high slit of your dress. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Chills ₊ ˚ ✧ The poor thing has been dealt the worst of cards. Sensitive to the slightest of temperature changes, shivering the moment the temperature drops below sixty-five but breaking a sweat the second it rises over eighty. It only makes sense that he'd be born into a ranching family that relies on their sons to work out in the elements. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Come On Cowboy ₊ ˚ ✧ "Will you fuck me?" There goes your last coherent thought. "Pardon?" AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Conquer Your Demons ₊ ˚ ✧ Fuck, you hope nobody comes to check in on how this whole cleansing process is going. Because there is nothing that can possibly explain the sight of a demon on his knees, eating you out on the altar. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Dancing Beneath The Moon ₊ ˚ ✧ How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you? AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Drive ₊ ˚ ✧ Being wrapped in him is like being wrapped in a cloud. Fogging up your senses with his presence until you've found yourself lost in him, and it's like time stops. Just you, Rhett, and the gentle pitter-patter of his heart against your ear. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Every Storm Runs Out Of Rain ₊ ˚ ✧ It’s a cruelty you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy. The perpetual ache of your heart, longing for a man who was never meant to be yours. Everything about him is as if he’s made for you, and yet, your tattoos don’t match. You’re not made for each other. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Flowers In November ₊ ˚ ✧ That fateful night has cost you everything you have ever known. But it’s given you something in return. It’s given you a chance to meet a man you would never have. A blue-eyed cowboy with his three-headed mare and a heart full of more gold than his cattle could ever produce. And you wouldn’t trade it for the world. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

For What It's Worth ₊ ˚ ✧ Maybe he isn’t ready to leave Wabang. Not right now. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

How To Train Your Cowboy ₊ ˚ ✧ "It's not about that," the backs of your knees bump into your computer chair, "it's about you learning to listen." What words reside in Rhett's throat are left to die because your fingers tangle in the hair resting at the nape of his neck and tug. And he crumbles.  AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Human ₊ ˚ ✧ Because everyone knows that Rhett Abbott was born and raised to be a cowboy. To spend his life working the family ranch, pick up for his brother's slack, and, if he still had the energy after all that, make his father proud by winning the county rodeo. A man worth bearing the Abbott family name. Something to brag about during family get-togethers. All those expectations, and they forgot one simple little thing. They never raised him to be human. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

If Heaven's A Moment ₊ ˚ ✧ At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. But you just had to run right into the Abbott family’s youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you’ve ever known.  AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Little Wolf ₊ ˚ ✧ "I 'oughta rip those iron bars off the wall and kick your ass," growling, you turn to face him, eyes ablaze with something new. Something that only Rhett Abbott does not fear. "How am I supposed to get you out of this one?" Rhett taps on the bars with his boot, "rip these off the wall and kick my ass." AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Nosedive ₊ ˚ ✧ You swore off storm chasing a long time ago. You haven’t been able to look at that old truck since the accident, and if you could have your way, you’d never think about that part of your life ever again. You’ve moved on. Every time you touch that damn truck, something goes wrong. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

One Day ₊ ˚ ✧ If everyone around you had any choice in the matter, that would have been your last memory of this cowboy. The one who quietly tells you that your phone is lighting up in your pocket because you're too focused on his handsome face to notice. The name of one of your friends flashes across the screen; she lives nearby, has heard that 12-gauge and that old GMC tearing down the street, and linked it to you.  AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Please [Original] ₊ ˚ ✧ It's not easy breaking Rhett down; it's not easy to dominate a man so rough at the edges, who keeps his power under an iron fist, oh so rarely yielding to another. Getting him to the point that he will squirm and beg is painstaking, but oh, when he does. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Please [Rewrite] ₊ ˚ ✧ It's not easy for you to break a man like Rhett Abbott. But oh, when you do. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Ride The Lightning ₊ ˚ ✧ What’s more fun than a post-rodeo party? Running off and having your own personal rodeo right before the storm hits. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Reeth ₊ ˚ ✧ Between his injuries and his insecurities, Rhett nearly falls apart. But you're there to put him back together again. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Sleigh Ride ₊ ˚ ✧ Rhett's fixing up the family sleigh to take you on the ride he never got to give you, but not everything goes according to plan when it's finished... AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Springsteen ₊ ˚ ✧ You know better than anyone that Rhett Abbott cannot dance. Yet, you're slipping your palm into his, letting him sweep you into a lazy spin that flares out the ends of your dress. Your silhouette picture perfect on the barn floor as the song finally starts to play. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Stellar Ride ₊ ˚ ✧ A television blares from the next room over. Maria's. So loud that it's hardly muffled, and yet you can hardly hear it. The droning of a news reporter washed out by the breathy whine of a cowboy. Your cowboy. Not Maria's. Doesn't belong to the fans who attend every rodeo and buy every object with his name printed on it. No, just yours. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Storm Warning ₊ ˚ ✧ His head swivels, looking behind himself, then beyond your head. Looking for someone. Anyone. "Here?" Shrugging your shoulders. Feigning innocence. As if you've stumbled up here by mere accident. "Worried someone could hear you, cowboy?" AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Tied To Your Body ₊ ˚ ✧ "Shame we're in public," he muses as he presses his astoundingly frigid nose into your temple, "can think of much better ways to warm ya up." You've created a monster. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

To The End Of The World ₊ ˚ ✧ For a second, you genuinely feel like he's looking at you, and then that chute door is swinging open, and the crowd starts to roar. It's something you've seen a million times before, but you can't bring yourself to look this time. You can't bear being witness to a major injury, not when the only thing you can do is leave Wabang and never look back. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Something Unholy ₊ ˚ ✧ His hands aren't big just for show; they're a fucking warning. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Stalling ₊ ˚ ✧ You’re going to be in so much trouble if someone walks in and finds out that the PBR’s best cowboy is eating you out in a bathroom stall. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Stars on the barn floor ₊ ˚ ✧ This full moon, you’re not letting Rhett spend his whole night chained up in the barn. No, tonight, you’re gonna have some fun with him. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Warmer ₊ ˚ ✧ "I hope you're happy that you've ruined my hand for me, doll." It's a blessing that there isn't a singular light on in the room because you know damn well he'd give you hell for smiling at such a statement. His problem. Your compliment.  AO3 ♡ Tumblr

What Remains of Wabang ₊ ˚ ✧ Two months after Rhett mysteriously went missing, he appears from nowhere to ask you to run away with him. You don't expect to see what havoc BY9 has wreaked upon Wabang. Nor do you expect to learn new things about your cowboy. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Whiskey Sour ₊ ˚ ✧ You feel Rhett before you see him, hot breath fanning out against the back of your neck as he looms behind you. The drag of his rough fingers against your sides is delicious, leaving goose bumps in their leisurely wake. Not desperate enough. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Wildflowers ₊ ˚ ✧ "Rhett?" Startled dumb by his unannounced appearance, "what're you—" "—something's in them fuckin' flowers." AO3 ♡ Tumblr

[tinynerdz360]

Future Ghost Chapter 4

Danny's heart hammered as he stepped into the mess hall, a makeshift casino for the night's festivities. Laughter and clinking chips filled the air, mingling with the savory scent of replicated snacks.

Scanning the room, Danny's gaze landed on Daryl McDonnell. The sight of the older man's easy smile calmed his jittery nerves; being around him gave him a sense of safety.

The ensigns were already gathered, their voices mixing with the lieutenants' laughter from across the room. His heart sank when he spotted Walton leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, staring right at him.

A knot formed in Danny's stomach. Weston, with his piercing questions and unsettling intuition, was the last person he wanted to encounter tonight.

"Man," Danny muttered under his breath, "Of all the nights for him to show up..."

Danny turned to slip back out the door, but a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Lieutenant Nadine Patterson spun Danny around, flashing a grin as she pulled him into a headlock. Her knuckles ground against his scalp.

"Ow, hey!" Danny flailed, the emotions pouring off Nadine like sunlight feeding the wisp in his core.

"Can't chicken out now." She laughed. "I plan on taking all your credits tonight!"

With a shove, she pushed him towards the ensigns. Danny steadied himself, straightening his uniform. His palms grew slick.

Just act normal. You're one of them. Eighteen. Not a freak.

"Let me introduce you to the gang." Nadine slung an arm around his shoulders.

Nadine points to the group of ensigns, “Hey guys, this is Danny Fenton from engineering. Danny this is Pavel Chekov, Tina Lawton she’s a yeoman third class, Luke Mccann from the science department, Albert Bray he’s in the weapons department,” Nadine listed off and lastly, she pointed to an Andorian girl, “And lastly Kas from med bay.” With that, Nadia gives Danny a friendly push and tells him to have fun. Danny blushed, feeling like this was the first day of school and he was the awkward new kid trying to fit in.

The ensigns look at him with curiosity plain on their faces. Danny met Tina Lawton's narrowed eyes and had to glance away. Don't let her ask about the Academy. Please don't let her ask—

"Hi!" Kas Th'qaakress bounded over, antennae bobbing.

Before he could respond, she plowed ahead with questions about his favorite foods, pastimes, and interests. Danny's tongue tripped over half-formed replies. She spoke a mile a minute, like a squirrel on caffeine.

"Do you play any immersion games? I love this one called OtherWorlds!" Her black eyes shone. "We should squad up sometime!"

"Yeah, totally!" Danny smiled, relaxing slightly. Video games he could talk about. "Is it open universe or story-driven?"

As Kas launched into explaining the game mechanics, Danny let himself enjoy the moment. For now, at least, he could pretend he belonged here.

"Alright, folks!" Daryl announced, clapping his hands together. "Let's see who's got the best poker face tonight." He winked at Danny.

Danny took a seat between Daryl and Kas, feeling a little more at ease. As the poker game began, he focused on seeming as normal and fitting in with the other ensigns as possible.

Daryl leaned over to him and introduced each of the other Lieutenants he hadn’t met. There was Abigail Hodges, a junior doctor from medical; Lieutenant Loreto Nunez from the science department; Lieutenant Walton Weston, who he did know, sensed they were roommates; and lastly, Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu.

Daryl dealt the cards with an easy smile. "Hope you all brought your A-game tonight."

Danny glanced at his hand, two pairs. Not bad. He tossed a few chips into the pot, keeping his expression neutral. Across from him, Nadine raised the bet with a confident grin. Danny sensed a flare of excitement from her. A bluff, then.

When it came around to Danny again, he saw her eagerness. She wanted him to fold. With a shrug, he matched her raise. "I'll call."

Nadine's excitement soured to annoyance. She flipped over a busted hand.

Danny allowed himself a small smile as he raked in the pot. Time and again, he picked up on the subtle cues - a flutter of nerves here, a swell of confidence there. His empathy gave him an edge, allowing him to read the other players.

After winning a few big pots, Danny noticed the ensigns watching him with new interest.

"Beginner's luck?" Tina eyed him across the table.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Guess I'm just feeling it tonight."

*Keep it cool, Fenton. You've got this. *

Danny was feeling pretty good about himself until he got a little too cocky.

"I raise," he declared, throwing a large stack of chips into the pot. He had nothing in his hand but figured he could bluff his way through.

Walton raised his eyebrows. "That's quite the bet. You must be holding something good."

"Maybe I am," Danny said with false bravado.

Walton studied him a moment before calling. "Alright, let's see what you've got."

With a sinking feeling, Danny flipped over his cards - a two of hearts and a seven of clubs. Absolute garbage.

Walton chuckled and revealed his straight. "Well, well, looks like someone got caught bluffing."

"Say, Danny," Walton leaned forward, regarding him intently. " Where'd you learn to play poker so well anyway?"

Danny's mind raced. "Oh, uh...my dad taught me. Family game nights and all that."

It was a lame excuse, but he couldn't exactly say he learned in the 21st century.

Walton's eyes narrowed like he could sense Danny's half-truth.

“Where exactly did you say you were from? I don’t think I ever caught where?” Walton asked, digging for something.

“Uh…... I guess I didn’t.” Danny winced as he tried to remember what he put in his file, he couldn’t remember if he stuck with his home state or not. “Um, it’s a small town on earth; you probably never heard of it.” Danny mentally patted himself on the back, nailed it!

Walton gave him a sideways glance, then moved on to his next question. Tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see... do you remember headlined the last Starfleet Day concert? “I’m sure that’s all the rage with you, young ensigns.”

"Um..." Danny stalled, racking his brain for any snippet of information that might save him from this social quagmire. "Wasn't it... uh... that one group... with the catchy tune about space travel?"

"Vague much?" Walton smirked, leaning forward. "And here I thought every young ensign would be up to date on the latest hits."

"Guess I missed that memo," Danny replied, feeling the weight of Walton's gaze like a tractor beam. "Music isn't really my thing."

"Really?" Walton pressed on, undeterred by Danny's attempt to divert the conversation. "Well, how about this: which holonovel series is currently topping the entertainment charts?"

"Ah..." Danny hesitated again, his heart racing. His mind scrambled through conversations he'd overheard, looking for any lifeline. "The... Galactic Guardians saga?"

"Close, but no," Walton said with a raised eyebrow, a hint of triumph in his voice. "That was last year's craze. Keeping up with the times isn't your strong suit, is it?"

"Looks like I've been too busy studying warp theory and not enough on pop culture," Danny shot back with a forced chuckle, hoping to deflect further interrogation.

"Sure, sure," Walton said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

"Alright, Walton, that's enough," Daryl said firmly, his hand resting protectively on Danny's shoulder. The younger man had unconsciously edged closer to Daryl, seeking an ally. "The kid's here to play cards, not play twenty questions."

"Sure, sure," Walton grumbled, finally relenting as he tossed his cards onto the table. "Just getting to know my dear roommate."

"Let's just enjoy the game, okay?" Daryl added with a conciliatory smile, trying to dissolve the tension that had coiled around the table.

The rest of the evening passed with the clink of chips and the occasional quiet conversation until the final hand was played. One by one, the ensigns stood up, offering their goodnights before heading out.

"I should probably get going, too," Danny mumbled, pushing back his chair.

"See you around, Danny," Nadine gave him a playful salute.

"Thanks for inviting me," Danny said to Daryl. "I had fun."

"No problem, kid," Daryl said warmly. "See you tomorrow."

Danny waved goodbye to the others and slipped out.

Leaving only the lieutenants in the dimly lit mess hall.

"So, whats up with the new guy?" Sulu asked, sipping his drink.

"Oh, he seems sweet!" Abigail said. "A little shy, maybe."

Nadine chuckled, stacking her chips neatly. "There was this rumor floating around in engineering that he's a kid prodigy who hacked his way into Starfleet, but medical cleared him, so..."

"Medical records can be forged," Sulu pointed out, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful look.

Abigail bristled slightly at the implication. "I'd hope my department would catch something like that," she said defensively, then sighed. "But he does look awfully young. I'll have a chat with Janet; she did his physical or that’s what his files says."

"Or," Walton interjected, "he could be an alien with psionic abilities." His voice carried a note of seriousness that drew skeptical looks from around the table.

"Come on, Walton," Daryl scoffed. "That's reaching even for you."

"Explain the flickering lights during his nightmares then," Walton retorted, undeterred.

"Faulty wiring?" Nadine suggested with a smirk.

"Doesn't happen when he sleeps peacefully," Walton insisted, stubborn as ever.

"Nightmares, huh?" Nadine mused, her expression softening. "Do you comfort him?"

"Of course not!" Walton scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Watch it, Walton," Daryl warned, shaking his head. "You're sounding like he's some sort of ticking time bomb. Like another Charlie Evans situation."

"Maybe he is," Walton snapped, anger flaring in his eyes. "And maybe you're too biased to see it, what with him following you around like a lost puppy."

"Hey," Daryl laughed, the tension breaking slightly. "If he does have some crazy powers, at least I'm safe from getting zapped, right?"

The group erupted into light-hearted laughter, though Walton's scowl remained fixed.

"Okay, but what about that energy signature on away missions?" Walton persisted, tapping his pad where lines of data scrolled endlessly. "Every time Danny's with the team, survival rates spike."

"Seriously, Walton, your energy signature talk is getting old," Loreto remarked, his brow furrowed in disapproval.

Walton leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly together on the table. "But don't you see? The fatality rates drop when he's there, it's literally zero, and nobody dies. It can't all be coincidence."

"Correlation isn't causation," Sulu countered, leaning back in his chair and regarding Walton with a measured gaze. "You know better than to jump to conclusions without a proper comparative analysis."

Abigail clenched her jaw, irritation flashing in her eyes. "Have you been risking a kid's life just to prove your theory? We rotate those missions for a reason, Walton."

"Alright, enough," Daryl interjected firmly, his protective streak surfacing. "If I hear you're singling him out for missions again, I'll report it myself."

Nadine tilted her head thoughtfully. "But if Danny is somehow tied to that energy signature, maybe he's been keeping us safe." She chuckled softly. "An invisible force shoved me from a phaser blast last mission. If it was him, I owe the kid thanks."

"Same here,"  lieutenant Loreto chimed in. "Something pulled me back just before a cave-in."

"See? It all started when Fenton came aboard," Walton said, frustration evident in his tone.

"Coincidence or not," Sulu interjected, raising an eyebrow, "you'll need a better data set. Comparing missions with and without Danny would be more conclusive. But also, you need better evidence; you’re lacking it."

"Or he might just be a kid with a tough past who needs friends," Daryl countered calmly. “You’re just full of shit Walton.”

"Easy for you to say," Walton snapped, pointing an accusing finger at Daryl. "You didn't get your face wiped by that uncontrolled brat of a child, Evans. You’d be suspicious, too. Something's not adding up with that kid; mark my words.”

Daryl scoffed at him. “Is that something you’re willing to bet on? I’ll bet you’re wrong, the kids harmless.”

“You’re on!”

The others chuckled, poking more holes in Walton's theory and adding their own theories and bets to the pot.

*******

Danny let out a sigh of relief as he put some distance between himself and the senior officers.

As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Yeoman Lawton.

"Whoa, sorry about that," Danny said, stopping short.

Tina gave him a small smile. "No worries. Escaping the inquisition?"

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, something like that. Walton was really grilling me back there."

"Don't take it personally. He interrogates all the newbies." Tina fell into step beside Danny as they walked down the corridor. "I know I gave you a hard time too, but it's only because the last strange boy I met on this ship didn't exactly end well for me."

Danny's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Let's just say I have an intense distrust of anyone with psionic abilities now," Tina said darkly. "He turned me into a lizard."

"No way!" Danny gasped.

"Yep, no fun at all," Tina chuckled, punching his arm playfully. "So don't get any ideas, mister."

Danny held up his hands innocently. "Wouldn't dream of it. Though I gotta ask...how was being a lizard?"

"Rude!" Tina laughed. She paused, glancing sideways at him. "Honestly I don't remember much. But crazy stuff happens out here. We see all kinds of psychic abilities."

"Oh, well I definitely don't have anything like that," Danny said quickly. "No psychic powers whatsoever."

Tina studied him for a moment before nodding. "I believe you. And I'm sorry for being so suspicious earlier. This ship has seen some crazy things. It makes you wary."

"Hey, no judgement here. I get it." Danny gave her a friendly smile, relieved she seemed willing to give him another chance.

Danny's heart sped up. "Um, what do you think about people with powers?"

Tina shrugged. "I don't judge as long as they're not hurting people. Powers don't change who someone is inside."

Relief flooded Danny. "Yeah, that makes sense."

They stopped outside Danny's quarters. "Well, this is me. But we should hang out sometime when we're both off duty," Danny suggested hopefully. Making friends his own age might make this whole being in another time easier. He tried to ignore the thoughts of his friends Sam and Tucker back home. He missed them terribly.

"I'd like that," Tina agreed. She pulled out a data pad and handed it to Danny. "Put your comm code in. I'll ping you later."

Danny eagerly typed in his information, new warmth spreading through him. For the first time since coming to this century, he felt like he was starting to find his place.

Chapter 5

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"Usual rules of 21 apply. You go bust, you have to either take a shot or do a dare." Jaskier stated for the benefit of everyone sat at the table.

"What are you, 12?" Lambert sneered as Jaskier dealt everyone in.

"Some of us would like to able to eat this month. Last time I played you guys for cash, you cleared me out."

"Not our fault you're a shit player. Besides, we gave it you back."

Jaskier heard Aiden mutter "How generous of you." From next to him and he felt his heart sink a little.

He so wanted his best friend and his boyfriends family to get along. He already knew Geralt and Aiden got along fine and Eskel was his friendly self after his usual shyness at meeting someone one new, always self conscious of his scars. Lambert and Aiden though seemed to be a no go. Jaskier was hoping they'd warm up to each other but three social meet ups later and they'd yet to say two words to each other that weren't sarcastic (Aiden) or borderline insulting (Lambert).

Things started off fairly tame, with most people opting to do shots first (bar Lambert, who was tonights designated driver for those who wanted a ride later and was playing with soda instead). However, a couple of hours and a good amount of Dutch courage later, the dares had started. Ranging from downing a shot glass of extra strength hot sauce that had Eskel making a desperate grab for the milk to Geralt doing a lap of the garden naked, much to the delight of a tipsy Jaskier. Lambert was incredibly happy for the potential blackmail material he was collecting. A still relatively sober Aiden laughed from where he was nursing his own drink, feeling relatively smug at having only suffered half as many losing hands as the others.

"Ok. Final hand, then I'm calling it a night." Eskel slurred from where he was swaying dangerously in his seat.

"Hmmm." Geralt agreed from where he was slumped against Jaskier, the brunette grinning like a madman as he sat twirling a small paper cocktail umbrella in his fingers (because of course he had cocktail umbrellas in his house).

"Ok, ok, ok." Jaskier stated, slamming the umbrella down and holding a finger up imperially, "Dare this time iiiiiiiissss....loser has to kiss Lambert!"

The table erupted.

"Why the fuck am I the dare?!'

"Eeeew!"

"Don't care if he's adopted. I'm not kissing my brother, Jask."

"I never said you had to kiss him on the mouth, you perv!" Jaskier sniffed "And it's only if you lose!"

The others all looked to Lambert, who was also the designated dealer at this point, "Fucking fine. Let's get this over with."

Aiden stared at his cards in disbelief, ignoring the wolf whistles and cheers, "You're fucking kidding me."

23. Bust.

"Oh, get over yourself." Lambert snarled back.

"You guys don't - don't have to.' Eskel managed to get out, looking between them like he was expecting a fight to break out.

Aiden shrugged and downed the rest of his whiskey, "Dare's a dare. Just make it quick."

"Not going to be a problem."

"Wait, wait!" Jaskier called, grinning impishly, "New rule. Aiden's not related, he does have to kiss on the mouth!"

"Jaskier." Lambert let a warning growl slip into the word but didn't get any further as a pair of lips pressed against his then swiftly retreated.

"There. Done." Aiden said fishing his phone out of his pocket, "I'm calling a cab."

"You're over on Beech, right?" Lambert asked.

Aiden nodded.

"I'll drive you. It's on my way home anyway."

"You don't have to."

Lambert jangled his keys, "Designated driver. Remember?"

"Still. Thanks."

Both of them tried to ignore the way Jaskier was excitedly jabbing Geralt in the ribs with his elbow.

"Esk, you coming?" Lambert received no reply from his brother who, it turns out, had wandered over to the couch at some point in the last few minutes and passed out.

"Let him crash here." Geralt muttered, "Won't wake him now."

"Jaskier, I'll see you Monday." Aiden said, giving his friend a tight squeeze and Geralt a couple of solid back pats before looking back at Lambert, "Ready when you are."

The door to his flat hadn't even clicked shut before Lambert was kissing Aiden soundly. The other man humming into it happily.

"Fuck me, that was torture." Lambert said, making his way into the kitchenette and grabbing two beers from the fridge handing one to Aiden before flopping down onto the couch. Aiden hummed in agreement, taking a swig as he leaned over the back of the couch, wrapping an arm around Lambert and resting his chin on his shoulder. Watching as the other pulled up the next episode of the series they'd started binging.

"You know we're going to have to tell them eventually, right?"

"I know." Lambert butted his head against Aiden's affectionately, "I just..."

"Just?" Aiden prompted, taking another mouthful of beer while Lambert got his thoughts in order.

"I'm not embarrassed or anything. Everyone in my family is already up in each others business and you were already friends with Jaskier. I just - I just want it to stay like this for a little longer. Just us two, nobody else."

Aiden pressed a kiss to Lambert's cheek, "I get that."

"Plus you do realise Jaskier will be even more insufferable when we do? He'll say it was down to that little stunt of his tonight."

"Eh. If he can remember it, let him have it. I know I'd prefer it to the true story of how we met getting out." Aiden said with a laugh as he released Lambert and vaulted over the couch, landing next to him with far more grace than a man clutching an almost full beer bottle should possess before placing it on the coffee table.

"Ugh. I think that's the first time I've cheated to lose! I feel dirty."

"Yeah?" Lambert gave a grin as he moved until Aiden was laid out on the couch underneath him. The others hands already sneaking up the back of his shirt, "How dirty, exactly?"

[selya711-twiste]

conscience

Fellow Honest & Guidel "That shows you how low Honest John will stoop, eh Giddy?"

tw: kidnapping, trafficking, adult smoking and drinking around a minor, desensitization to cruelty inspired by p.19-27 of this (cw: disturbing, amputation)

Fellow justifying their actions to Guidel.

"Look at it this way, Giddy. These people live lofty and privileged lives, and they still want more. These greedy bastards keep wanting everything that they would even take from people who have nothing," he punctuates his sentence by slamming down his tall glass of beer. This startles Guidel a little bit, but he simply nods along and drinks from his own smaller glass of root beer. At least this way, Guidel can safely emulate his older brother's already bad behavior and join him.

They often have these nights after shipping out the last crate. It's meant to celebrate Fellow receiving his salary after a hard day's work, but a few hours after singing old songs and having fun he just begins to complain about the cards they're both dealt with.

"We give them what they want, telling 'em it's all free when it's not. They think eeeverything should fall on their lap because they're born lucky," his drunken ramblings continue. "Those idiots!"

"Everyone that enters Playful Land have given up their original lives. That's the price they have to pay!" Guidel nods in affirmation as the older man lets out a wicked laugh. Fellow finishes with a long drag of his cigarette.

When the park closes, they sell the guests' bodies as puppets. Away from the eyes of their bosses, everything they have on their person that can be worth selling is also sold. For some additional income on the side, these can go from taking the jewelries and piercings on their bodies to carving out the proud ears and tails of other beastmen.

"So there's nothing to feel bad about, okay?"

Fellow smiles and leans in to pat Guidel's head, a small action meant to comfort him. Guidel leans in to his touch and gives him his usual goofy little smile. He can tell Fellow is getting drunker by the second and soon enough he's going to pass out in his work clothes. At the very least, he has never, not once, taken out his anger on the young boy. He just conks out after he's done being mad at the world.

Guidel was taught to perceive the cries and screams of the park guests transforming into wooden puppets as the mere braying of donkeys. It's all empty noise, so that's why he has never thought too hard about their threats towards him and Fellow from inside of their metal cages.

It's not like they're dead. They haven't stooped low enough to become murderers, so that's what helps Guidel sleep at night. He's yet to reach the age to process what a "fate worse than death" is, but he learned that all living beings will eventually reach an eternal slumber somewhere warm and cozy when their time has come. It's not too far from the truth, as puppets who lose their value over the years become firewood.

They signed up for it. He's just doing his job. Most importantly, he and his big brother will get to have food and a safe place to stay in every night.

A few days later, Fellow and Guidel go to rest at an inn of some coastal town. When morning comes, they have to operate Playful Land again to find new guests in the next country they're tasked to go to.

The little boy looks out the window before tucking in. He always hopes for clear skies so he could make a wish to the brightest star in the sky, but it's cloudy tonight.