#cutting up cheese for a sandwich before abruptly turning to face no one and going ‘and I NEED you!’

[sentientsky]

in the kitchen making lunch and reenacting the final fifteen. as one does

[kookieswan]

Sweet Blood - Bloody Mess

Poly!Demon!TaeKook x OccultStudent!Reader

Word Count: 900+

Genre: Poly AU, Demon AU, Horror, Nsfw/18+, Fluffy 🌸

Warnings: Blood, Nsfw/18+ Content (Biting that draws blood, marking/hickeys, talk/insinuation of sex and sexual acts, finger sucking, dirty talk, etc etc 😅)

Notes: Posting before I leave for the airport lol. A little spooky, a little saucy. What else could you possibly expect from the demon boys? BIG NOTE that this takes place far into the future when they’re all romantically/sexually involved already.

This is a snippet from the Sweet Blood series. Find it here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What in the nine layers of hell are you baking now pretty thing?” Allowing a small smile to grace your lips, you finish placing some of the cream cheese frosting on the freshly cooled brownies. You knew the smell alone would cause your boys to come running before long, both demons practically teleporting to you from the front door as soon as they step through. You insisted they start using if after they’ve popped out of no where one too many times which has caused you countless heart attacks.

“I’m trying a new recipe for brownies! I know you guys like the my classic recipe but I wanted to do something spooky for Halloween.” They crowed in one either side of you without hesitance, squishing you between their large bodies in a yummy demon sandwich. Jungkook leans down to sniff at them before turning toward you abruptly, cute nose brushing your cheek as Tae pats your butt.

“We could just eat you instead, my precious little sweet blood.” Jungkook nips at your neck jokingly, tongue poking at your skin as you swat him away. Tae doesn’t allow for the teasing to stop though, clawed fingers running up your back and wrapping gently around the your neck as you glare jokingly at your other lover. You swear they’re always thirsty as hell when you’re busy… Which is always.

“I agree dove, I wouldn’t mind devouring you whole. Just a little bite at least.” It’s a hot whisper in your ear as his fingers tighten marginally, but you ignore the other demon as you pick up a spoon and spread the cherry pie filling sparingly onto the top of the brownies. There’s no way you’re going to let them distract you. Not again. Nope. Not after the curtains caught fire last weekend because you were… Busy. Assholes.

“Bad horny demon men! Calm yourselves and you can have some of these bloody brownies when I’m done. If you don’t, I’ll eat these all. By. My. Self.” Smacking Jungkook’s hand as it slithers toward your ass, you grab for the knife so you can cut up some of the actual cherries up to resemble entrails. You make quick work of it as the demons practically glue themselves to you, Jungkook whining into your ear as Tae’s hand slithers inside of your shirt.

“Mmh, we want you though. If you jump up on the counter and spread those pretty thighs, I’ll have your eyes rolling back in no time. Doesn’t that sound nice?” He grabs your hips and turns you abruptly, snatching the knife and discarding it before lifting you up and plopping your ass down on the counter without a second thought. You gasp sharply, Jungkook spreading your legs to step between them which causes you to fall back, his crotch brushing up against yours teasingly.

They both laugh as you fluster, deep voices echoing off of the darkening walls. You go to sit up as Jungkook tuts, his hand pushing back against your chest before sliding down your body. Tae hums as he watches, clearly satisfied with how things are going. Meanie.

“I have a treat for you too dove. Want to taste it, hm?” The pale demon steps around the counter slowly, his clothed dick obscenely close to your face when he settles opposite to Jungkook. Your senses cloud over slightly, the image of Jungkook’s face buried between your thighs and your mouth wrapping around Tae taking over. Reaching out blindly, you grab for your loves, only to whine as Jungkook bites at your thigh harshly.

“Ah! Fuck…” He licks at the skin immediately, mending the superficial damage he had caused. They’re always quick to heal any sort of harm they do, but you’re secretly glad they can’t get rid of bruising. You’ve always loved the pretty bruises they leave… Reaching down, you wipe away some of the blood that falls from his lips with your pointer finger, affection blooming through your chest at Jungkook’s bunny grin.

“So beautiful sweetheart, you take whatever we give you so well…” Huffing with a pout, you tilt your head back and glare again, but Taehyung just smiles and reaches for your trembling hand. Like clockwork, he sucks the bloody digit into his mouth, tongue laving over the skin as a low moan vibrates through his throat. Kookie watches from below with heavy eyes, but stays put otherwise, some of your blood still on his pretty lips.

The younger goes back to sucking at your stained skin without a word then, clearly in a state of euphoria as Tae releases your finger. He smacks his lips a few times, enjoying the taste of your apparently very sweet blood. It’s still a wonder to you how they manage to enjoy it so much, but to each their own. You could even say that you enjoy watching them consume it, the way they practically melt as they drink it up like men starved so delightful to see.

“Now, that’s a delicious sight… You want to indulge a bit baby? We can finish these brownies later, hm? Jungkookie and I will help you finish them.” Tilting your head back to look toward Tae, you grin almost shyly as caresses your face affectionately. Leaning in, he leaves a few upside down kisses against your lips, eyebrows raised as he waits patiently for your reply. At the feeling of your shorts being tugged down clumsily among sloppy kisses, you giggle.

“Yes please.”

[quiverwingduck]

When you have a second-hand alter-ego, some identity crises are bound to crop up. When they do, it helps to have a Launchpad. 

(Includes minor descriptions of injuries.)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794749

Twitter Link:

    Darkwing Duck woke sometime around sun-up, judging by the severity of the beams of sunlight that squeezed through the cracks around the garage bay door to glare into his eyes. They highlighted the dust in the air that he’d been breathing in while he slept, and they did very, very little to warm the solid concrete he had passed out on. 

    He was laying face down on Launchpad’s floor, several feet between him and the couch he’d been borrowing ever since his last gig went up in flames. Launchpad slept on a platform above his little area, and that was about all the privacy he got these days. Except Launchpad wasn’t here now. If he was, Darkwing would hear the snores. If he was, he wouldn’t have left Darkwing on the floor all night. 

    Darkwing moved his arms to prop himself up, and there was an audible pop, a cacophony of grinding and scraping from somewhere within, and a debilitating stab of pain. It was jarring enough that even Darkwing “Get Back Up” Duck had to give pause. His whole body was sore and that made it hard to pinpoint any single injury, but if whatever it was wasn’t completely broken yet, putting pressure on it would certainly get it there.

He tested one arm and then the other, and used the one that hurt less to push himself up. Except as he shifted his leg, it happened again, and this time it was bad enough that his vision melted away and he collapsed. 

Above Launchpad’s couch, there hung one of several posters of Darkwing Duck. Jim Starling’s Darkwing Duck. The real, the original, the one he was meant to emulate. He was looking down on him. He was always looking down on him. It was only a piece of paper, but it was difficult to shake the notion that Jim Starling was seeing him fail. 

He held Jim’s artificial gaze until consciousness left him again. 

——

When Darkwing Duck woke again, it had tilted towards noon, and the air in the garage had grown warm and stale, and Launchpad was there, and he looked so upset, and there were voices outside, and the world came at Darkwing so fast the moment he opened his eyes that it dazed him. Launchpad was asking him questions that he couldn’t hear, much less answer. 

Launchpad’s arm slipped under Darkwing’s and hoisted him up off the floor with no effort at all. There was dried blood where he’d been laying. Darkwing had no idea where it had come from. There were any number of bad sensations to choose from. 

Launchpad’s voice faded in abruptly, like someone had cranked the volume on a stereo. “--McDee’s right outside, DW, you gotta be quiet!”

Darkwing hadn’t realized he’d been making noise, but as Launchpad jostled him, a prevailing pain shot up his leg and into his back, and he had to cut off a yelp by holding his own bill shut. 

Unable to walk, unable to process, and there stood Jim, watching him in all his shortcomings. 

Launchpad fell into what was rapidly becoming a familiar routine with him. Hide the costume. Clean up. Bandage wounds. Food, generally refused. At least a little water. Then sleep. Darkwing wanted sleep so badly. Whatever had just happened to him, it didn’t feel like rest. Exhaustion was still weighing on him, a cinderblock hung around his neck by a thin little string. It pulled him under again while Launchpad was stitching up a frighteningly deep, jagged gash across his abdomen. 

When he surfaced once more, Launchpad was still there. Darkwing had made it to the couch somehow, all stitched and bandaged and cozy under one of Launchpad’s big, heavy blankets. Launchpad was sitting next to the spot where Darkwing’s head was laid, on the one cushion he wasn’t taking up, sprawled out as he was. 

Darkwing woke facing the cushion, and the wall where Jim’s poster hung. He rolled over as quickly as his he could, pushing against fatigue and stiffening wounds, but Jim’s face was right there waiting for him on the TV screen, too. He hated the dread he felt. 

“Hey, LP,” he said, croaking. His throat was still full of garage floor grit and maybe a little blood. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Nah,” Launchpad said flippantly, pointing the remote outward to turn the volume down. “Mister McDee’s doing work around the house, and Della took the Sunchaser out.”

Darkwing grunted, shifting onto his back and shutting his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Jim anymore, just for one minute. 

“You feeling better, DW?” Launchpad continued. Darkwing could feel him staring, and decided not to look back. 

“Sure, Launchpad. I’m fine. I am unflappable. I’m—”

“Darkwing Duck. I know.”

“I was gonna say the terror that flaps in the night.” 

Launchpad let out a sigh, and Darkwing felt a hand on his stomach. It wasn’t a tender touch. He could feel Launchpad pressing down on his abdomen, just hard enough that it would cause a reaction if something were wrong internally, and for all either of them knew something might be. Darkwing kept his eyes and his mouth shut and willed Launchpad not to notice him clench his teeth. 

Launchpad knew better by now than to suggest a doctor visit. Instead he said, “Go back to sleep, DW,” and his hand moved up to Darkwing’s hair. 

The next time Darkwing woke up, Launchpad hadn’t moved a muscle, but he had burned through about half of season two. He was currently on the episode where Darkwing Duck had been driven to hang up his cape, thanks to the machinations of Quackerjack. The breakfast sandwich that Launchpad had left out for him hours and hours prior was starting to stink up the garage even worse, old egg and mayonnaise and cheese. 

The only indication that Launchpad had moved recently was a water bottle pressed against Drake’s eye, still a little bit cold. It felt nice. He didn’t need to look to know that eye was swollen and bruised. 

Launchpad had Darkwing’s cape laid out over his lap, and was neatly and patiently running a needle through it, closing up yet another hole.

Darkwing sat up on his own for the first time since he had broken into the garage in the small, dark hours of morning and cracked that water bottle open, draining it in one swig. 

“Morning, DW,” Launchpad said, good-natured as ever, though Darkwing could see plainly that the sun had already begun to descend.

This time, Launchpad paused the show. Darkwing wished he hadn’t, now staring down the barrel of a freeze frame of Jim’s face looking straight back at him, an expression that was angry and judgmental, but somehow still wearing a wicked little smirk. 

Launchpad, clearly not noticing Darkwing’s chagrin, kept on talking. “Hey, did I ever ask you what you thought of the characterization with Quackerjack in season two? It felt odd, right? Like maybe—”

“Like maybe Paddywhack’s influence never fully went away? Yeah.” Darkwing smiled good-naturedly. He’d definitely had this conversation with Launchpad multiple times already in the few short weeks he’d been living here. There was a time in his life where he would have loved to talk circles about deep Darkwing Duck lore, but that time had passed, violently and without ceremony. 

Launchpad tilted his gaze Darkwing’s way. He didn’t look any less upset than he had when he’d first found Darkwing on the floor. “You feeling alright?” he asked again. This, too, was part of their routine. The smell of old breakfast turned Darkwing’s stomach. “Sixteen stitches, DW. That’s a lot of stitches. Any stitches is a bad number of stitches.” 

“Launchpad, I’m fine,” Darkwing replied, because he was supposed to. It was part of a script, for a role that was getting more and more difficult to step out of.

“You also might have a break this time.”

Launchpad pressed a finger against Darkwing’s left ankle, just one, and it lit up with fire. Darkwing’s eyes filled with water, and with no mask and wide, droopy hat brim to hide behind. 

“Quit poking me!” he snapped. “I said I’m fine!” The crushing guilt for being mean to Launchpad McQuack set in immediately, but Darkwing found that feeling bad just made him angrier. On the screen, Jim watched his outburst.

“This was your idea, LP! Remember? Remember ‘do it for Jim’, Launchpad?”

Launchpad clicked the power off, Jim’s face vanishing into a black screen that reflected their own instead, Darkwing scowling and Launchpad frowning, looking so sad in that bottomless and expansive way that he felt every emotion. Darkwing hesitated, beak hanging open in disbelief at himself. “I’m sorry,” he said right away, and he meant it. “I’m sorry. That was awful. I—I need to go.”

“Drake, no—” Launchpad started, but Darkwing snatched the cape away from him, thread and needle still hanging off of it, and moved to stand. He stopped immediately when his broken foot touched the floor, debilitated by the searing agony that started in his leg and burned all the way up into his brain. 

Launchpad, ever helpful even when someone was treating him like garbage, shot his arms out to give Darkwing something to lean on that wasn’t his injured leg. “I was gonna say that you won’t be able to walk,” Launchpad said dryly. 

Darkwing Duck stood, as best as he possibly could, and exhaled slowly, weighing his options. Night was settling in, and with it came a need, gnawing at him like Jim’s inescapable glare. “I have to patrol,” he said, knowing already that wasn’t the answer Launchpad wanted.

“On a broken foot?”

“I’ll call an Uberd.”

“An Uberd? Do I mean nothing to you?”

Launchpad griped, mirroring back the same overdramatic overacting that Darkwing himself was known for. He was trying to play, trying to lighten the mood, trying to trick him into calming down. 

Darkwing grumbled in frustration. The poster loomed over their heads, and he thought back on the day the studio caught fire. The day that Jim Starling finally snapped. The day that Launchpad McQuack nearly died right before his eyes, a split-second and a hair away from being caught up in the explosion, all because he’d wanted to help. 

Darkwing closed his eyes and tried to will the omnipresent vision of Jim Starling away. “I have to be out there. I have to do something. I…”

“Drake.”

It was the second time already that Launchpad had used his actual name, and somehow it stung worse than his ankle, or the stitches in his gut. Was the idea that he could actually become Darkwing Duck slipping away from Launchpad already?

Drake breathed in deep and tried to swallow his fears, but they remained, boiling over and spilling out of his mouth. “... If I stop moving, I start to think about Jim, and I… I can’t think about Jim.” 

Launchpad looked puzzled. His gaze turned up to the poster as if he was realizing for the first time in a long time that it was even there. 

Drake wished he could leave it at that and just stop talking, but that’s not what he did. “Jim died, Launchpad. He died because he hated me, and he hated me so much that he hurt innocent people over it. He hated me so much that he stopped being a hero. He hated me so much that it killed him.”

“DW—”

“Don’t.”

“Drake. Jim died saving us, remember?”

“No, he died saving you,” Drake said bitterly. “I was just in the way.”

“... Do you want me to take the poster down?” 

Drake balked. It had occurred to him, of course, but the thought of actually making Launchpad do it opened up a well of guilt. “No. No, no, I just—I should find someplace else to sleep, this is your space and—” Launchpad was already standing up and reaching for the poster, and without the support, Darkwing’s leg gave and he sank back down onto the cushions, grabbing uselessly at Launchpad’s sleeve. “No, LP, stop. Really.”

“It’s just a piece of paper, DW,” Launchpad said. He peeled it carefully off the wall, collecting sticky tack between his fingers, and rolled the paper up delicately in his hand, picture facing in. No longer a source of torment, just a white tube. He tucked it away behind some stacked crates serving as a table, or a dresser, or maybe just crates.

“But it’s��� still important to you,” Drake said. “You shouldn’t have to take it down on my account.”

“The real Darkwing Duck’s crashing on my couch, that’s way more impressive than an old poster.”

The real Darkwing Duck. Drake sat with those words for awhile, staring unfocused at the empty spot on the wall. “... There is no real Darkwing Duck,” he said finally, dejected, throat tight. “I’m still just a dumb kid playing make-believe.” 

There was a heavy pause, neither of them daring to so much as shuffle their feet or breathe too loudly. Launchpad kept his eyes on the spot behind the crates where he had stored his Jim Starling poster, turned away just enough that Drake couldn’t read his expression. When Launchpad did turn back to him, he was grinning in a way Drake doubted he had been before.

“Hey, you wanna grab a burger?” Launchpad asked, as upbeat as ever.

Drake gave him a dumbfounded look, slowly processing what Launchpad was trying to do. Could it be so easy to just let the moment pass? Was it the right thing to do? Or was he just taking advantage? 

Launchpad’s expression fell a little as he waited for a response, and he adjusted his approach, cutting off a downward spiral that must have been apparent in Drake’s face.

“I love Darkwing Duck,” he said, speaking slowly, with carefully chosen words. “But… I’m worried about Drake Mallard. I haven’t seen much of him lately.”

“Thought I was—”

“You have to be both,” Launchpad said, speaking over Drake. “You are Darkwing Duck, and you are Drake. It’s not just a role you’re playing. It’s not separate. It’s part of you.”

Drake threw his arms up as if there were a physical onslaught he could block. He almost wished there were. That’s a situation he would know how to handle. 

“You gotta ask for help,” Launchpad went on, softer now. “I never said for you to do it all alone.”

Drake took in a deep breath. Relying on someone else still felt like failure, but it was easier to fall into without the weight of Jim Starling’s judgment hanging over him. “Okay, LP,” he said, exhaling. “I need your help.”

Launchpad brightened up instantaneously. It came so damn easy for him. Drake--Darkwing--wondered if he could hold onto that radiance somehow and let Launchpad drag him out of his rut. 

“We’re gonna get some burgers and fries,” Launchpad said decisively, already reaching for the keys to Scrooge’s green Jeep, “and we’re gonna spend a quiet night in, and tomorrow I’m gonna take you out on patrol, ‘cause that leg is not gonna heal in 24 hours.”

Launchpad was nice enough to not point out that a busted leg meant Darkwing would not be running down criminals for weeks to come, and Darkwing didn’t point it out either. He let Launchpad hoist him up and pile him into the car, the both of them carefully guarding his injuries.

---

The road that would take them into town spiraled several times around Killmotor Hill. Whenever Darkwing had to take this descent on foot, he typically scaled down the sides, sliding down rocky faces and trudging through bushes. It was just faster. This time, he got to sit comfortably in the passenger side, gazing out the window at the landscape and shorelines around them. 

Launchpad, evidently, was taking in the sights as well. He righted the car and himself a second after they nicked the guardrail, and Darkwing screamed a little louder than he was proud of.

“Whoops, sorry!” Launchpad shouted, jerking the wheel, but over Launchpad’s voice Darkwing could hear another one, muffled and tinny and jarringly familiar, coming from the glove compartment. Darkwing popped it open and pulled out a little Darkwing Duck bobblehead, looking thoroughly placid as he held it up to his own face.

“You are such a nerd,” he said, tapping the bobblehead so it would spit out the titular catchphrase. 

“Okay, Darkwing Duck,” Launchpad quipped right back. The two laughed at themselves and at each other, and something heavy in Drake’s ribcage dissipated. Drake put the toy on the dashboard instead of hiding it away again, and it felt okay.

Later, parked next to a burger joint where they sat pulling greasy fries out of a paper sack, Launchpad reached over and tapped the bobblehead again. “I looked for First Darkness merch, too,” he said. “There wasn’t much.”

“Yeah, they produced some to capitalize on the release, but I think even the bigwigs didn’t expect the movie to do very well. Feels weird to admit. Like, don’t get me wrong, I was over the moon to get the part, but I was thinking years in the future. I was thinking that there would be more releases to follow, maybe even a reboot of the show, and I’d… I’d be there, because I had to be. I’m Darkwing Duck.” 

He was Darkwing Duck. He’d wanted it all along, his whole life. He could never have become anything else, and the version of himself that had denied it just ten minutes prior felt like a different person. A stranger. 

Drake took a pause, holding a rapidly cooling french fry between his fingers because suddenly his stomach was too knotted to eat it. “I guess that’s all Jim wanted too, huh?”

“Jim… lost his way.”

“And what if I lose mine?”

Launchpad reached over. His hand completely dwarfed Drake’s, fingers curling inward around it, and slowly threading through Drake’s. Drake stopped breathing, something he prayed Launchpad didn’t notice as he worked the ulterior motive of sliding the french fry out of Drake’s grasp and stealing it away into his own mouth. 

“I get that you’re mixed up about Jim,” Launchpad said eventually, through chewing. “It was… scary. But it doesn’t have to take away what Darkwing Duck means to us, you know? I understand if you don’t wanna watch the show with me, but don’t give up on Darkwing Duck. He’s so much more than a TV character.”

Drake caught a hint of desperation, the tiniest hairline crack in Launchpad’s relentless glee. It gave him pause, observing as Launchpad upended the carton of fries into his mouth and chewed through a frown. 

“Okay, LP. I told you what Darkwing Duck is to me. What is he to you?”

A huge grin cracked across Launchpad’s face, and Drake sensed he’d made a mistake.

“He’s my hero, and he’s an inspiration, and he thinks he doesn’t snore at night but he definitely does.”

“Rude! Slanderous and rude!”

“Like the Sunchaser’s engine after I crashed into that dam.”

Drake stuck his tongue out, and Launchpad did the same, and then a silence fell over the car. One not too comfortable, Drake content to sit there and eat quietly in the company of his best friend, but acutely aware of the way Launchpad squirmed in his seat, trying in vain not to let more words spill from his mouth. 

“Darkwing Duck was my only friend when I needed one most.”

A cold stab in Drake’s gut, thinking back on beatings in the schoolyard, dented lunchbox, handmade cape torn from his shoulders, the ground rushing at him. Someone’s foot planted on his back to keep him down while others kicked and punched and spat. Blood and dirt and tears and lonely nights spent bandaging his knuckles while the television droned in the background. Telling himself that if Darkwing Duck could take the hits, then so could he.  

He wondered if Launchpad had ever endured the same. Poor, sweet, big-hearted Launchpad. 

    Drake shook the memories, and sighed dramatically, holding out his fries. Launchpad took the container from his hand without hesitation, and within seconds, they were gone. “As always, LP, you are right.” 

    “I am?” Launchpad said, an elated glimmer in his eyes. “So you’ll keep being Darkwing Duck and inspiring a new generation to stand strong and fight for what’s right?”

    “Well, yes,” Drake said, as he prodded a finger lightly against his abdomen and marveled at the searing pain that flared up. “But I meant about taking some time off… and maybe finding a doctor.” 

    “Oh!” Launchpad grabbed his burger, wedging it in his mouth before putting the keys in the ignition. He hit the gas hard, intending to speed off in what Drake imagined would have been a very cool fashion, but the car flew into reverse instead, and they were sent careening through a chain link fence, screaming.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Cabin Fever

Jesse Katsopolis x Reader

Words: 1853

Summary: The Tanner’s are on vacation at a Ski Lodge in the mountains. Everything is fine until a snowstorm traps the family in their cabin. When Jesse’s wife, the reader, starts acting strangely, the rest of the family is determined to find out what the problem is. 

Notes: All the Full House things!

-

You fell back against the bathroom wall, breathing heavily. While the rest of the family spent the morning getting breakfast at the main lodge, you’d spent it with your head in a toilet. You’d told Jesse that you had a headache, but soon it would be harder to hide the morning sickness. You still hadn't told anyone that you were pregnant. 

It’s not that you weren’t happy. You were over the moon to be having a baby. The problem was that you had no idea how your husband would react. Jesse was finally at a good place with his band and a fussing baby didn’t exactly warrant rock and roll. You’d barely even been married for a year and now everything was going to change. How could you tell him?

“Aunt Y/N, we’re back!” DJ greeted, stomping the snow off her boots. You quickly washed off and put on your family-friendly smile as the rest of your nieces came inside. 

“I brought you a muffin.” Stephanie grinned, handing you a muffin that had several chunks missing. She smiled sheepishly. “It looked really good.” 

“Hey babe,” Jesse put an arm around your shoulders and kissed your cheek. “How are you feeling?” You convinced him with a smile. 

“Better.” You ignored the churning in your stomach and the family decided to play Go-Fish around the fireplace. Of course, Michelle tended to cheat, hiding cards behind her back, but none of you said anything. The cabin phone rang and Danny went to answer it. 

“So at breakfast, I met this boy- total babe- and he made me a cup of hot chocolate.” DJ gushed. 

“Must be love.” You laughed, taking her queen of spades. Danny came back with a grim look. 

“That was the main cabin,” He began, “due to the snowstorm moving in, all of the roads out of the park are closed. And they advise everyone to stay in their cabins until the storm blows over.” The girls definitely weren’t disturbed by the news. In fact, they were excited to get to stay for another few days. But you just felt even sicker. How many days could you hide when everyone was stuck in that cabin together? 

-

The rest of the morning continued without any spells of illness. You just felt awful about keeping something so important a secret. You had to figure out how to tell him. Jesse hummed to himself as you lay on the bed, reading one of the books you found in the cabin bookshelf. He drummed his fingers on the window sill, watching the snow wildly blow through the air. 

“Man, we’re going to be stuck here for a while.” He sighed, flopping back onto the bed at your feet. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“Hmm?” You looked up from the page you weren’t really reading anyway. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” He repeated, placing a hand on yours. “You feel cold.” He shifted up so he was sitting beside you, wrapping a blanket around the two of you. 

“I’m okay, Jess, I promise.” You laughed nervously, laying your head on his shoulder. You curled your legs up underneath you and wrapped your arms around his middle. His shirt smelled like coffee from when he spilled on himself that morning. You felt your worries melt away, at least for a little while. 

Your relationship with Jesse was definitely not “love at first sight”. In fact, you had been the lead singer in a band competing against Jesse and the Rippers for a gig. You were engaged to the bass player and had blue streaks in your hair. Jesse and the Rippers ended up getting the job and your fiance spray painted your band’s logo on their drums for revenge. He also slept with four different groupies that week. After that, your hair was normal and your band broke up, along with your engagement. Jesse found you in a drunken pity party one night and gave you a ride back to your apartment. The rest is history. 

How different your life could have gone. If you had told your old fiance that you were pregnant while you were still part of the band, he would have done far worse things than leave you. Not that Jesse would ever hurt you… but having that paranoia didn’t go away. Your eyelids started to droop and from the sound of Jesse’s steady breathing, he had fallen asleep. Why were you so scared? He’s your husband for gods’ sake. 

You slowly got up from the bed, careful not to wake him up. You went into the cabin’s unbelievably small kitchen, where Danny was making grilled cheese for Michelle. 

“Hey,” He greeted merrily, “Do you want one?” The smell alone made your very empty stomach growl. He must have been able to tell by your expression and started to butter another piece of bread. “You look a little pale, are you feeling okay?” 

“Do I really look that bad?” You laughed uncomfortably. 

“Jesse said that you weren’t feeling well this morning, and I hope that you’re feeling better. We don’t want everyone getting sick while we’re stuck here.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” You muttered to yourself. He set the golden-brown sandwiches down in front of you and your niece. As soon as the food reached your lips, you felt your stomach turn violently. You stood up abruptly. “Excuse me.” 

You ran to the nearest bathroom and fell to your knees, throwing up the few bites you had been able to eat. 

“Michelle, stay here.” Danny said, knocking on the bathroom door. “Y/N?” When you were finished, you weakly stood and opened the door. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“Danny…” You sighed. “I’m pregnant.” 

“Oh.” His eyes went wide and he nodded with understanding. 

“Aunt Y/N is going to have a baby?” Michelle exclaimed from behind her father’s legs. 

“Shhhh!” You whispered. “Michelle, I haven’t told your Uncle Jesse yet.” 

“I can keep a secret.” She grinned. You blew out a long breath. 

“I’m in trouble.” 

-

Two more days past and the snowstorm continued. No one had left the cabin and you were running out of firewood. The adults drew straws to see who would go to the main lodge to pick some up. Following in your bad luck, you drew the shortest straw. 

“We’ll go together,” Jesse stated with a shrug. “It doesn’t look too bad this morning.” 

“I honestly don’t mind going,” Danny said quickly, giving you a concerned look. 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” You gave him a warning look back. So far, you had been able to keep Michelle quiet about the pregnancy. You were going to tell him. You just had to figure out the right moment. 

The two of you grabbed your coats and boots and bundled up before heading out into the snow. The wind blew harder than you thought, making it difficult to see even a few feet in front of you. You locked hands with your husband and trudged through the drifts. The main lodge was only about a five-minute walk away from the cabin, but the further you walked, the more it felt like an hour. 

“I think we’re almost there!” Jesse shouted over the roaring wind. Your hand fell from his and lifted up to your head. 

“Not now.” You whined, falling back into a snowbank. The past few days were bad, but this felt different.  It was as if the nausea was on steroids. 

“Babe?” Jesse suddenly noticed his empty hand and started to panic. “Y/N, where are you?” He couldn’t see anything through the blizzard. 

“I’m over here.” You groaned. 

“Sweetheart, where are you?” He searched until he saw the bright red of your scarf. “What is it? What’s wrong.” 

“I just need to get inside.” He helped you stand up again and rushed into the lodge, calling over one of the workers to grab you a blanket. He sat you down on one of the big leather couches in front of the fire, rubbing your hands in between his to warm them up. 

“What the hell happened out there?” He asked, moving his hand to move the hair out of your face. His blue eyes were frantic, quickly draping the blanket over your shoulders. 

“I’m okay, Jess,” You assured him, but another wave of nausea made it feel like your insides wanted to become your outsides. 

“Cut the crap.” Any sternness in his voice only came from how much you scared him. “You’ve been feeling sick ever since we got here. Is it just a fluke, or is this something we should be worried about?” 

“I mean… it’s definitely not a fluke.” The sickness started to subside and you smiled. “Jesse, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Now he looked even more worried. “It’s okay.”

“Well you’re starting to freak me out here,” He exclaimed, moving to sit next to you. 

“Jesse, I’m-” 

Suddenly, everyone else in the family burst through the doors, Joey and Danny clearly out of breath from chasing the girls. 

“Michelle told us and we just couldn’t wait for you to come back!” Stephanie squealed. 

“Besides, I thought I saw you fall and we had to make sure you were okay.” DJ added. “I’m really happy for you too.” 

“I really tried to stop them, Y/N.” Danny grimaced. “And don’t either of you ever run out into a snow storm like that again.” DJ shrugged. 

“It’s starting to die down.” 

“Would someone mind telling me what’s going on!” Jesse shouted over the commotion. Everyone froze. 

“You don’t know?” Stephanie’s jaw dropped. 

“I haven’t had the chance to tell him.” You said through a gritted smile. 

“Tell me what?” Jesse exclaimed again. You took his hand and tried to force down the butterflies. 

“Jesse, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. With your music going so well, I wasn’t sure how you would react, but you’re going to find out sooner or later.” You laughed nervously. “Jess… I’m pregnant.” 

The room fell into complete silence. You could almost hear the snow falling. 

“Y-you’re… you’re… we’re going to have a-” Jesse fell back against the couch. Your heart was pounding. He was upset. 

“I know that this gets in the way of the band and that it’s sooner than we thought-” He kissed you before you could finish and the family cheered. 

“Gets in the way?” He shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. “How could you think that?”

“So you’re happy?” You sighed with relief. 

“Happy?” He laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m over the moon!” He jumped off the couch and lifted you up, spinning around and making you laugh. 

“Congratulations guys.” Joey beamed. 

With grins on all faces, everyone headed back to the cabin where you waited out the rest of the snowstorm. It raged on for another night, but with a wonderful husband to keep you warm and the best nieces in the world to make you laugh, you didn’t have to worry about getting cabin fever.

[neerasrealm]

Smoke Break

In which Jeff the killer gets some subway. And also some violent urges. Just a short fic because I started thinking about Jeff and the timespace between his origin story and him showing up at Slender Mansion. TW for violence and murder Word count: 1630

The sound of rain was typically considered a comfort to people. A gentle noise that beat on the pavement in a steady, calming rhythm. The rain drenched the streets and houses, making the world dark, yet the water glistened in the little light that came from headlights and windows. The golden glow from the windows he passed by seemed to cover him in a false warmth. The light should have illuminated a boy who was calm, content with life even as he walked through the rain, but it instead showed a scarred and burnt face with sunken eyes that looked around suspiciously. His mouth was pulled down into a frown, despite the smile carved into his cheeks.

The rain didn’t comfort him. It made his headache feel worse. He grit his teeth for a few moments before loosening his jaw again. He slid his hands into the pocket of his stained, white hoodie and looked up around him as he walked through the rain. He shivered, feeling soaked to the bone. His stomach growled and he looked up, his eyes landing on another glowing window front. 

Subway. Eat fresh. Jeff ran his tongue over his lips and walked quickly over to the door to the small restaurant. He pulled his bandana up over his mouth, then stepped inside, pausing for a moment. He registered the ding over the door as he entered. It was warm in here, and bright. Quiet. Dark hair hung over his face, obscuring most of his vision. He stood there, soaking in the warmth until a noise came from the other end of the restaurant.

‘’Hey, you okay there?’’

A male voice. He looked up, peering at the singular employee through wet hair. He walked away from the door, toward the counter. He could smell food in the air and it made his stomach growl. Peppers and onions and cheese, mixed with the smell of bread. He looked up at the employee. ‘’Evening.’’ he grunted. 

The employee, who seemed to be named Matt going by his name tag, smiled in greeting. ‘’Good evening,’’ he replied. ‘’Can I get you anything?’’

‘’Uhh...yeah…’’ he paused for a moment, scrunching up his nose. The pounding in his head had started getting worse the moment he stepped inside, but he tried to ignore it. ‘’Can I get…’’ he pursed his lips for a moment, his vision blurring for a second. ‘’A chicken sub with cheddar, jalapenos and some barbecue sauce…?’’ he shook his head. God, his throat felt dry, and his voice sounded like shit. ‘’And some water.’’ 

The employee nodded. ‘’You want that toasted?’’

‘’Yeah, yeah.’’ he looked around the place. It was empty, save for him. No other customers. He looked up at the employee. ‘’You working alone tonight?’’

‘’Nah, nah,’’ Matt replied calmly. He adjusted the glasses on his face. Square lenses. They reminded Jeff of his brother. ‘’My coworker’s out back. Taking a smoke break.’’ he gave Jeff a small smile before finishing the sub. He put it in the oven, then grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. He put it on the counter and typed a few things into the cash register. ‘’That’ll be $4.50.’’ 

Jeff pulled his hand out of his jacket and put a five dollar bill on the counter. He took the water eagerly, squeezing it quietly in his shaking hand. Shaking...he hated when his hands shook. It was a bad sign. He grit his teeth until he was given his change and receipt. He turned and walked over to one of the small tables, sitting with his back to the employee. He opened the water bottle eagerly and drank down about half of it. It was cold, and he could feel it sliding down his throat and into an empty stomach that growled hungrily. He winced. 

‘’Just get the food and leave.’’ he told himself. ‘’Eat and go.’’

‘’Your order’s done.’’ Matt called behind him. Jeff pulled up his bandana again and walked over to the counter, taking the sandwich. The employee tilted his head, seemingly noticing that Jeff was shaking. ‘’You okay, sir? You look a little...pale.’’

Jeff shook his head. ‘’I’m fine. Just a late night weirdo.’’ he replied. The employee laughed a bit and nodded.

‘’If you say so.’’ he shook his head in amusement. Jeff smiled under his mask and turned, sitting with his back to the counter. He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite. Then another. The food made his stomach growl painfully, but it also made him feel better. Even though the trembling was getting worse. 

Ringing. His ears were ringing again, making him grit his teeth and suppress a whine. The ringing was almost the worst part. The high pitched noise made him flinch. He was always sensitive to noise, and this didn’t help. The noise suddenly spiked like a screeching in his ear and he smacked a palm flat onto the table. He froze, his body twitching, leg bouncing in anxiety.

‘’You okay?’’

He didn’t reply, just squeezed his eyes shut and grinded his molars together. He heard footsteps approaching him from behind. ‘’Run, run, run, run away.’’ he wanted to say but his mouth wouldn’t open. Like it was stitched shut. He felt Matt’s hand on his shoulder and he flinched, nearly screaming at the touch. 

‘’Hey, you alright?’’ Matt leaned closer, trying to look at his face, obscured by wispy black hair. Jeff trembled. 

Whispers filled his ears. ‘’Weak’’, ‘’coward’’, ‘’disappointment’’, ‘’hopeless’’. He slapped his hands over his ears, screwing his eyes shut and whining. ‘’You’re a monster. A freak. Get the gun get the gun get the gun-’’ teeth bit down on lips hard enough to bleed. ‘’Hold him down, hold him down! Gimme the knife, Keith!’’ 

He slowly dragged his head up, the voices filling his head like a symphony that sung only his own traumas. He inhaled sharply, taking steady breaths, trying to calm himself. ‘’Are you okay?’’ Matt asked again. Mismatched eyes flicked to him, glinting in the light. He saw the employee flinch, finally seeing the burns and scars on his pale face. ‘’C-Can I help you…?’’

Jeff stared at him for a moment then slowly stood up. His hand slid down his side, feeling the outline of the knife handle hidden in the waist of his jeans. ‘’...yeah…’’ his voice was soft. ‘’Yeah you can help me…’’ he stepped toward Matt, who backed away cautiously. Jeff glanced at the table behind the employee, mentally planning his actions. He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Matt by his shirt and shoving him against the table. He yelped, eyes wide and full of panic as he stared down at Jeff. 

‘’P-please man I-!’’

‘’Shhh…’’ he hated when they pleaded. He gulped, swallowing down his nerves. ‘’Just...let me…get it out…’’ his voice dropped, feeble and shaky. Barely a whisper. He slid the knife out of his waistband, holding it up. Matt whimpered and thrashed. He was close to a foot taller than Jeff, and much less skinny than him, yet he couldn’t get the boy off of him. He tried to scream, but the moment his mouth opened a bundle of dirty cloth was shoved into his mouth. ‘’Just be quiet. I...I hate the screams…’’ Jeff shook his head. Matt whimpered, a tear escaping his eye. Jeff took a deep breath and drew the knife back. Then he lunged again. With a muffled shriek from Matt, the blade buried deep into his gut. Jeff drew it back and stabbed again. And again. And again. He counted the stabs in his head. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven. He always felt obligated to stop at seven. 

The blade dripped with blood as Jeff released his victim. Too in pain and too weak to scream, the cloth fell from Matt’s mouth. Yet he still tried to escape. He stumbled, collapsing against the glass case on the counter. Jeff calmly padded over to him. He raised the knife and stabbed again. Seven more gashes. This time he dragged the blade, leaving long cuts down the man’s back. Matt whimpered and slid to the ground, sobbing feebly. Crimson pooled around him. Jeff knelt down to him and rolled him over. He took off his glasses, looking at them for a moment. He breathed on the lenses, then cleaned them off with the hem of his shirt. He placed them down on Matt’s chest, then put the blade to his throat. 

‘’I’m sorry.’’

A slice, and the subway employee was gurgling blood. Another two minutes and he was unconscious, waiting for death. Jeff knelt over him, taking calm, even breaths. The ringing was gone, the voices had disappeared. The throbbing in his head had stopped, letting him relax and think straight. The smell of blood filled his nose, and somehow it was a comfort. Comfort, comfort...it was only temporary. The calm faded away in minutes, replaced with the typical racing thoughts. ‘’Oh god I just killed someone.’’, ‘’Why did I do that?’’, ‘’There’s blood on my hands.’’, ‘’I’m a monster.’’

He gulped. The guilt, the guilt...there was only one way to get rid of it. He tossed his leg over the body, straddling Matt. He guided his knife down and sliced along the man’s cheeks, leaving two long gashes in his face. A glasgow smile, just like the one on his own face. ‘’That’s it…’’ he whispered. ‘’Smile...you’re...happy…’’ he swallowed thickly, feeling sobs threaten to escape him. He registered one rolling down his cheek and he abruptly stood up. He shoved the bloody knife into his waistband and grabbed his water, chugging it before dropping the empty bottle. He snatched up his sandwich and walked out into the storming rain. Absently, he wondered when Matt’s co-worker would finish their smoke break.

[scary-lasagna]

Trust || Part VI

"  Finally meeting the eyes of your soon-to-be murderer, you realized he was crying again. Fuck him, he deserves to cry, wail, scream, after what he's done to you.

You can't rip a flower out of the ground and expect it to grow in acid.

With a final reassuring squeeze, Hoodie let go."

Yandere!Hoodie/Brian x Reader

* * *

A month later and things haven't gotten any better than when you first arrived. Hoodie just keeps growing more violent and possessive my the minute. You really don't know how much longer you'll survive here from either dying from Hoodie's leather-gloved hand or by your own.

Hoodie leaves on most nights, which would be delightful in planning a route of escape. But it's hard to do so when you're locked in the windowless bedroom.

All you're left to do for the night is look at your picture of your previous life, contemplate your situation, plan his murder, and scan over a few books Hoodie found for you.

This could all change if you only said, "I love you." To him.

Which you weren't, but you were thankful to know that's an option in case you were nearing death by his hand.

It was late night, and thunder rumbled over the depths of the cellar. It must be going to rain soon. Hoodie was still gone, he didn't know when he'd be back. But you know he'll get caught in the rain if he doesn't get home before morning.

And you'll be charged with the task of drying his hair.

You rolled your eyes, tossing the magazine down and pushing yourself off of the bed. Hoodie got you a more qualified mattress to sleep on, along with a bedspread and blankets that kept the damp air off of you. But sometimes you just needed an open window or a fan.

Neither of which Hoodie has provided. A window means a chance of escape, not that he could just give you one anyways, it was a brick-lined basement. And a fan deems a possible weapon to hit him over the head with.

Oh, how you longed to do that. Even if he killed you, it would be so satisfying to watch him stumble with a yelp, clutching the back of his dirty blonde locks.

You shuffled around your room, sifting through drawers and pulling out wrapped clothing. You've been working on making a shank out of a shard of tile you found in the kitchen, and literally anything else you could find. You've only got a rubber band and a few pieces of tape to hold the fabric around the ceramic. It's not much, but it's your only form of protection.

But your plan to craft was cut short by the cellar door rattling. You stuffed the tile inside a few socks before shoving the drawer closed.

"Hoodie?" You called out, pushing yourself off of the ground to stand in front of your door. 

"What? You hungry? You're supposed to be sleeping." Footsteps gradually made their way towards the other side of the door, followed by a series of mechanical clicks.

"I'm not tired." You looked up at the mask when the door open, which you cautiously took off. He was sweaty, and very gross in general. "Can't you find a new mask that doesn't suffocate your pores?"

"Yeah, but I like this one though." He gently took it out of our grasp, using the same sense of caution as you used with him. 

Hoodie couldn't hold it in anymore. Everytime he left, he was never guaranteed in seeing your face when he returned. You were smart, too smart. You were bound to find the key he hidden in one of the loose bricks of your room. Just in case one day he doesn't return. He wouldn't want you to be left here and starved, even if the masked man did know about the situation.

He struggled to hold back to tears prickling his bottom lid, and he pulled you towards him into the colder hallway. But your skin was soothed by his warm chest.

"I'm so sorry for what I've done. You know I'd never want to hurt you." His muscles twitched along your back when he squeezed tighter. 

You couldn't do anything but hug back, running your hand up and down the rough fabric of his hoodie. Even without the view of his face, his jerking chest was proof enough that he was holding back sobs and tears. "Prove it, then." You weren't even sure if he heard your voice through the muffle of his clothes. 

"How can I prove my love to you?" He separates your bodies, but kept his large hands on your waist. Tear streaks were travelling down his dirty cheeks.

"Free me." You stared up at him, clutching his forearms. "Please, Hoodie."

He glanced back at the entrance, and for a moment, you had a spark of hope.

"Not now, darling. I'm sorry, really I am." His tone sounded sincere enough, and his eyes were tilted with sadness.

Your face fell and your tense shoulders slumped, "Why?"

He shook his head, his fingers flexing into your skin, "There's too much going on right now. Tim left Jay, and Jay's on his own. And Alex is a good hunter, he'll find you. He's already come around here a few times, actually."

All you heard was a pathetic attempt at an excuse. But in reality, it did make some sense.

"You pinky swear you're not lying?" Your eyebrows twitched as you looked up at him.

He managed a smirk, leaving the cool air to nip at a warm spot on your hip as he held his hand up, "I'd never lie to you." 

You linked your pinky with his and it caught you off guard as Hoodie sealed it with a soft kiss on your knuckle.

Trust.

You craved for his lips sometimes, and it was often hard to remind yourself that this is a different person. Would it be cheating on Brian if it's the same body?

What the hell were you talking about? This dude kidnapped you and you're thinking about whether his lips would feel good against yours.

But you were satisfied as he kisses you on the cheek, "Get back to bed, now." He started to coax you back into your room.

"Can't I stay up with you for a bit?"

He squinted, and you could tell he was growing suspicious but nonetheless, he obliged with a, "Sure." Taking you by the hand, he lead you to the kitchen. "I gotta take a shower first, I'm sure you can make something for yourself while I'm gone."

The bathroom door was closed before you could even answer, "I literally just said that I wasn't hungry earlier." You mumbled, glancing around the cute kitchen.

Out of curiosity, you picked up one of the medicine bottles to see what he was taking and if that somehow made him more aggressive.

Tim Wright.

He had Tim's pills. How and why? Did he steal them or did Tim give them to him? Was it the same way he got the picture?

You set the plastic down and walked over to the humming fridge. There wasn't much in it, just a few packs of meat, two jugs of water, miscellaneous in the drawers, and a bag of chips. And that godforsaken tuna.

Why the hell does he keep chips in the fridge?

You took the box of ham and started making two sandwiches with cheese, lettuce, and mayo. You glanced in the direction of the hissing water in the bathroom before chucking the tuna in the trash, tossing some paper towels on top of it to hide the glint of the metal.

The hiss of the shower stopped, and you listened as Hoodie rustled around with some towels.

Oh fuck, he's gonna try and seduce you. 

You turned away from the door, busing your self with slowly pouring juice into the glass. Wet footsteps pass the kitchen, and you couldn't help but glance though the window as he made his way to his room. 

A guilty part of you wishes that Brian had those type of muscles when you were dating. This dude was really strong just from the look of his back. 

He paused at the padlocks glancing over them, and then quickly locked with your eyes. You turned away, spilling the half-full glass all over the counter with a hissed curse.

You tried to look again, but the door was already closed.

You soaked up the juice, piling all of the towels in the trash until the counter was grape-free. Hoodie walked in, hair still wet and in (thankfully) clean clothes.

You accepted his advancements as he wrapped a pair of strong arms around your waist, nuzzling into your hair.

"You smell better than I do, and I've just taken a shower."

"I smell like damp basement and cheap Irish Sring soap, don't lie to me." You picked up a plate and held it out to your left, letting Hoodie take a hold of it as you grabbed your plate and the two drinks.

You could tell how exhausted Hoodie was by the way he flopped down on the couch, almost looing his dinner in the process.

You set your plate and drink on the coffee table, knowing he's going to want half of your sandwich anyways. 

The air was calm, and rain had started to tap on the floor above you in the broken building. Hoodie was just chilling, watching the late night news and eating the sandwich you made for him.

It felt nice.

It felt normal.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, hugging his elbow as you cuddled up to him. You were touched starved, you craved affection and contact, and Hoodie was the only one around capable of giving it to you.

He set the plate down on the armrest and wrapped an arm around you, allowing the warmth of his chest to engulf you.

You closed your eyes and even dozed off a little bit until you were stirred by Hoodie running his hands through your tangled hair. You whined, aggravated that you were disturbed from your slumber. 

"I love you." 

You rolled your closed eyes. You didn't respond, it was obvious you're faking sleep now, but there was really no other option that would end well.

"[Y/N]."

"Hoodie, I don't love you. Not now."

He stood up, quite abruptly, actually, and you almost fell on the floor.

"Then why are you doing this to me?" His muscles flexed under the black t-shirt he was wearing as he scowled down at you. "Don't you realize this is torture?!"

The man sounded desperate, and his elbows were tucked to his waist insecurely. His eyes...they were truly filled with the pain of the truth.

But as he turned to leave, you managed an apology. "Hoodie, I'm sorry." You clasped your hands together, straightening up on the couch.

"You're not sorry." He hissed, twisting back towards you. "You know what you're doing." The blonde squinted at you, searching your body for something, anything, that looked like remorse.

In his blind state of betrayal, he didn't see any.

"I am sorry!" You stood up defensively, clenching your fists by your side. "How dare you say what I don't feel! I was sorry, but now I'm not! You're just an asshole who expects me to fall in love at first sight of you!"

"You did fall in love with me at first sight o-!"

"No, I didn't! I feel in love with Brian Thomas, your ass had to ruin a perfect fucking relationship for your own selfish needs!"

Hoodie stayed silent, he was holding back. His fists were clenched so tight, his knuckles were turning white, and his eyes were full of burning hatred.

"I'm never going to love you, Hoodie. Not truly. Not if you always act like an entitled brat."

"Don't fucking lead me on then." His shoulders slumped and his fingers loosened. "Don't give false hope."

You blinked, watching as he calmed down into sadness, "Hoodie, I didn't want to do that...I want to make you happy, I want you to feel comfortable instead of tense and awkward which gets you on edge. Maybe even a little dangerous.."

He looked up from the ground and into your sympathetic eyes. He stepped forward and grabbed your waist, pulling you towards him.

"Then you will not get rid of me until you love me."

"That wasn't our deal you sai-"

"Said that I'd free you in due time, yes,” He finished for you, “I keep my promises. Just like how I promised to make your life a living hell if you didn't learn to love me. It's a shared deal, sweetheart." His voice was eerily calm.

You didn't reply, you couldn't. You knew if you opened your mouth you would start sobbing for mercy, for freedom. But you knew that wouldn't happen on his account.

"Now, go to your room." He jerked his head into the direction behind him, staring through your eyes instead of into them.

"This will not make me love you." You whispered, looking closer into his eyes. You wished he could see the hurt in your eyes, the hatred. 

But he kept his eyes trained on the plate sitting on the coffee table.

You sniffed, shoving past him towards your damp and dark room.

As you jumped into bed, you heard the sound of a plate crashing. Then another one. Right into the television.

You didn't care. You turned over and stared at the wall until sleep consumed your tense nerves.

___

The door to [Y/N]'s room clicked and creaked quietly open. Hoodie stared at them, hoping the metallic sound of the gun didn't wake them.

You could only see the shadow on the wall, and the clicking disturbance of the gun being handled. You couldn't quite see his position, but he might be aiming at you. You don't where else he'd point the gun at.

You dared not to move. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't. You were frozen in fear of the idea of being shot.

The rustling of fabric and shrinking shadow signaled that he put the gun away but was advancing towards you. What if he decided on a knife instead?

Instead, a rough hand brushed your hair out of your face, and placed a soft kiss on your temple.

You know he's not going to let up. You have to plan an escape.

[myherowritings]

Take You Out

Request: Could you do a Bakugou x Reader fic where the reader asks Bakugou out on a date to the park but he misunderstands and thinks they’re challenging him to a fight? So they show up dressed up really nice and put together, but he’s ready to throw down? Thx!!!

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Word Count: 1,928

Author’s Note: This is a repost because the original got deleted, ugh. IDK if I did it on accident or if it was Tumblr, but regardless it’s very disheartening to see all the notes gone and agh I’m just frustrated and sad. :( But it’s okay! I’m grateful I had it saved. Any reblogs would be appreciated! xx

“Tomorrow at five, then?”

“Tch. That’s fine by me.”

His brows were furrowed with a glare and his arms were crossed defensively as he looked at you, but you were so happy that Bakugou didn’t just reject you, you hardly noticed.

“R-Really?” you asked, staring up at him as a bright smile threatened to take over your face. “We can meet at the park by the pond! I have the perfect set up.”

Earlier that day, Ashido had helped you plan out the perfect picnic date with Bakugou. You went out to buy a gingham blanket, a vintage picnic basket, and an assortment of meats and cheeses for the sandwiches.

It was going to be perfect.

“You have a whole set up for this?” Katsuki’s face was the mixture of confusion and anger you had grown to love.

“Of course! I’ve been planning this for a while,” you admitted shyly, toying with the hem of your shirt. “I honestly can’t wait to take you out.”

His eye twitched. “What?”

You peered at him through your lashes. “Huh?”

“What did you just say?”

“I said that I can’t wait to take you out.” You tilted your head slightly to the side as Bakugou furrowed his nose up. Scratching the back of your head, you laughed nervously, “Sorry-- Was that too forward?”

“Take me out?” he repeated, voice growing louder as his expression became more and more incredulous. “Listen here, pipsqueak. I don’t know where you got that idea, but I’m going to be the one taking you out!”

You blinked.

Katsuki glowered.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said slowly. You heard a series of sparks coming from his hands, but you simply giggled. “I’m the one who asked you. And the one who set this whole thing up. Plus, I’ve been planning this for a while now! It’s definitely me who is taking you out, Bakugou.”

“Why, you little--!”

“But it’s okay,” you quickly amended, giving his cheek a small pat as his whole face turned a bright red. “If you really want to so badly, I’ll let you take me out the following time.”

“Let me?”

You nodded.

Gradually, Bakugou’s growl transformed into a challenging smile as he bared his teeth. His eyes were filled with something that looked like a combination of begrudging respect and outright annoyance.

“Tch. You have some nerve, Y/L/N,” he barked with a rough laugh. Katsuki shook his head. “Fine, I’ll humor you. Tomorrow at five, right? Don’t be late.”

You beamed, happy your biggest crush actually agreed to go on a date with you.

“I can’t wait!”

- - - - -

“Is my outfit okay?” you asked Mina, biting your bottom lip in worry as you smoothed out your shirt for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, you look hot, Y/N! Stop being so nervous,” she said, giving you a once over with a quick thumbs up. “It’s still only Bakugou after all.”

You huffed. “Easy for you to say! He might be ‘only Bakugou’ to you. But to me, he’s a long time crush I never thought I’d have an actual chance with.”

There was a little less than an hour before your first date with Katsuki and you couldn’t stop pacing around your room. You ran through your picnic checklist so many times, you were certain you could now recite it by heart.

“I just hope he likes me back,” you said, tugging at the dainty chain of your necklace.

“He’d be foolish not to.” Ashido propped herself up by her arms as she laid on your bed, staring thoughtfully at the wall behind you. “Plus, he did agree to go on this date with you, right? So he must like you at least a little bit.”

You felt yourself relax at her words, but still couldn’t stop yourself from wandering about.

“I guess you’re right,” you sighed. “Thanks, Mina.”

“I am right!” she agreed, jumping up from your bed and handing you the picnic basket. “Now, go leave already! You know how Bakugou always shows up early to everything. You don’t want him there before you.”

You checked the time and swore under your breath. Giving your outfit another glance in the mirror for the last time, you waved a nervous goodbye to Mina and headed out the door.

Dashing over to the nearby park with a picnic basket around your arm, you prayed to the stars above you wouldn’t screw anything up.

By the time you arrived there, it was a half hour before five. If you were lucky, you would have a good ten minutes to set up before Bakugou arrived. You quickly got to work, laying out the gingham blanket and preparing the sparkling cider and appetizers.

As you finished laying out the picnic, you smiled to yourself at the job well done.

Katsuki will love this! you hoped.

On cue, you spotted the angry-looking blond sauntering over to your spot next to the pond.

“Bakugou! Hi,” you called with a wave, smiling brightly despite the bundle of nerves in your stomach.

“Hmph.”

As he drew nearer, you noticed his casual attire. He had on gym shorts and a muscle tee. It was a stark contrast from your flowy, floral outfit, but Katsuki looked good in anything so you didn’t mind.

“Are you ready for this, pipsqueak?” he asked gruffly before giving you a once over. As he took in your dressed up attire, he narrowed his eyes. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

Your cheeks heated in embarrassment. So much for Ashido’s advice. “Is… Is it too much? I knew I should’ve gone with a less flowery outfit, but Mina said this one looked better. B-But maybe I did go a little overboard, especially considering how casual you look… I didn’t realize--”

As you voiced your dilemma, Katsuki’s face grew more and more confused. He looked around at the scenery of the park, then down to the food laid across the red woven blanket.

“The hell are you going off about?” he interrupted, the harshness of his voice not quite matching the uncertainty in his eyes, but still biting nevertheless. “What is all of this?”

You blinked, taken aback by his rudeness. Bakugou wasn’t exactly what you would call a polite person, but you knew he was capable of manners at the very least.

And, yes, perhaps a small part of you thought he would be a little more speechless when he saw you dressed up like this. That maybe he would want to show you a softer, sweeter side of him no one else got to see.

But that didn’t seem to be the case.

Instead, he was cold and angry and looked like he couldn’t believe the sight around him.

You sniffed, throat feeling tight as you folded your arms defiantly and looked him straight in the eye despite the tremble in your lower lip.

“This was supposed to be a nice picnic with your favorite foods, you jerk!”

Katsuki turned to face you sharply, bewilderment evident as he furrowed his brows. “What?”

“If you didn’t want to come, you could’ve just said no, Bakugou,” you said, fighting back hurt tears. “You could’ve saved me from all this effort if you were just going to come and act like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

His eyes widened when he noticed the glassy sheen in yours. “I don’t--”

“I was so excited, you know? And not even because the mentaiko tastes amazing! I just wanted to get to know you a little more.” You dug the point of your shoe into the gravel beneath you. “But instead you show up looking like you’re ready for a fight and--”

You stopped yourself in your tracks, wiping away a stray tear as you eyed the gym bag by his feet.

“And… Why do you look like you’re ready to fight someone?”

He blinked at your stunned silence.

“What do you mean why!? You said you were going to take me out, baka,” Katsuki grumbled, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m here to prove I’m the one who will take you out. But now you’re talking about your feelings and a picnic as if this was supposed to be a date or something--”

Realization dawned on his face as he abruptly cut himself off. Bakugou briefly shut his eyes, muttering a quiet swear.

“Fuck.” He shook his head. “Was this-- Is this supposed to be a date?”

A flush of heat crept up your cheeks as your brain registered the hopeless misunderstanding. You cleared your throat, ignoring the complete humiliation you felt.

“What else did you think I meant when I said I want to take you out?” you cried in disbelief. “That I wanted to meet in you in the park at night for a fist fight?”

When you said it aloud, it sounded even more ridiculous. He thought you meant take him out-- With your fists?

You weren’t sure whether you wanted to laugh at the audacity or cry at the embarrassment.

“What the fuck, Bakugou?” you barked, unable to hold in your laughter.

His face turned a bright red as he folded his arms at your chuckles. “How was I supposed to know when you never used the actual fucking word even once!?”

“I was nervous, you jerk!”

You both stared at each other stock-still before you burst out into giggles. Even Bakugou couldn’t stop the smirk on his face as he scoffed.

“Baka.” He rolled his eyes.

After your amusement died down, you turned to face him, fingers toying with the pendant on your necklace.

“Well, now that you know this was supposed to be a date… You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” you said nervously. “You probably wouldn’t have said yes if not for the confusion--” You bite your lower lip as you faltered at his intense gaze. “I won’t be offended, or anything! I’ll just pack this up.”

There was a deafening silence as you reached to place the container of fruit back in the woven basket. When you grabbed it, you felt a large hand covering yours to stop you from moving.

You almost jolted at the spark.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bakugou mumbled, pulling his hand away so quickly that if it weren’t for the lingering heat, you would never have known it was there in the first place. “You prepared all this food. It’d be stupid to let it go to waste.”

Katsuki avoided your gaze as he took a seat on the picnic blanket.

You watched him, speechless.

“Well?” he said gruffly, offering you a bundle of grapes.

Almost cautiously, you took a seat next to him, taking a grape and plopping it into your mouth.

“You… You’re staying? Even if it’s a date?”

He grunted.

A small smile broke out on your face. “Thank you,” you said softly.

“Tch. Why are you saying thank you, baka? This is only because I don’t want to waste the food,” he lied through his teeth, cheeks pinkening as he looked away.

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Hmph.”

“Maybe after the food, I can show you how even dressed in this, I’ll still be the one to take you out.”

Katsuki glanced up at you in surprise, lips quirking into a challenging grin as his fiery eyes met the intense gaze in yours.

He barked out a laugh before shaking his head. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we’re on a date.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[fanpom-imagines]

Request by Anonymous: hi, could you do a imagine on mick rory (from legends of tomorrow) where he and the reader confess their feelings for eachother (even though mick always thought that the reader had fallen for Gary Green) and they get caught making out in the library (on the waverider) after sharing their first kiss and becoming a couple!

Imagine Mick confessing to you because of his jealousy towards Gary.

Masterlist

Fandom: DC’s Legends of Tomorrow

Words: 1470

Warnings: like a max of two cuss words, gets a little steamy at the end, and maybe OOC Mick, but I do honestly think he’d react like this when confessing as I believe he would be scared of admitting he’s in love.

(Gender Neutral Reader)

“How?!” I yelled in frustration as I abruptly stood up and started frantically gesturing towards the screen.

“I’m just that good,” Zari said as she leaned back in her seat all cocky, slowly placing her hands behind her head for extra effect.

“Some would say too good,” came a voice from the entrance of the room. The two of us turn our heads towards the voice and my face breaks out in a smile.

“Sup, Gary, what have you been up to?” I asked as I placed the controller down and made my way towards Gary.

“Oh you, know Time Bureau...stuuuuf,” he mumbles out nervously.

I chuckle at his reaction before bidding Zari goodbye and dropping an arm over Gary’s neck as I started to lead us down one of the halls of the Waverider.

“Oh come on it’s gotta be more exciting than that. Plus don’t we got our DnD session coming up? You know this campaign is going really well, you’re a really good DM,” I tell him as I guide him through the Waverider my arm still around his shoulder and lead us into the kitchen.

“Yes, actually that’s why I’m here, we’re starting up another session, and I was wondering if you wanted to come over-“ Gary was cut off by a scoff coming from the opposite end of the room.

“What is it Mick?” I grumble out at him as I take my arm off of Gary and make my way to the Waverider’s magical fridge thing, which I refuse to call anything else, to get mac n’ cheese.

“So you and your boyfriend goin’ out again to one of these “DnD sessions” Mick emphasizes with air quotes.

“First of all he’s not my boyfriend, and for the last time these “sessions” aren’t code word for sex,” I tell him as I take out a spoon and start eating. I pat the seat beside me to motion for Gary to sit down. Gary takes a step closer towards my direction, but stops as a growl, a literal growl, comes from Mick’s throat.

“Mick, you serious? Leave him be,” I say in exasperation at the hot head.

“You know what (Y/N), the session isn’t starting till like another hour, plus you have a time machine so you can drop by then. I have to setup everything anyways,” Gary said in a rushed tone as he looked between Mick and I. With Mick standing somewhat behind me I wasn’t able to see the threatening looks he was throwing above my head to the more sheepish man.

“You know I can help-“ I started.

“NO!” Gary coughs, “I mean, no, there’s no need. Just come by when it’s time,” Gary said hurriedly as he quickly left the kitchen to scurry off back to his house. I closed my eyes and groaned in frustration as I turned towards Mick.

“Really Mick?”

“What?” He asked, playing innocent.

“You literally just scared him off. Him and I were having a perfectly good conversation and you bared your teeth at him.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Mick you practically did, and it still doesn’t explain as to why you had to literally growl at him,” I asked him as I took another bite of my mac n’ cheese before turning back to him and pointing my spoon at him accusingly. “What is up with you?”

“Nothing,” he says stubbornly.

“Bullshit, what’s wrong?” I say placing the spoon into the bowl and fully facing Mick in my chair as I cross my arms.

“I told you, it’s nothing,” he grumbles out trying to turn his head away to break eye contact.

“Mick quit trying to get out of this conversation,” I tell him standing up and getting into his view once more to catch his eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“I…,” he hesitates before once again shaking his head and trying to step past me. I grab his shoulder and push him back towards the counter. Now having him sandwiched between me and the counter I stand in front of him with crossed arms and a defiant look.

“Mick, seriously, what is wrong?” I tell him as we once again lock eyes.

“It...I…,” he struggles as he looks from one eye to the other before his eyes and face harden again, “It doesn’t matter, go play whatever with your boyfriend.”

He tries pushing past me and I once again push him back against the counter, “Is this about Gary and I hanging out? If you wanted to hang out more you could’ve just said-“

“No, no it’s not that. I…,” He once again cuts himself off not being able to say what he wants and looks down to the ground.

“Hey, Mick, it’s okay, you can tell me,” I say to him as I once again am trying to get our eyes to meet.

“I…” and then Mick’s words become more mumble. Too incomprehensible for me to understand what he was trying to say.

“Mick I can’t hear-“

“I said I love you!” He yelled at me as his head whipped up and his eyes blazed in anger before softening. My eyes were wide open as I stared at him in shock.

“I understand that you’ve got a thing for that scrawny little rat, but I just hate feeling like this,” he said as his eyes once again turned back to showing his anger as he once again pushed against me to leave.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I took my hands and cupped his face with them as I pulled his lips towards mine. It took him a second to realize what I was doing before he pushed back onto my lips and started to kiss back. What seemed like forever, but was only a few seconds of a blissful kiss I pulled away from him.

“Love you too, big guy,” I gave him a cheesy smile as I lean in for another kiss, which he gladly reciprocates.

As the kiss got more heated he got bolder and placed his hands on my waist before pushing me backwards and making us step back together. Once I felt the bump of the table we parted and he dragged his right hand down my side then to my thigh and squeezed it. I took that as a que to slightly hop back onto the table. Mick gave me a once over before giving a slight huff in satisfaction and pushing me further onto the table as he kissed me again.

“Gary’s cute, but he’s not you,” I told him as we separated once again.

“Don’t mention another man’s name while we’re like this,” he said leaning into me once more as our lips locked and he bit on my lip. I chuckled at him as he groaned at me not opening my mouth and he punched my butt, and in turn I opened my mouth letting in his eager tongue.

“You taste like cheese,” Mick grumbled out as the two of us pulled away panting as the air around us seemed to get more humid.

“But it tastes good doesn’t it?” I asked him jokingly.

“Mhm,” he agrees as he leans in once more.

Too distracted with what we were doing neither of us could hear the pair of footsteps making their way towards us. As I felt Mick’s hand make their way to the hem of my shirt and under it I heard a gasp come from our right.

“Oh my God,” I heard Ray’s voice say as Mick and I abruptly pulled apart and stared at the pair in the doorway.

“Oh hey guys,” I sheepishly say as I have them a small wave and feel Mick slowly take his hand out of my shirt.

“I’ve seen many things in my time, but I’m starting to think that it’s become too many,” Nate said as he donned the same wide eyed look as Ray.

“Haircut, Pretty,” Mick snapped at the two drawing their attention instantly.

“Yes?” Ray asked dumbidly.

“Get the hell out before I make you both bald,” at Mick’s threat the two quickly stumbled back out of the room. Mick turns back to me and tilts his head and starts to lean in, “Now where were we?”

Right before our lips touch Gideon’s voice comes over the intercoms, “The Captain would like to remind the two of you that people eat here.”

Mick groaned out in frustration as I let out a small laugh and got off the table before pulling him out of the room with me.

“Ms./Mr. your mac n’ cheese will get cold,” I heard Gideon’s voice.

“I’ll get back to it Gideon,” I yelled back as we finally made it to my room and I pulled Mick inside with me.

[jj-lives]

Sling Inktober Bmblb

Yang’s heart shattered into a million shards of regret the moment Blake ripped the curtain surrounding her bed wide. Her eyes frantic with worry, her hands shook as they reached out for Yang but abruptly she retracted them. Fisting her hands at her side lest she accidentally cause harm. The clench of her jaw and the way she blinked, too often, as she raked her eyes over every inch of Yang's body that was visible spoke volumes of her anxiety. Was she close to tears?

Yang, not for the first time, wished she'd chosen a different path that night. She should have never taken Nora up on her challenge —Yang had no right cliff diving as if she was still sixteen— resulting in the phone call that led Blake to have to pick her up. Yang refused the offers to follow her to the hospital. Pyrrha understood, finally putting a stop to Nora's guilty pleas, though Yang was in pain, she was also embarrassed. Not wanting to cause Yang more stress or pain than she was currently in Pyrrha agreed to go home instead of the hospital; only if Yang called Ruby to meet her there.

Ruby’s voicemail greeted her though she didn’t tell Pyrrha. She spoke as if having a quick conversation before hanging up. Pyrrha kissed her forehead before exiting the ambulance, letting the medics close her in. She’d tried multiple times to reach her sister and the hospital staff told her they’d left a message for her as well, but when her arm had been x-rayed, set and casted with no response from her sister Yang knew she had to call someone else. Tai was in Patch so not an option. She couldn’t stand the thought of facing Pyrrha again so soon, not just that she was embarrassed but also because then Pyrrha would know she’d lied about speaking to Ruby in the first place. Her only other option was Blake. But seeing her normal calm demeanor so rattled told Yang she should have just waited for Ruby to return the call.

“Are you-“ Blake’s voice quavered before she set her jaw, turning to the nurse checking Yang’s vitals. “Is she alright?”

“I’m fine.” Yang answered when the nurse jumped back at the hard glare Blake directed at her.

“What happened?”

Yang dropped her head in shame and gave a small recap of the afternoon's events.

“A dare,” Blake’s voice rose. Anger Yang had never heard resting behind her words. “You’re like this-“ she waved her hand at the cast covering Yang’s right arm from wrist to midway up her bicep “because of a d-“

Blake was unable to finish her sentence and Yang shifted uncomfortably under the heat of her enraged stare. The nurse slipped past Blake shooting a pitying look in Yang’s direction before exiting, mumbling something about discharge papers.

Blake filled out the paperwork, signing where they pointed and she held the clipboard so Yang could scribble a quick signature before they allowed Blake to take her. She was not family nor listed on Yang’s next of kin for emergencies. Yang briefly thought  that she might change it to include her while they were here. But the cold shoulder Blake was giving her told her she wouldn’t appreciate the added time it would take in the hospital; nor would she likely enjoy the implication this would be a regular occurance.

Blake was gentle as she helped her off the bed. She collected Yang’s things silently, even helping her step into her shoes, socks still damp from her earlier escapades. Yang felt sorry for her. She had enough on her plate with her Thesis paper check in coming up. She didn’t need to be wasting time because Yang was an idiot. They exited the hospital, Blake’s phone to her ear calling a taxi..

For the first time in a long time Yang was uncomfortable with the lack of words spoken between them. She’d long ago learned to enjoy the quiet Blake provided. It was relaxing and comfortable to be able to be in her space without the expectation of conversation to fill the void. But now, Yang squirmed. This wasn’t a comforting silence, it was a soul crushing quiet. But Yang didn’t know what to say to break it. Not wanting to make the situation worse she wondered if it would be smart to let Blake break the silence once she was ready.

The taxi pulled up and Blake helped her in, careful not to jostle her injured arm. She leaned around her to secure her buckle before rushing around the car to slide into the seat beside her. Blake leaned forward to give Yang’s address to the driver and Yang desperately took that as permission the silence had ended.

“We can drop you off first.” Yang’s voice was a raspy whisper. She slurred a little, a side effect of the painkillers they’d given her.

Blake did not respond. She stared a moment at the blue sling holding Yang’s broken arm to her ribs before she turned to look out the window. Dismissing the driver upon arrival Yang cut Blake off saying she would cover the cost but realized she’d left her money in her truck, which was probably parked at Pyrrha’s now. Again Blake was gentle as she helped Yang to stand and make her way up the stairs to her and Ruby’s apartment. But Yang could feel in the way her touch didn’t linger that she was still angry at the situation. At this rate all Yang wanted was to get to the apartment and release Blake from her duties as girlfriend so Blake wouldn’t have to deal with her stupidity any longer that day. She would call her the next day and apologize. Hopefully Blake would accept.

Blake had different plans, however. When they entered the apartment and Yang mentioned her leaving, Blake rolled her eyes; the action resembling Weiss’ exasperation. Yang resigned herself to her fate, regretting not allowing Pyrrha to follow her to the hospital. Embarrassment would be better than the cold shoulder she was receiving. Blake asked if she thought she could lay down but the pressure on Yang’s shoulder told her it would be a struggle for her to sleep. She said as much and Blake nodded, leading her to the couch and helping her sit. She disappeared a few moments, returning with some pillows and a blanket.

“Is this okay?” Blake asked, pressing the button to recline Yang’s seat.

Yang nodded, adjusting herself with her one good arm, hissing through her teeth as the movement jostled her casted arm. Blake jumped forward to help her find a comfortable position, placing a pillow at the small of her back. Yang sank into the comfort of the couch while Blake covered her waist and legs with the blanket she’d taken from Yang’s bedroom.

“How’s that?” Blake’s voice was terse.

“As good as it’s going to get.” Yang responded, closing her eyes and trying to relax. “The sling is cutting into my shoulder but I will have to live with that for the near future.”

“It shouldn’t hurt.”

“It’s more annoying than painful.” Yang assured, not wanting Blake to worry or fuss any more over her. “I’m sorry I had to drag you from your thesis.”

“It’s fine.”

Blake shuffled to the side of the couch, pressing Yang’s shoulder to get her to lean forward a couple inches. Yang obeyed without hesitation. Soon the pressure on her shoulder released and Yang let out a shaky breath. Blake adjusted another strap and gently lifted Yang’s arm from her ribs, apologizing when Yang whimpered in pain. A pillow was placed under her arm. The release from the sling’s strap and the support from the pillow finally allowed the cramped muscles of Yang’s shoulder to release.

“That better?” Blake asked.

“It’s official,” Yang responded, rolling her aching shoulder. “You’re a witch.”

Blake hummed in response before she grabbed Yang’s keys off the table. She took a step towards the door before something stopped her. Yang’s eyes followed her as Blake made her way to the kitchen. Out of sight Yang heard the water in the tap running before Blake came back, setting the glass, condensation already building on it’s outer edges, on the table within easy reach of Yang’s good arm.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she said in her even tone.

“You don’t have-“

“You need the painkillers they prescribed.” Blake held up a small white slip of paper.

Blake’s voice usually excited her. She could be having the worst day imaginable but then she would call Blake and instantly have her voice relax and settle any of Yang’s negative emotions. Yang wished she could say something to make Blake smile or laugh. Hearing her laugh right now would heal her quicker than any medicine she was leaving to get. But she stayed silent as Blake walked out the door, locking it with Yang’s key behind her.

Expecting Blake to drop off the medication and leave, Yang was taken aback when she instead took up a spot perched on the other side of the couch when she returned twenty minutes later. Flicking through the channels Blake found some documentary about wolves before she reclined her own seat. The only words exchanged between them were Blake checking on Yang’s arm or asking if she needed anything. Yang, feeling guilt weigh on her conscience, always responded that she was fine and needed nothing.

Blake kept her water glass full and as the light outside the window waned she’d made Yang a grilled cheese sandwich. something that was easy to eat with only one hand. Yang thanked her every time, feeling more and more like a burden. When Yang’s eyes started to droop and her head to nod Blake cast off her own small blanket and stood. With soft supportive hands she helped Yang up, telling her to go to bed. Blake followed a minute later, handing Yang a pill and a fresh glass of water.

“If you don’t take this now you’ll wake up in pain later. You need your sleep.”

Yang agreed and swallowed the pill before trying to maneuver her shirt over her head to get into something more comfortable. Blake helped Yang out of her clothes and into a simple tank top and shorts when it was clear she was struggling.

“Get into bed. I’ll go get the pillows and blanket from the couch.”

Blake motioned for Yang to slip beneath the sheets. Not wanting to argue, or point out she could get into bed on her own, Yang simply slipped into bed as Blake lifted the sheet for her. Besides, she already proved there was little she was able to do with one hand and Yang knew it would take a little while for her to learn to do things with only her left arm. Blake returned and fluffed her pillows and gently spread the blanket over her before she crossed the room to turn off the lights.

“Good night.” Yang called weakly. She hated how heavy and stifling the silence between them had become. She knew once her head was clear of the anxiety and the worst of the painkillers she would have to form words and actions to make it up to Blake. But a simple ‘good night’ was all she could think to say before Blake left her for the night.

Instead of exiting the apartment after turning out the light Blake closed the bedroom door and made her way easily around the other side of the bed. Yang watched on, speechless as Blake shimmied out of her jeans and removed her bra from under her shirt. She slipped between the sheets and settled on the pillow beside Yang.

“You really don’t have to stay.” Yang whispered into the dark.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Yang agreed, she was a complete idiot. Not able to refute the claim she remained quietly staring at the barely discernible tiles above. Her eyes slow to adjust in the darkness. The mattress dipped as Blake adjusted her position and it wasn’t until her bare legs touched Yang’s, smooth and warm, that she realized she wasn’t just turning over, she was getting closer. Blake’s head pressed into her shoulder, her arm draped over Yang’s abdomen, careful not to disturb her casted arm. Yang was afraid to move. Blake was mad at her, wasn’t she?

“Blake?” Yang croaked not understanding her sudden change in behaviour.

There was no response and Yang was just about to try again but then she felt Blake’s body shudder against her. Yang froze, wondering what the spasm could mean. It happened again, and again. As Blake shifted, her face seeking refuge deeping in the crook of Yang’s neck she felt the cold dampness on her shoulder. The full realization that Blake was crying hit her like an elbow to her gut.  

“No. Blake. What’s wrong?” Yang’s soothing voice pleaded for answers. She hated seeing her like this.

Blake was always so strong and rarely showed moments of emotional stress. Her strength was something that drew Yang to her, and not having seen her in this state before terrified Yang. She had no experience on how to comfort her. Would she want to hear Yang’s voice? Did she want to be touched? Held? Or was leaving her to work through it the best route? The last option pained Yang and she knew she would never be able to sit there as Blake shook with grief beside her. She tried to reach for her but the shoulder Blake wasn’t lying on was in the sling. Yang had many reasons to despise herself for her actions resulting in the cast, but not being able to hold and comfort Blake when she needed her was the worst punishment for her idiocy. Wrapping her good arm securely around Blake’s shoulders Yang pulled her as close as she could. She whispered soothing things, hoping they reached her.

After a few moments Blake began to calm and still. Yang wanted to ask again what was wrong but knew as she settled Blake would understand Yang needed an answer. For several minutes all that could be heard was Blake’s ragged breathing and Yang’s own heart beating rapidly.

“You’re so stupid.” Was the first words whispered through broken sniffles.

“I know.”

“What makes you-“ a hiccough wracked her body as she surged beside Yang. “What makes you think I could leave you a whole night when the twenty minute trip for your medicine nearly killed me?” Blake buried herself into Yang’s side more securely, pinning Yang’s legs down with one of her own. “I was so scared when I got that call.”

“I know.” Yang tried to calm her.

“You don’t!” Blake growled, anger returning.

Yang trailed her fingers along the warm skin at the back of Blake’s arm. For the first time all night she thought of the situation being reversed, of her receiving a call from the hospital because Blake had been hurt. To learn the fear, the pain of the one she cared for, the panic was all avoidable if the other had just refrained from a stupid act. She would probably be angry as well.

“You’re right. And I’m so sorry, Blake.” Yang sighed in her defeat. “It won’t happen again. I shouldn’t have worried you. I could have waited for Ruby.” Realizing that she hadn’t told Ruby to not go to the hospital she searched for her phone. “Oh no, I forgot about Ruby.”

“I messaged her that you were home and okay but needed sleep. We probably won’t hear from her until the morning.” Blake relaxed into Yang’s warmth, soothed by her heartbeat and feel of her fingers drawing circles on her skin. “And this better not happen again. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

It was then that Yang realized this wasn’t just about her being injured. She could have been killed and Blake knew it. Her mind continuing to work in reverse  and pictured Blake laying still in the hospital bed, machines beeping dangerously. She shook her head to rid her mind of both the sounds and sight of it. She couldn’t bear it.

“I promise.” Yang said with all the conviction she could force into her tone. She nudged Blake’s nose with her own, craning her neck painfully to do so, but she didn’t care. When Blake’s watery, muted amber eyes met hers she knew. She would do anything for the girl in her arms. “I promise you.” She repeated, pleading with her eyes for Blake to believe her. “I will never do something so foolish again. I couldn’t stand to be away from you either. I can barely stand not being able to hold you properly right now.”

Blake chewed her words over on her own tongue.

“I want to be the first person you call if it does.” She finally spoke. I don’t want to hear from my friend that my girlfriend was in the hospital. As stupid as you were today. I don’t want Ruby to be the first one you think of calling.”

Yang was surprised but realized she felt the same. It would be horrible to learn Blake was hurt by Ruby telling her the story the next day. “Only if I’m your first call too.”

Blake nodded. Her eyes dropped to the cast then back to connect with Yang’s again. A few moments passed as Blake contemplated saying what was on her mind and Yang gave her the space and time to say whatever it was. She owed her that much at least.

“It’s your dominant hand.” Blake pointed out. Her seemingly out of the blue comment confused Yang. “There are more activities besides holding me that you won’t be able to partake.”

“I guess weight lifting and basketball with Pyrrha are out, huh?” Yang groaned.

Blake nuzzled into Yang’s neck once more and Yang tightened her one-armed hold. If she couldn’t use both she would make up for it with just the one then. It surprised her when she felt Blake’s lips brushing her neck. She forged a featherlight path of kisses along Yang’s pulse and up to the hinge of her jaw. Suddenly Blake shifted, dipping her head to trace the same trail, this time with her tongue and wet, needy kisses. Yang gasped as Blake pulled Yang’s earlobe into her mouth, gently trapping it between her teeth before she released it with a ‘pop’.

“I wasn’t talking about any activity involving you and Pyrrha.” Blake’s sultry whispers shot pleasure straight down Yang’s spine, a wanton need resting heavy at her navel.

“I’ll just have to practice with my left then.” Yang smirked, enjoying the turn of events. Blake, always able to keep her on her toes.

Yang turned to kiss Blake but no sooner had she felt her oh-so-soft lips brush hers they were taken from her. Blake rolled over, back to Yang.

“No.” She said in a steady voice. It was a tone that told Yang she was not playing; she meant business. “I think you can wait until your cast comes off.”

“That’s ridic-“

“Doctor said six or eight weeks.”

Yang blanched. Although her and Blake’s relationship was not, and had never been, solely based on physical needs they’d never been separated in that capacity for more than a week since they’d spent their first night together at Christmas. Even a week seemed an eternity when Blake returned to Menagerie for spring break.

“You can’t be serious.” Yang blurted, unable to imagine refraining for so long. She craved Blake in a way she’d never known was possible until they’d met.

“Maybe it will teach you a valuable lesson.” Blake said through a yawn.

“That you’re-“

Blake rolled to look over her shoulder at Yang, eyebrow raised, challenging her to finish her sentence.

“That I’m…?”

Yang gave in. She’d been in the wrong. She’d scared Blake horribly just to get an ego boost that left her embarrassed to face Pyrrha’s friends ever again. If Blake felt this was a worthy punishment then Yang would accept it with whatever grace she was capable of.

“That you’re totally worth the wait.” Yang turned, fitting herself to Blake’s back. Carefully lifting her arm she laid the cast against Blake’s ribs like they had been to hers. She realized she was comfortable this way, Blake’s body warmly supporting her arm like the pillow had on the couch. “Is this okay?” Yang didn’t want Blake to be uncomfortable.

“If it is for you.”

“No sex doesn’t mean no cuddles or kisses does it?” Yang asked for clarification.

“No, I’m not including those in the ban.” Blake smiled and Yang placed a kiss at the back of her neck as thanks.

“Then okay. It’ll be torture but I’d wait forever for you so six weeks should be doable.” Able to relax fully now that she was comfortable, Blake in her arms, both of them safe, and the medication making her drowsy, she buried her face into the dark mass of Blake’s hair. “As long as i can have you in my arms that’s all I need.”

Blake’s steady breaths told Yang she was already asleep. Yang couldn’t blame her. She must be as tired as Yang was. Remembering the frantic look in Blake’s eye when she opened the curtain at the hospital told Yang she’d used up most of her adrenaline reserves and the way she broke down crying proved how exhausted she was. Blake didn’t break down like that.

Yang closed her eyes, grateful to have a girl as caring and amazing as Blake looking out for her

[winchester-fantasies]

Backtrack - When Time Runs Out: Chapter 1

Backtrack Masterlist

Series Summary: What if you were the one Dean came to instead of Lisa? Rewrite of “Swan Song” and some of S6.

Word Count: 1461

Warnings: fluff, angst

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

A/N: Welcome to Part 3 of Backtrack: When Time Runs Out! Hope you enjoy! ❤️❤️ Chapter 1’s song: Bounce by Brasstronaut. 

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

“Sammy?” Dean asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said, small smile on his face.

Without another word Dean crossed to the door and threw his arms around his brother, holding him close. It seemed an insurmountable amount of time before they finally pulled away. “H...how?” Dean asked, looking at him as if expecting him to disappear again.

“I...I’m not sure,” Sam said with a small shrug. “I’m just…back.” He looked over at you warily, and Dean followed his gaze.

“Don’t worry. She knows,” Dean said. “About the life, about Lucifer...all of it.”

Sam sent you a smile, and you returned it. “Hey, Sam,” you said. He entered the apartment and came over to you as you opened your arms. He was so much taller than you remembered, and his face had lost the baby fat of his younger years, giving way to chiseled and mature features. He was just as handsome as his older brother, but there was something in his eyes that was different. Something that you couldn’t quite place but that unnerved you somehow. But you shrugged it off as you pulled away from his strong embrace. “I’m glad you’re back,” you said, squeezing his arm.

“Good to be back,” Sam said.

“You hungry?” Dean asked, and that’s when you remembered your date. You were a bit disappointed that it had been interrupted, but you couldn’t really be upset. Not when the very man Dean had said was dead was now standing in the middle of your apartment, very much alive.

“Uh, yeah, I am actually,” he said. He looked you up and down for a moment as if just noticing your fancy getup. “Am I...interrupting something?”

“No, not at all!” you were quick to reassure. “You and Dean sit, and I’ll get us something to eat.”

“Thanks, baby,” Dean said, wrapping an arm around your middle and placing a chaste kiss to your temple. You smiled and nodded before making your way back around the bar and into the kitchen.

You took out bread, cheese, and some roast beef and had three sandwiches whipped up in no time. You grabbed three beers before making your way back to the living room.

Dean and Sam were seated across from one another, obviously engrossed in conversation as they caught up with one another. Dean glanced up at you as you entered and hurriedly got up from his perch on the couch to help you with the food and beers. You thanked him before handing a sandwich and beer to Sam. He tipped his head in thanks before turning back to what his brother was saying as you settled down beside Dean on the couch.

“How long have you been back?” Dean asked before taking a bite out of his sandwich.

“Um, about a year,” Sam divulged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Dean sent him a confused look. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Look, Dean,” Sam said with a sigh, setting his food on the coffee table in front of him. “I made a visit here about a year ago and saw you were with (Y/N) and could tell that you were happy. I had no right to get in the middle of that, not when you finally had that apple pie life.”

“But, Sam,” Dean interjected. “You could’ve at least told me.” His voice was even but there was a hint of hurt behind his words, and you reached out to place your hand on his knee. He placed his hand over yours, linking your fingers together and giving them a squeeze.

“I’m sorry, man,” Sam said, but something in his voice told otherwise. “I’ve been hunting with family though,” he added, suddenly shifting the conversation.

Dean frowned. “Family? What do you mean?”

“When I got back, I found out I wasn’t the only member of our family that was brought back. Samuel Campbell was brought back, too.” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in. When Dean’s expression didn’t change, Sam explained. “Mom’s dad.”

“What the hell?” Dean asked. “How the fuck did that happen?”

Sam shrugged. “Like I said, I have no idea, and neither does he. But we’ve been trying to figure it out, and I’ve been hunting with him and a few of our cousins on mom’s side.”

Dean nodded slowly before he smiled. “I’m just glad you’re back, man.”

“Me, too,” Sam said with a smile of his own that never quite reached his eyes.

“As much as I’d like to stay up for a while longer, I have to admit I’m beat,” Dean said with a light chuckle.

“Hey, no problem,” Sam answered, raising his hands.

“I’m afraid I don’t have an extra bed,” you said, biting your lip apologetically.

“The couch will do,” Sam said with a thin-lipped smile.

“Okay,” you said. “Let me just get you a pillow and blanket.”

You hurried to the closet in the hallway, leaving Dean and Sam alone. You grabbed what you needed and made your way back to the living room but abruptly stopped when you heard your name.

“I know you’re happy, and I can tell you really care about her,” Sam was saying quietly. “But you’re gonna have to leave her behind.”

Your breath hitched and you backed up against the wall, holding your breath as you waited for Dean’s answer. “Listen, dude, as much as I’m happy you’re back, I’m not leaving (Y/N). I am happy here, with her, and I don’t just care about her - Sammy, I love her.”

“Dean, she’s not cut out for this life. She’ll die before she’s even properly trained.”

“She’s tougher than you might think,” Dean stated, voice gruff and deep. “And she’s smart, real smart. I’ve already left her once before, Sam, and I’m not leaving her again. Hunting won’t kill her, but me leaving? That will.”

You stepped out from around the corner, a smile plastered on your face. “Here you go, Sam,” you said, tossing the pillow and blanket down beside him. “Hope these will suffice.”

You turned on your heel without another word and went to the bedroom and closed the door with a little more force than you’d intended. You could hear the brothers’ muffled voices outside as you began to undress and a few seconds later the bedroom door opened, Dean stepping through before shutting it behind him.

He watched you from the door for a moment as you wiped off your makeup in the full-length mirror. You looked up, meeting his gaze for a second before turning back to your task. Dean made his way over to you, his hands coming to rest gently on your hips.

“You okay?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess,” you said vaguely. Dean stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I know this is all different,” Dean said. “But we're gonna figure it out - together.”

You finally stopped what you were doing, sighing as you leaned back against him. “I know,” you whispered, trying to forget what you’d heard in the living room and not let all the trust you’d built up over the last year dissipate.

“I love you,” Dean said, turning to place a tender kiss to your neck. “You know that right?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod.

“Good,” Dean said, stepping away from you. “I was gonna wait until next week,” he continued, heading for the bed. “But since our date tonight didn’t work out, I figure now’s a good time as ever.”

You gave him a questioning look as you turned away from the mirror to face him. He bent down and reached underneath the bed, pulling out a small, rectangular box of blue velvet.

He crossed back over to you and placed it in your hands. You darted a quick glance up at him. He was grinning from ear to ear, and he motioned for you to open it.

You did just that, a small gasp leaving your lips. Nestled inside on another bed of velvet, was a rose gold necklace; two hearts interlocked, two tiny gemstones on either side, one the color of your birthstone and the other Dean’s, and the word “Forever” engraved on the side of one of the hearts.

“Dean,” you breathed, tears pricking the backs of your eyes. “This...this is beautiful.”

You closed the box and threw your arms around Dean’s neck and kissed him soundly. He laughed as you parted. “I know it’s not much,” he said, holding you close, his thumbs running patterns along your skin. “But it’s true. You’re it for me, (Y/N). Always have been, always will be.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤️❤️

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

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[scribomaniac]

Something Wicca This Way Comes Ch 2

@andiirivera @blackwidownat2814 @gryphbear @meredeph @jonesfandomfanatic @forget-me-not-s @groovyfoxpeace @superchocovian @therealstartraveller776 @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook

Wasn’t sure if y’all wanted to be tagged again but here we go! Also, sorry for any spelling errors. I was too tired to properly edit but I’ll do so before posting to Ao3 tomorrow. 

This chapter was supposed to include more Killian and Emma but again, I’m tried. I’ll try to start writing that part tomorrow maybe.

The old stairs of the manor creaked with Killian’s weight as he headed down the stairs. Swinging a left towards the kitchen, the middle Jones brother was hit by a most foul smelling stench. “Bloody hell, Will!” He covered a hand over his nose once he saw his brother standing over his cauldron. “What is that?”

His younger brother shrugged, “Nothing new, just a sleeping potion.”

“Then why does it smell like something died?

“Oh,” Will said, staring down into his potion with knitted brows, “was I not supposed to put pig’s feet in it?”

“No,” Liam strode into the room, his hands outstretched as he headed straight for the cauldron, “but that’s okay.” He smiled kindly at his youngest brother before picking the cauldron up with some towels and dumping it down the sink. “What else is practice for, right?”

A cloud of white smoke appeared from the sink drain and Killian winced, wondering if they'd have to call the plumber again. 

“Now,” Liam threw both towels over his shoulder and looked at Killian and Will with bright eyes, “who wants breakfast?”

Flashing a quick look at Will, Killian tried his hardest to sound casual as he said, “You know I would, but I actually have to get going. I’ve got to get down to the station to give my statement.”

Will nodded, “Yeah, and I’ve got to, ah--finish a paper. I’ve just remembered it’s due today at noon and I haven’t even started.” Without another word the youngest Jones brother dashed off.

Pursing his lips, Liam raised a brow, “My cooking’s not that bad, you know. And you used to love my beans and bacon breakfast sandwiches.”

“And they will forever be held dear in my heart,” Killian placed a hand over his chest to help dorve his words home, “but I can’t stomach another mouthful of beans, brother.”

A white light shimmered between them, abruptly cutting off their conversation. Slowly, a form took shape, and from that shape their white-lighter, Tink, appeared. Trinity Nicole Green, better known to her charges as Tink, had been the Charmed Ones white-lighter since before they knew what a white-lighter was. 

“Morning boys!” She smiled brightly, then inhaled. “Oh my--what is that?”

“Potion gone wrong,” Killian said dryly, watching as Tink furiously waved a hand in front of her nose.

“Oh,” Tink smiled mischievously, looking towards Liam, “and here I thought you had tried to cook something again.”

“Ha-ha,” Liam said, but his lips were pulling back into a smile. Taking a step forward, he cupped Tink’s face with his hands and gave her a loud, smacking kiss to her forehead. “What did I ever do to deserve a girlfriend as kind as you.”

“Hmm, guess it’s just one of the world’s greatest mysteries.”

“Right, well,” Killian coughed, averting his eyes towards the back door. He loved that his brother had found happiness and love, but he didn’t always love witnessing it. “I’m off.”

“You’re really going to the station?” Liam asked, taking a step away from Tink, but sliding a hand around her waist to pull her close. He tilted his head, “We still have two hours until we’re expected.”

Raising a brow and trying to keep his smile from turning too sly, Killian responded, “I don’t want to keep Detective Swan waiting. Is that a crime?”

“Detective Swan?” Tink asked as Liam groaned. “Does this have anything to do with last night’s Guardian attack?”

“Yes,” Liam sighed, “but mostly it has to do with Killian’s crush on David’s new partner.”

“Oh, he’s got a new partner? That’s good!” Stepping away from Liam and towards the fridge she added, “Don’t make things awkward for him Killian. David’s got enough on his plate as it is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Liam asked, sharing a concerned glance with Killian. Killian shrugged, not understanding what the white-lighter meant. As far as he knew David’s life was fine. Or as fine as any detective’s life was, anyway. Sure, there was the added stress of knowing about demons and witches, but he’d handled that information relatively well. 

Tink merely hummed as she pulled out some eggs, cheese, orange juice, and sausage links. “Nothing,” Tink shook her head as she focused on the spread before her. 

Raising his brows, Killian said nothing, but took another step towards the door.

“Before I forget!” Tink said suddenly, her voice loud and her hands flailing. Killian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering if, at this rate of interruption, he’d just barely make it to the station on time after all. “Oh,” Tink looked around, “I need all of you here actually.”

“Will!” Liam called, his voice easily reaching the second floor. “Come down here for a moment please!”

It was quiet, and then, just like Tink’s arrival, a white light shimmered down from the ceiling, and within seconds Will was sitting at the kitchen table. “Look, Liam, I love you but if you think I’m eating your breakfast beans--oh, hi Tink!” Will blinked, then spotted the items on the island in front of her, “are you making breakfast? I’m starving!”

Liam massaged the skin between his brows and Killian choked on a laugh. Trying very hard not to smile, Tink said, “Yes, I am, but business first.” Taking a second to look over each brother, she said, “The Elders are nervous.”

“Nervous?” Liam repeated, planting his palms against the island’s counter and leaning forward. “Why?”

“There’s been whispers that the Source is planning something big, something,” she paused, pursing her lips in thought, “something powerful enough to shatter the stars.”

Killian snorted, “That’s poetic.”

Rolling her eyes, Tink continued, “Poetic or not, the Elders don’t like it so they’re giving you a task.”

“A task?” Will asked slowly, “Isn’t it enough they have us battling demons and warlocks every other day? What, they think we’re not busy enough?”

“Will,” Liam snapped, and the sound of it made Killian’s back straighten. Looking straight at his youngest brother he said, “We’re the Charmed Ones. Our destiny is to restore the balance between good and evil. Killing demons and being busy with it is part of the deal.”

Turning his head away, Will muttered, “I don’t remember signing any contracts.”

“So what is this task, Tink,” Killian asked quickly, before Liam could respond. And everyone said Killian was the one with an attitude. Will was just quieter in his anger and frustration. 

Tink was silent for another moment. Her fingers tapped against the island counter once, twice, thrice, before she said, “They want you to find the Savior.”

The silence that permeated the room was so thick, Killian was surprised when it didn’t knock him onto the flat of his back. Eventually though, someone had to speak, and he figured it might as well be him, “I’m sorry, the what?”

“The Sav--”

“No, no, love,” he shook his head, “apologies. I heard you just fine.” He shook his head, trying to get things straight in his mind. “Are you trying to tell me that the Elders want us to find a myth?”

“She’s not a myth,” Tink tried to say, but was cut off by Will, “She’s not real.”

“Guys, enough,” Liam ordered, glaring at both his brothers until he knew they weren’t going to pipe up again. Go on Tink.”

“Look,” she sighed, placing her hands on her hips, “I know everyone thinks the Savior is a myth, or propaganda, or whatever, but she’s not. She’s real, and it’s her destiny to defeat the Source! If we could just find her--”

“Find her?” Killian ran a hand through his hair, “If the Elders can’t even do that what makes them think we can?” 

“They think you’re connected somehow, and--”

“She went missing almost twenty years ago!” Will chimed in, leaning forward in his chair with his forearms resting against his legs. “Even if she weren’t a myth, she’s probably long dead.”

“Not true,” Tink shook her head, “we’d know if she were.”

“Oh, but you don’t know where she is? Convenient,” Killian began to pace. He always knew the Elders were ridiculous and senile in their old age, but this took the cake. How were they supposed to find someone that never existed? Or was probably long dead! They had better things to do than chase after some ghost. Like actually chasing after ghosts!

“If the Elders say the Savior is still out there,” Liam said slowly, his arms crossed over his chest and his brows furrowed into one another, “then we’ll do our best to find her.” Looking at his brothers, first Will, then Killian, he added, “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Fine,” Killian bit out, “whatever you say, brother.” 

And with that he finally took his leave. 

[iamtaran]

Rendezvous* AU

Jaskier is a professional, usually. He had worn out all the rough edges of this particular character over the years until it felt almost more comfortable than returning to being Julian at the end of the week. It may have taken a few years to curb his decidedly modern mouth and gain the respect of his fellow re-enactors, but during the open weekend when the visitors poured in? He was always on pointe. Spending the greater portion of an entire weekend in performance, in character-- it exhilarates him. The joy from the visitors, their laughs and surprise and unprepared blushes when he singles them out for a bit. If he could, he would eat it and live on it forever. Except, well, a man has to eat real food as well, and Jaskier had skipped breakfast in his rush. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. This particular Rendezvous at Alafia River always has more bakers, potato roasters, and poorly disguised Highland Games food carts peddling fish and chips than one could shake a stick at. Jaskier had simply followed his nose. It wouldn’t be a problem... Except the baker is the most attractive man Jaskier has ever clapped eyes on. “Essi, Essi, Essi,” he chants. “Essi, you’ve- I swear, if you don’t turn around-” “Jaskier, for god’s sake,” Essi hisses, sandwiched between a wooden stall and the shielding curtain of his body where she is attempting to subtly adjust her slipping décolletage. “I’m a little busy.” “Not too busy for this! Essi,” he whines. A hand smacks his arm, hard. “I’m not getting thrown from the Voo over a nip slip you f--forking child,” she grumbles into her cleavage. That adjusted, she nudges his shoulder out of the way. “Now, what are you whining about?” She looks, as usual, gorgeous, even with the momentary fashion crisis. No one looks better in crisp white chemise and dusty rose robe anglaise in linen. Well, except- “Him.” *** (*A Rendezvous is a historical reenactment/ living history event that may last an entire extended weekend, an entire week, 9 days. Participants camp on-site in pre-1860s period clothing, using as much historically accurate gear as possible and disguising any absolutely necessary modern amenities to keep from breaking immersion. Sometimes, the last weekend of the event is open to the public non-participants to wander through, purchase from artisans and craftsmen, often including folks from local tribes, and enjoy the musical or martial performances, historic rifle ranges, archery, delicious food, hatchet throwing, and more. This encounter may or may not be inspired by a memorable Rendezvous encounter as a visitor.)

Jaskier has never in six years seen this particular baker at this particular Rendezvous. Would that I had, he thinks somewhat wildly. It’s not one thing, really, that catches his attention, which sometimes does happen. He has fallen in love with a stranger’s heavy-lidded eyes, or a singular profile, or even the way someone tucked their legs up under them in a library chair. It is the way his pale, silvery hair wisps and half-curls around his face and across his forehead, where heavy brows furrowed in concentration. It is the shocking softness of his mouth compared to the granite cut of his jaw and the roughness of his stubble. It is his hands. Jaskier thinks they might be the most beautiful hands he has ever seen. The strength, the gentleness, the competence with which they folded and kneaded, then with swift, short turns tucked the dough into a boule to add to the nearly filled board behind him. Jaskier isn’t the only one watching. The man, whether it be what Jaskier sees or the smell of his already-baked loaves, has drawn a crowd. (And he really does suspect it is a mixture of both. No one should look so good with the sweaty, unwashed Rendezvous look. Most people look as you might expect after a week-long historical camping trip. This man looks like a rugged wet dream.)  Even as Jaskier looks, the baker slices the top of the dough with a slender knife frankly dwarfed in his grip, settles the boule on the board, and with a sharp flick of his elbow slides the whole dozen of them into the mouth of the clay dome oven radiating heat at his back. Even presented with the man’s astonishing back (and astonishing backside, lord, blessed be the fall-front trousers)--even then, Jaskier finds he can’t stop staring at his forearms, revealed by his rolled shirtsleeves.  “Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Essi murmurs, and laughs when he jumps. “Well, go on. Go buy your bread and flirt with him. I’m going to get chowder from the fish  and chip tent.” “But- Essi,” Jaskier flounders, “we, it- the performance!” They had planned to spend the last couple hours of morning trolling the main drag and the surrounding lines of tents and stalls, singing and playing, he on accordion and she the violin. They even have a couple new bits he is dying to run through. Jaskier thinks of his wallet and all the tips they might be making even now and whines. That being said, his eyes draw back to the dimple along the muscle of the baker’s forearm without his permission. Essi pats his back mockingly. “Frankly, my dear, I refuse to perform with you like this.” “Excuse me! Like what?”  She doesn’t deign answer. Instead, with a wink, she steps back into the crowd, calling, “I’ll meet you at the Live Oak Stage for the noontime performances!” and leaves him there. Which is also when Jaskier hears the first keening notes of a familiar song. He already knows he is ruined before turns to take in the scene-- the baker with the fiddle pressed under his chin, the bow so delicate in his blunt-fingered hand that Jaskier’s heart leapt into his throat. The angle of his wrist, the tilt of his brows-- then he glances up through unexpectedly dark lashes and his amber eyes flash golden in the light. “Oh, Jesus wept.” *

As it would turn out, the handsome baker’s name is Geralt, and his rendition of Tiersen’s sur le fil is so beautiful that Jaskier can’t help but draw closer, like a moth to flame.

As it also turns out, the baker whose name is Geralt lowers the well-worn but immaculately tuned fiddle after the one song, allowing Jaskier to step close enough to embarrass himself. He gets half way through a too-long ramble about Tiersen’s works and praise for the man’s performance, and I’m a musician myself, can’t often be convinced to pick up a fiddle but-- when the baker grunts, points to the not-exactly historically accurate but not-not period appropriate accordion in his hands and asks, “Do you know La Noyée?” Which is how they end up playing together for the next thirty minutes until the bread has baked.

Which is also when Geralt introduces himself and gruffly thanks him, mentioning how his assistant usually accompanies him but he gave her the morning off, and then pays him in bread with a healthy slab of butter and aged cheese on top. Jaskier learns quickly that he is a man of few words. Somehow, however, he can read the sincerity in his thanks in his minute expression. They had drawn in quite a crowd, and Geralt is quickly made busy on the next batch of orders.

Jaskier knows when his presence is in the way. He is a little sad to go, but still, he knows he will be buzzing with the energy of their performance and the electric current that had passed between them every time Geralt glanced his way to time his accompaniment or signal a flourish. That can be enough. “Well, it’s been- ah, absolutely lovely playing with you, dear Geralt, but it seems I will only be in the way from this point- can’t bake to save my life, I’m afraid-” as he begins to slip away.

“Bard.” Jaskier freezes, surprised. Geralt cleans his hands off on his equally floury apron and pulls a tiny folded up pamphlet from inside its deep pocket. Jaskier takes it without thinking, on autopilot. “I’m part of a demonstration around 2, over at the fencing pit next to the musket range.” Jaskier can’t be blamed for how long it takes his brain to catch up with the unspoken invitation; but when he does, he beams.

He goes, and is promptly bowled over to find Geralt changed from his frankly too-flattering baker’s smock and fall-fronts into the traditional kilt and shirt sleeves of a highland foot soldier-- sans coat. Jaskier sees why when he lunges forward into a fast-paced mock battle with a broad sword that he slings about as if it were light as a rapier. Jaskier is... he needs to sit down.

He spends the rest of the weekend finding every excuse he can to go visit Geralt the too-handsome baker, and gets to meet his apprentice, who is also his daughter. Jaskier is stricken dumb for all of two seconds before he realizes they get on like a house on fire. Geralt has to chase them off when their chatter on historic social norms, musical trends, and current pop stars gets to be too much. Then they both have lunch with Essi, and the conversation turns to hsitoric fashion, materials, and ends with the two ladies roasting his poor man dandy outfit alive. He stands up for himself nobly. The high waisted trousers make him look trim! And braces were designed in the early 1820s, just like the accordion, thank you! Yes, he DOES know that it is considered terribly risque for his braces to be visible and not worn beneath a coat, why do they think he did it? No, he doesn’t think that they clash with his silk cravat in the least! He might be a rake and a rogue but he is still cultured. And well bathed, unlike most of the brutes around here! Essi calls him a floozy; Ciri, 16 and the least shy girl he has ever met, agrees. (He loves the two of them all the more by the end of it.)

Jaskier plays with Geralt a couple more times, after Essi gives him her blessing. She had found a bluegrass group in desperate need of a violinist after theirs abruptly came down ill, and she is more than happy to flirt with their cellist there, especially since they pop up stage in the middle of the Rendyvoo garners huge crowds of tip-happy listeners. She does chat with Ciri when she stops by, however, and Geralt. Jaskier doesn’t hear what happens, but she manages to get the big man to flush. Jaskier wonders on it for the rest of the day. Will she reveal her secrets??

The Voo ends and Jaskier is a besotted wreck. He tries quite hard to make his goodbye to father and daughter not the least bit tearful-- and immediately fails when Geralt pulls out a smartphone and gruffly tells him to put his number in. 

They live much closer than they might have assumed. I can’t decide if Geralt really does own a bakery, or if that’s just his somewhat secret hobby and in reality his profession better matches his dangerous strongman persona-- a garage, a historic fencing and swordplay gym, perhaps a high-paid security professional. All of them have some interesting possibilities, I’ll be honest. Regardless, working Rendezvous’s and ren faires is half hobby half side-profession. Jaskier is thrilled to find that, since moving to the area recently, he and Geralt will be working a lot of the same events. He is excited a completely normal amount.

Y’all know what’s up. Wooing. Courting. Two idiots who don’t recognize their emotions (because, yes, Jaskier might have realized Geralt is a looker, but it takes him much longer to realize what the fuzzy feeling in his gut is whenever Geralt is particularly soft, or speaks gently to his daughter, or smile when their huge great dane comes barreling out to greet them and oh, no.) Also, historic costumes that just, they just really inspire some thirst.

If y’all think for a moment Geralt looks any less handsome in modern clothes, you are surely mistaken. Jaskier despairs the first time he sees him. It’s just... it’s not fair!

Except the local ren faire comes around and it’s Geralt’s turn to despair. He may, in fact, never recover. Y’all know that post that’s been going around...

ok fin. that’s all i got, i hope yall enjoyed.

[violet-knox]

Land of the Unexpected

Year 6 - Chapter 50

Summary: Taking a lunch break, you and Severus take a walk to a nearby park.

Word count: 3046

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1 

~

Severus grabbed two more copies of The Shining, stuffed them into the new release section before grabbing the box carrying extra copies and made his way to the backroom. His eyes immediately found your figure hunching over several boxes, organizing the pile of books behind you. His lips twitched into a smile as he watched your focus and dedication narrow on the task at hand. These last few weeks had been heaven like for Severus. Spending all of Sundays through Thursdays with you. Sure it wasn’t anything compared to the time you’d spend in Hogwarts but considering the fact that school was out and you wouldn’t be able to go back anytime soon, the time you spent in this bookstore was more than a blessing. 

The argument he had with his parents the day he came home with the news had been one of the worst he’d seen to date. But if there was any fight worth baring it would be the one giving him the chance to work with you. His wit stayed in focus as he watched the spiral of anger his father emitted blast through the living room when he stated the fact that he’d be working at a bookstore rather than take part in the annual tradition of spending most of his time filing box after box of cigarette packs.

His hand went straight to his back pocket where he’d stashed his wand when the man playing his father abruptly stood from his armchair and rushed towards him. His mother’s eyes widened in shock when she saw Severus reaching for his wand, placing herself between them before her only son did something so foolish as to strike down a muggle. 

It was all such a blur now. His mother commanding he go to his room. He’d never seen her so protective before that night. He’d in fact never seen her act so cautious of him before and never had he imagined listening to her actually defend him once he left. It was hard to hear what she was saying at first, her voice strangely calm, or perhaps she was too frightened of the situation to raise her voice. But as the minutes went by, he could hear her stern comments vibrating through the walls. She’d told him off. Standing up for her son, something Severus didn’t think her capable of doing, but she’d done it. And before he knew it, the house had finally settled, his father resuming his act of pretending like Severus didn’t exist, even more so than usual and he’d happily gone to work the next day, loaded with caffeine in the hopes that you wouldn’t catch his lack of sleep and asked what happened the night before. 

But of course, you had. And the truth came stumbling from his mouth as he shared every detail of the horrific event. It was worth it, he’d told you. And he meant it.

“Where should I place these?” he asked as he approached you, gesturing to the box in his hand. You stood up and peered inside before pointing to a corner near the door. 

His parents, his home at Spinner’s End was never a topic he enjoyed discussing, especially after listening to his peers in Slytherin talk about their fortune, their glamorous life outside of Hogwarts. He’d shut down, changed his willingness to talk about his muggle life after that, even around Lily. But it was different with you. His relationship with you was nothing he’d ever experienced before. He felt comfortable with you, like he could tell you anything and be spared from the judgment he knew he would get from others. 

He loved how you’d run your fingers through his hair as he told you about his father's rage and his mother’s neglect. He couldn’t get enough of the small touches you gave when he mentioned how his mother finally stepped forward only to stop him from pulling out his wand. The gentle smile you gave him at the end of his story was something he’d always cherish. 

“Ready for lunch?” he asked as he watched you remove the cap from the marker you held and write something on the side of the box you’d just closed.

“Just give me a few more minutes,” you replied, “I want to finish organizing this pile before we take a break.” You clicked the marker cap back in place before you began going through the last stack of books, placing the appropriate titles in a new box while the others were stashed away in the corner to be organized later. 

Severus stood there admiring you work so hard, putting so much effort into the task you’d been handed by the owner. He had to admit, when Mr.Davis first approached you about reorganizing the entire backroom all on your own, he thought it a bit absurd. The room held way too many books for one person to go through on their own, but lo and behold, you’d managed to get through a little more than a quarter of the room over the last two weeks, supposedly without the use of magic (or so you’d told him).  

“Can I help?” he said, walking towards you, eyeing the three boxes you’d sealed shut. 

You took a moment before you looked up and registered his offer. Glancing over to the boxes you had stacked to your left, you nodded your head. “Can you put those boxes away on the third shelf to the right?” you asked, accepting his helping hand. Severus leaned down and picked up all three boxes at once, missing how easy magic made such tasks. 

It was a shame really you two hadn’t gone to the wizarding world to find jobs, help you stay connected with the community over your summer break. Then again, the convenient location of this bookstore did help strengthen your relationship. 

“In alphabetical order please Severus!” you shouted just as he arrived at the shelves you’d mentioned. He glanced back, your face only just visible through the thin strip of air between the shelf and the books it held. 

Severus placed the boxes on the floor, his smile returning as his fingers lingered over your writing, forever engraved in the box on which it lay. He quickly picked up the first box and slide it in place before searching the location of the second, then the third. 

Just as he walked back over, he saw you putting away the last box before turning to face him. Perhaps you had managed to organize the books without the use of magic. “I believe it’s your turn today, right?”

He stepped forward and pulled you in for a quick kiss, humming as he parted. Severus took your hand and you both made your way to the very back of the room where you’d kept your belongings. Severus leaned down and removed a brown paper bag from his backpack while you removed your nametag. Severus handed you the bag in his hand and did the same before you both made your way out of the backroom and made your way towards the exit.  

Walking up the street, watched for cars as you both made your way across, you headed to the nearby park located behind the bookstore. Others probably would have been sick of spending every single lunch, five days a week in the same spot, but you didn’t mind in the slightest. It was rather the company you kept than the location itself that mattered. The change of scenery and fresh air was a mere bonus. 

You tightened your grip on the little brown bag you held, wondering what Severus brought you today. The system you’d put in place, though convenient, had you feeling a little guilty. Yes, it was only fair to take turns bringing lunch for one another; you on Monday and Wednesday, Severus Sunday and Tuesday while Thursday interchanged between the both of you each week. But he had to get up early every morning when it was his turn to make lunch, careful not to wake his parents. He’d naturally reassured you, telling you he’d been using magic to make lunch and thus cutting the prep time in half. But you still felt so uneasy, as if he was risking breaking house rules all so you could have a bite to eat when lunch came round. 

As you took a seat at your usual lunch spot, placing the bag between you both, Severus took out a sandwich and handed it to you. You smiled in gratitude, unwrapped it and took a bite. 

“Did your mom make these?” you asked before taking another bite. It was a simple ham and cheese sandwich, but you could tell it wasn’t him who’d prepared it because Severus would normally cut off the crust, something you found rather charming. 

“Why? Do you hate my cooking that much?” he teased. 

“No!” you said, lightly shoving him, a small chuckle vibrating against your throat. “I just know your style.”

Severus smiled as he took a bite of his own sandwich. “Yeah, she made them,” he averted his gaze as he shifted a little. “Actually, there’s something I should tell you.”

You looked up from your lunch, wide eyed as his voice dropped. Something was wrong, or rather, something had changed, and you couldn’t tell whether the news he had to share was good or bad.

“What is it?” you asked, giving him your full undivided attention. 

“My dad left us.”

You froze in shock as your hands slowly lowered, weakly resting on your lap. Your eyes desperately scanned his face, instinctively trying to find the sorrow you knew any child would feel at the sight of a parent’s abandonment, but of course, you found nothing of the sort. “Sev-” you whispered. 

“No, it’s a good thing.” He shook his head, noticing the pity in your eyes. “He was a deadbeat anyways. All he ever did was yell at everything. The house is quiet now and my mum is finally getting a full night's rest.”

“That’s good to hear,” you said, giving him a sheepish smile as you gently placed your hand over his. He looked down and tightened his grasp around your fingers, leaning into the comfort you never failed to provide.  

You hadn’t heard anything too cheery about Tobias Snape. The little you knew about him said he wasn’t much of a father to Severus and you’d always resented him ever since the first day of fifth year when Severus had shown up bruised. The happiest memory you’d been told of was the dinner spent in absolute silence the first day he’d come home after working at Mr.Davis’ Bookshop which really said something. Though none of the things you were told would have you believe him to be a deadbeat, you could tell Severus felt much happier with him gone and you were glad his mother was still around and seemingly paying more attention to him. 

“How are you feeling about this?” you whispered as you moved your hand up, resting it under his chin as your thumb gently swept over his cheek. Severus met your gaze and smirked at your compassion towards him. Was it possible to fall in love with someone all over again without actually ever falling out of love? 

“I’m fine (Y/N). I’m happy.” He reassured you and you finally felt the tension in your shoulders lift as you resumed devouring your lunch. 

He sure seemed much happier today and this would explain his mother’s sudden interest in his life, making lunches, asking about his day, investing in his personal life when Severus had told you she’d never had such inclinations before. You began to wonder if something had happened while you were in school, whether his mother had some sort of epiphany causing her to change her attitude, ultimately resulting in the end of her marriage. 

“Mum wants to return to her potions career, now that my father’s gone,” Severus told you as you walked beside him, watching as he threw the crumpled up brown bag in the bin. 

“Oh?”

“She had to stop when she married my dad,” he continued as you slowly walked around the park for some fresh air before heading back to work. “But she has been out of practice for a while so I don’t know how easy it will be for her to get back into the field.”

“Well, if her skills are anything like yours, I’m sure she’ll very easily find a job.”

Severus still got so flustered whenever you complimented him, feeling he was undeserving of such praise. He held back a small smile, taking your hand as you walked side by side. He’d grown rather used to showing small tokens of affection in public. There was no harm in hand-holding, even if some members of the older generation shot them glances of disapproval. He was in love, and proud to have you by his side.  

“I hope she does,” he said, “Then maybe we can find a home in the wizarding world.” His tone emulated disgust, as if the town he lived in, the town you both shared was a burden he’d endured, happy to rid of it at his earliest convenience. 

You frowned, keeping your gaze to the ground as you continued onward. “You don’t like it here?” you mumbled. 

Severus snapped his attention towards you, your shriveled voice burning his ears. He’d upset you at the mention of moving away. Did you prefer living amongst muggles? Would that cause a problem between you after graduation? Would he have to pick between you and the wizarding world?

“It’s-It’s just that I prefer the wizarding world. Besides, my mother gave up a lot when she decided to live here. It would be nice if she regained some of what she lost”

“I know,” you replied, your eyes meeting his as you continued, “Still I’m glad she did. Otherwise I may have never met you.”

Severus chuckled as you made your way back to the crosswalk, heading back to the shop. 

“Speaking of…” his gaze returned to the ground as he spoke,  “She asked to have you over for dinner tonight.”

“She what?” your head shot in his direction and you watched as he uncomfortably shifted in his spot. Sure you’d been dating for a few months now and he’d spoken about his parents each time you’d asked, but you never imagined having to meet them so soon. 

“You don’t have to come” he quickly added as if he’d almost forgotten to take on an escape route to the trap he’d set. But watching him slouch a little lower than usual, you got the distinct impression he’d been forced to extend the invitation he offered. 

That house was nothing to be proud of. Nothing to flaunt, nothing to show any respectable guest. He’d thought his ears had betrayed him this morning when he heard the words stumble from his mother’s lips as she handed him the lunch she’d unexpectedly prepared. It was odd enough seeing her take out her wand to cook but to actually ask him to bring you over for dinner. It was a request he still could not wrap his brain around. What did she care who he dated? 

Better yet, how could she think he’d want to bring you to a house with nothing but bad energy surrounding it. Spinner’s End wasn’t a place locals like you would want to wander down, let alone enter a house located in the area. He didn’t want the impression of a poor neglected and abused boy etched into your brain when you saw him. He wanted to keep your view of him subjected to what you saw of him at Hogwarts; the intelligent, dedicated and loving boyfriend you’d come to accept into your life. 

“No, of course I’ll come. I’d be happy to.” Severus watched as your voice dropped, your hands brushing the worn jeans you wore, your eyes speaking words of worry and discontent. “It’s just.. Unexpected is all,” you said as you turned the corner after crossing the street, the entrance to the shop now in your line of sight. “Do you think we could pass by my place first before we head over to yours?” 

“You don’t have to worry about impressing her, you look fine,” he said, deducing your concern came from the impressionable outfit you seemed to prefer wearing when working at the bookshop.

“Can I change anyways?” you pleaded, hoping that a change of clothing would help ease the nerves prickling your skin. 

“Of course,” he shot you a reassuring smile as he held the door open for you. 

Greeting Mr.Davis, you both made your way back to the backroom to retrieve your nametags before heading back to work. Severus’ home situation went straight over your head as your thoughts filled with what you could possibly say to his mother when you met. Should you thank her for today’s lunch or was that too obviously nice? What would she think if you showed up in a knee length dress? You’d neglected to wash your hair today, would she be disappointed in your lack of grooming? 

Your thoughts swam as you tried to resume your work. But bringing your mind back into focus was surely one task you wouldn’t be able to accomplish. No spell to help you deal with your rising anxiety. You couldn’t even talk to Severus about how you felt. Watching his disappointment at the mention of you meeting his mother was hard enough, you couldn’t bear to see the reaction you’d get if you told him you were dreadfully nervous to meet his mother.  

With a deep breath you turned your attention back to the corner you’d placed yourself in, organizing books as Severus left the room. Peering over the titles of each book, you discreetly pulled out your wand and watched the books you wished to pull fly out of their respective locations and gently land at your feet before you took a seat and began rummaging through them. At least this bloody task would help provide some distraction as you did all you could to push the thought of tonight's upcoming events away and went back to work.

~

Next Chapter

~

@dusk-realm @a-slytherin-sin @trashandshook @sneezy-s @emsdroid @leah-halliwell92 @dellightfullydeceitful @malfoymendes @sparklingkeylimepie @nameless-sovereign @living-in-margins @justanobodyinthisbigworld @soft-slytherin-sweetie @youtube4life10 @scarletmoon83 @fluffymadamina @sleepysnapesnake

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 44: Truth And Dare

[WARNING: NSFW]

We spend the rest of the day in an odd sort of domestic bliss. William has been writing in his bedroom, and I have have been reading in mine. I get up from the bed when I hear his door open and close, only to find Puck in the hallway, pawing at the wood. He must have gotten kicked out for distracting William.

I scoop the bunny into my arms and make my way to the kitchen, where I make myself a sandwich with some cheese I find wrapped in cloth in a cupboard, and sit down to eat it along with some rouge.

“No, bichito, you can’t eat this,” I tell Puck when he climbs onto my lap to sniff the bread. “What is it? Are you hungry?” He wiggles his nose and stares at me with beady eyes, but does not give up his pursuit of my sandwich. “Okay,” I sigh, standing up again. I leave my food on the tall kitchen counter, out of the rabbit’s reach, and rummage around the kitchen for something to give him.

I give up soon enough, unable to find any vegetables, and opt to ask William for instructions. I noticed the little garden at the back of the house, and figured he must use it to feed Puck, but I want to make sure.

He opens the door quickly after I knock. It takes me a second to remember what I wanted to say. We have not talked about this morning. In fact, it’s like it never happened at all. It’s... strange, to say the least, even uncomfortable, but I do not know if I should bring up the topic of my attraction for him again. I doubt he feels anything beyond playful curiosity for me, and I still haven’t gotten over Leonardo. The way thinking of him helped me calm down at the café certainly surprised me, though. My attachment to him is obvious, but I never thought he would become my anchor, much less so after having ended our brief relationship.

“Um, uh...” I finally stammer. “I think Puck is hungry. I have no idea what rabbits can eat.”

“Oh,” William chuckles. “Well, I keep a basil plant in the back yard for him. Celery, clover... Carrot tops are alright too, but do not feed him the carrot itself. ‘Tis a treat only,” he explains.

“Okay, cool.”

I quickly turn and begin walking away, but he grabs my wrist, forcing me to stop.

“Anaïs, wait.” That makes me look at him. He only calls me by my name when he’s serious. “I have been wondering where the events from this morning leave us.”

“Yeah, me too...” I mutter.

“Thou should know that I am unusually fond of thee. I would not be opposed should thou choose to-”

“I don’t know,” I interrupt. “Part of me wants to, but part of me knows it’s not gonna end well. Not for me, at least. Not when it’s you.”

“I can’t promise I will not break thine heart,” he says slowly, “but I can promise thee this: if it ends badly, it shall be my downfall as well. The stakes are as high for me as they are for thee.”

“Perhaps, but we’re not even playing the same game,” I retort. “Are you just trying to get close to me to further whatever ulterior motives I’m sure you have, or are you actually interested in me that way?” I ask, pulling away from him. 

“Thou art not any better, my sweet nightshade. Thou said so thyself, the only reason thou hast come to me is distrust.”

“Yeah, but that was before-” I cut myself off before I can finish the sentence. What the hell was I going to say, ‘before I developed a crush on you’? I absolutely blame this nonsense on vampire puberty, no matter what he says. He has a point, though. I am not as innocent as I have tried to convince myself I am. Sure, I might be attracted to William, but I must not forget why I came here in the first place. If my feelings need to be put on the line in order to find out what he’s up to, then so be it. “Fuck it,” I declare out loud. “Let’s do this.”

I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him into a kiss. He smiles into it, satisfied with my decision, and buries a hand in my hair as the other grabs my waist. We stumble into his bedroom, and I kick the door closed behind me.

“Wait,” I rasp against his lips before pulling away. “We’re really doing this?”

“Only if thou art willing,” he answers. “Art thou?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he smirks, and swiftly attacks my lips again, deepening the kiss. 

My arms snake around the back of his neck, where I begin playing with his soft hair. My fingers then trail down to the collar of his shirt and latch onto the top button, undoing it slowly. William takes the suddenly tedious labor from my hands, and I pull away from the kiss to observe him. He undresses slowly, his eyes fixed on mine as a smirk grows on his lips. The performer that he is is giving me a show.

‘Your turn’, his eyes seem to say when the fabric slides off his shoulders, baring his torso. He makes no attempt to touch me again. No, he wants me to do it on my own. I oblige his unspoken request and begin to slowly unbutton my own blouse. I feel vulnerable under his patient gaze. The sound of my own nervous heartbeat makes me hesitate, accelerated by the aura of danger that seems to emanate from William whenever I cross paths with him. But I am here to stay this time. I feel like prey, but I won’t run. I want to be his, if only for this very moment, regardless of how long it lasts.

I don’t stop until the last of my garments hits the floor. There I stand, fully naked for William to see, too caught up in the thrill of the moment to think of anything else. He comes closer as his gaze falls to my breasts.

 No, that is not what he is looking at. He reaches up to delicately trace what’s left of the bullet wound with his index finger. Unlike the rest of my scars, this one has not disappeared completely, and I suspect that neither has the entry hole on my back. Thanks to le Comte turning me to save my life, it healed abnormally quickly, leaving behind a rounded, misshapen indent on the left side of my chest. It has a silver tone to it, paler than the rest of my skin, and looks only slightly worse the scar usually left behind by a smallpox vaccine.

“I am terribly sorry for causing that unfortunate incident, my nightshade,” William mutters, suddenly serious. “To be forever marked like that...”

“Do I look like I care about marks on my body?” I chuckle, lifting my heavily tattooed arm in front of his face in an attempt to lighten the mood a little. 

I wonder what he meant by ‘forever’. Will this scar not fade eventually like the others? Either way, now is not the time to think about that. William seems to agree, because that lustful shine returns to his eyes as he moves on from the bullet wound to cup my breast. His touch is careful, like that of a museum curator handling an ancient, invaluable artefact.

I remain completely still as he begins to slowly circle around me. His hand slides up my collarbone, then down my shoulder and along my arm, following the black outline of the leaves that are permanently etched onto my skin. He comes to a stop right above the back of my elbow.

“Is that Vincent’s?” he asks, intrigued by the familiar style of the sunflower. I nod. He then leans in from behind to whisper into my ear. “Careful, my lady. Thou might make me jealous.”

“It’s from before I met him.” My voice comes out softer than I anticipated, breathy and nervous from William’s possessive tone. It sends shivers down my spine. “I just like his art, that’s all,” I quietly explain.

I feel him suddenly pull away from me, but I do not turn around to see what he’s doing. I stay completely immobile as he comes back to stand behind me, so close that his chest is touching my back. He gently pulls a soft fabric over my eyes. The red silk ribbon from last night. I do not fight it this time. I read somewhere that, when one sense is taken away, the rest become heightened, better. I wonder how much more I could perceive deprived of my vision. Everything already feels so different since I turned...

He finishes tying the ribbon into a secure knot on the back of my head. I gasp when his fingers brush against the spot on my back where I know the other scar is, matching the one on my chest.

“Come, Anaïs,” he says softly. “Lay down for me.”

I let him guide me to the bed. As much as I refuse to trust William, I must at least pretend I do if I want to get anywhere with my little investigation. The only way to earn his trust is to prove that he has mine.

Though I am terrified, I blindly oblige his request and lay down. What’s the worst he could do, kill me? That is not something I have ever been particularly afraid of. Besides, I doubt it is what William wants.

“Put your arms up.”

I obey. Almost immediately, I feel something soft wrap around my wrists. He’s tying me up. The idea of being bound by him, so vulnerable and at his mercy, makes my breathing accelerate.

“Relax,” he whispers. “Give me a single word and I will free thee. I would never do this against thine will.”

“Okay,” I breath out, reassured. It is hard to be afraid when he is so gentle, so attentive. But alas, that does not make me any less nervous. I have never done this before, willingly submitting to someone like this, and I don’t know what to expect. “I trust you,” I quietly state, partially to convince myself of the fact as much as him. And so, my performance begins.

I feel the mattress sink where William climbs onto the bed beside me and begins laying a trail of kisses down my neck. He makes his way down my body in an infuriatingly slow manner, but I can’t help but shiver every time his lips flutter over my skin.

I am startled by a light pinch on my sensitive right nipple. I did not notice his hand move there... It is not his fingers I am feeling. No, his wet tongue clues me in, when it begins to circle around it between his lips, pulling an unexpected moan from the back of my throat. I do feel his hand on my left breast, where he has begun gently twisting the nipple between his soft fingers. He darkly chuckles when another sigh of pleasure escapes my lips before abruptly letting go.

I whine, wanting more, but he won’t give it to me. Instead, he teasingly caresses my stomach, slowly moving towards... Nothing. His warm hand is gone from my skin as fast as it had come, and I wiggle in my restraints, unsatisfied.

“Be patient, my nightshade,” he sings, amused by my desperation. Desperation for him, that he created. He knows I am putty in his hands, and he likes it. I think I do, too. “Part thy legs.”

His order surprises me. I do as he says without question, eager for his touch. Finally, he slides a finger down the center of my folds, slowly, carefully, as if I was going to shatter from the tension. I think I might. His finger moves up, then down again, before finding my entrance. I open my legs apart even wider, granting him access, and he slowly pushes into me. My breaths are heavy with anticipation, interrupted by a needy whimper every time William moves his finger inside me. I want more.

He must be able to tell, for another finger joins the first in his painfully slow process. It does not last long, though. I hear the rustling of clothes and something metallic hit the floor. His belt. The mattress shifts under his weight. I can feel the warmth of his body hovering over mine in teasing proximity. His breath tickles my ear as he cruelly laughs yet again at the vulnerable state he has left me in. And his cock... Hard as a rock, it presses gently against my core before sliding into me.

I gasp and tense in pleasure around his girth. William’s hand returns to my breast, squeezing it lightly, and then moves to caress up my neck. He cups my cheek as he lets me adjust to the sudden fullness I feel. His thumb drags over my lips, parting them for another kiss. At the same time as he takes my mouth in his, he thrusts again. My resulting moan is muffled by the kiss.

The movement of his hips accelerates, steadily but slowly, until I am left a trembling mess under him. He maintains his rhythm, sending electric shocks all over my body.

“Thou art so beautiful, my nightshade,” he groans when I come undone. His pace slows, helping me ride out my orgasm. “Radiant as the Sun itself.”

He pulls out, and I am left breathing heavily in my uncomfortable position with my arms tied to the headboard. I hear some rustling before the knots around my wrists loosen. Once my hands are freed, William moves on to remove the blindfold. I blink a few times to help my eyes adjust to the light in the room, only to see William smirking down at me. He did not finish this time, too focused on pleasuring me instead. I stare at him, not knowing what to say.

“Mierda,” I blurt out, suddenly remembering something. I don’t know whether to attribute it to the post-coital clarity or my own unpredictable train of thought. “I forgot to feed Puck!”

I quickly wrap myself in a robe I find on a chair, still glistening with sweat, and run out the room.

[mevima]

Ineffable Inktober: Day 24: St. James' Park

Ineffable Writing Inktober, NSFW Edition.

There were any number of curios and knick-knacks buried in Aziraphale's shop. It was the nature of the place, really; it was his home and his museum, where he kept safe the words and knowledge and objects of the past. So Crowley was only a bit surprised when one day, he opened a large, lumpy wrapping to discover a bundle of swords.

He looked them over carefully, curiously, and chose a simple broad blade with a heavy pommel. The leather wrapped around the hilt was old, but shockingly – miraculously – still intact. When Crowley presented it to Aziraphale in a wordless question, the angel took it with a soft exclamation and a fond smile.

"Arthur gave this to me himself, you know," he said thoughtfully, turning the sword in his hands. "Remember? I was wearing it when I met you in the woods. The Black Knight! Really, I should have known it was you."

Crowley leaned against a bookcase and tilted his head. "How'd you end up an actual Knight of the Round Table, anyway? Wasn't that sort of conspicuous for Heaven's taste?"

"Oh, yes." Aziraphale chuckled at the memory. "It was a temporary appointment. I'd been helping Arthur train with the sword for some time, you see, and his other knights were busy on the border. So he asked me to stop the trouble the Black Knight was stirring up. 'It'll be bad for everyone if the peasants rise up!' he said, and sent me out straightaway with a sword from his personal armory."

Crowley squinted, latching on to one particular part of that recounting. "You... taught King Arthur Pendragon to sword fight?"

"Goodness no, not entirely! That sort of training starts from childhood. But I did provide quite the suitable sparring partner, if I say so myself." Limited by the bookshop's tight space, Aziraphale still gave the broadsword a few experimental swings, looking perfectly at home and confident in its use.

Reminders of Aziraphale's power always got Crowley's blood stirring, and this was no exception. He licked his lips, eyes tracing Aziraphale's strong grip, his self-assured stance, and the hints of musculature under all those layers of clothing. "Let's have a demonstration, yeah? In the park? Show me if you've still got it after all these years."

Aziraphale scoffed. "As if a Principality could ever lose the knack of swordfighting!"

They brought a picnic along because Aziraphale insisted that if they were going to the park anyway, they may as well make a date of it and enjoy themselves thoroughly. The sword's scabbard had been wrapped up next to it with just as much care and preservation as the sword itself, and Aziraphale buckled it on with a sound of satisfaction.

It was a mild spring afternoon and St. James' Park was lovely, with enough people passing by to make it feel comfortable but not crowded. They hardly noticed the presence of the sword swinging inconspicuously at Aziraphale's side – thespians were a strange lot, after all, and they probably assumed it was fake.

Crowley impatiently tried to rush along the picnic setup while Aziraphale fussed, laying out the blanket just so, displaying the little sandwiches and the fancy cheeses and the nice-but-not-too-nice wine with deliberate precision. Crowley honestly couldn't tell if the damned angel was antagonizing him on purpose by dragging out the wait, or if he was truly enjoying the preparation.

Finally, everything was laid out to Aziraphale's exacting specifications. He sat back with a sigh and a light smile, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, saying, "We're just going to eat it, you know."

"Yes, but the presentation is part of the experience!" Aziraphale's smile brightened when he directed it at Crowley, and the demon folded, unable to deny him. "Now! Would you prefer to eat first, or – "

"Show me," Crowley interrupted, unconsciously leaning forward.

A twinkle in Aziraphale's eye hinted that he knew just what Crowley was after, but he sighed, as if put-upon. "Oh, all right, if you insist. I suppose it'll work up an appetite."

When Aziraphale stood, brushed off his trousers, and picked up the sword to buckle it back on his hip, Crowley was practically drooling in anticipation. He'd seen Aziraphale perform some feats of strength and ability before, but never for him, and certainly never because the angel had chosen to oblige a little whim. It was a heady feeling, one he wanted to cradle and encourage like a glowing ember.

Crowley could see the expertise in the stance Aziraphale took, as if only days had passed instead of centuries since he'd taken up the sword. The first few practice swings could have been considered clumsy by a connoisseur, but then Aziraphale took a deep breath, spun and thrust, and it was like he was dancing.

Both hands wrapped around the hilt, Aziraphale cut and thrust, swung and fell back in a mock parry. He fell into the old movements with utter focus, always in control, always balanced, stepping forward and back as he circled an invisible opponent. The sword glinted in the afternoon sunlight when Aziraphale raised it as if to defend his face from a blow, then lashed out in a vicious riposte.

Aziraphale's breath had barely quickened, effortless in his power and skill, but Crowley found his own chest heaving. Sweet Lord, to have that amount of focus on him. He could easily imagine Aziraphale, full of the rage and fire that Crowley knew he possessed, standing between Crowley and their enemies – or just as easily, confronting Crowley himself, forcing him to bow, submit, confess.

And oh, wasn't that dangerous territory.

Crowley clutched at his knees to keep his hands still. He hadn't blinked in several minutes, watching Aziraphale go through form after form, imagining just what that strength could do if Aziraphale turned it on him. He ran a forked tongue over sharpened teeth, found himself automatically calculating weaknesses in Aziraphale's movements and identifying very few. Not that he'd use any weakness he found; Aziraphale could do positively anything, and Crowley would melt underneath it like candy floss in the rain.

This had been a bad idea. Dates were one thing, something they'd begun to joke about and dance around in the wake of the Apocalypse, but they'd barely touched. Watching Aziraphale flow and glide and display the peak of his strength was allowing Crowley to want things that he had stuffed deep inside himself long ago.

Abruptly, Aziraphale knelt and buried the blade into the ground, his sudden stillness alarming for how quickly he'd been moving before. His breathing had sped and he was sweating a little, but he looked exhilarated instead of tired. He looked powerful, determined, a force to be reckoned with.

He looked beautiful.

Crowley heaved a great breath, the first he'd drawn in too long a time, and Aziraphale's eyes snapped to fix on him. Christ Almighty, that focus; Crowley felt the scrutiny pass over him quickly, the calculations that Aziraphale must have been making: friend or foe? Can I take him down? Should I take him down? It choked him, the air thick on Crowley's tongue.

As quickly as Aziraphale's attention had turned on him, it was gone, the angel blinking and shaking his head with a rueful grin. "I'm afraid I quite lost myself for a moment there. Oh, it has been far too long, I hope I didn't look the fool."

"You'd never look foolish," Crowley said helplessly.

"That's very kind of you, dear, but you needn't butter me up." Aziraphale busied himself with the food they'd brought, but Crowley only had attention for the quick little smile he sent Crowley's way, as if sharing a secret just for them.

Oh, he was fucked.

[zukofenty]

Sugar

➜ Summary: The one where there’s a former skateboarding photographer turned teenaged masked vigilante running around protecting the city from crime. Yet, Katara always knew she wasn’t meant to just sit a good fight out.

“Did you just fucking slap me?” Zuko is incredulous, clutching his reddening man tit.

“Yeah, what are you going to do about it? Be mad?” Katara bites back.

➜ Genre: Spiderman!AU, Modern!AU, humor

➜ Words: 3.8k

➜ Warnings: I love Zuko😩

AO3, My Zutara Month Playlist

@zutaramonth​ hi!!! this my late day 1 hehe

“Self care 2020 is officially over. We’re doing drugs again.” 

  Suki stares at Katara quizzically. “No, I don’t think that’s how it goes.” 

  “Are you sure?” Katara asks, puzzled. Suki just rolls her eyes, picking at her chipping manicure as Katara focuses on her biology homework. 

  “It’s only been like two weeks into the New Year. Yeah, I’m sure,” Suki deadpans. “What makes you think that doing drugs again is remotely going to-” Her rant is abruptly cut off at the sound of commotion coming from the courtyard. “Fuck, not Jet again.” 

  Katara jumps to her feet. Not this bitch again . Before she has to do more damage control than Camila Cabello’s publicist every time she opens her mouth and something stupid (and/or racist) for the 1000th time, Katara surveyed the scene before her. Freshman Aang, still prepubescent and so, so tiny was spared from having his face shoved in a moldy grilled cheese sandwich the cafeteria gave to kids who couldn’t afford lunch (yay public school!). He’s not facing Jet’s usual wrath inflicted on any short king 5’9” and under. Instead, a figure was gasping for air in an oversized black hoodie, hands clawing at Jet’s angular face. 

  “Hey Jet!” Katara yelps, pulling the tall boy up by his belt loops. He pauses in pummeling Zuko’s oh so pretty face, and grins unabashedly at Katara. The smile she knows is only reserved for her. 

  “Yes, Katara?” He smirks when he could almost hear pussies clench. He knows his power. 

  She smiles back at him, making it almost reach her eyes. “I did a little research, and guess what?” 

  “What?” 

  She pushes her bangs from her eyes, looking so sweet and innocent in her blazer and her signature knee length boots. “You’re a whore. A dumb whore.” He can’t help but let anger paint his face. “Leave these damn kids alone ! Don’t you have another class to ditch? A military program to join? A car to mod? Find a hobby. Go to therapy. Stupid.” 

  Her hair flows whips around as quickly as she does, flowing and bouncing effortlessly as she heads to AP Chemistry. 

  Zuko smiles, despite the pain in his chest from where Jet shoved his converse into. He thinks he loves her. Or what anti social kids like him thought love was because he doesn’t think she knows who he is. So polished and passionate about everything she does. Captain of the debate team, president of the Student Advocate’s club, and head intern at Phoenix Corporations in working on projects to mass clean polluted waters. She managed to do everything and still have kindness in her soul. The kind of love that you could almost feel surrounding a person. 

  He decides he likes staring at her, even if it’s the back of her head during chemistry. It was too easy to fall in love, when she was yelling at him to photograph the debate club’s photos in a certain light so they could post it on their Facebook for student recruitment season. He manages to always trip on his laces every time he’s around her, or stumble on his skateboard when she sends a small smile his way as they pass each other in the hallway of Ba Sing Se Academy. It’s always worth the detention Principal Pakku serves his way, if it meant he could get her attention. 

  In high school, guys like him and girls like her weren’t meant to be together. He’s impossibly clumsy, according to Uncle Iroh, and dangerously emo, according to everyone else. Katara, well she’s meant for bigger and better things, she’s meant to be out in the world and changing it. 

  She startles him, the way she turns so fast her ponytail narrowly misses his bruised face. “It was great what you did. It was kind of fucking stupid. But great.” 

  “Thank you?” 

  Katara beams impossibly wide. “You’re welcome. What’s your name?” 

  Zuko’s giving her a lopsided smile. “You don’t know my name?” 

  “Am I supposed to? You know I only keep up with Black Chyna and the lord.” Her wide eyes squint in a smile. His heart thunders, and he somehow feels as though Katara could sense it, with how much bigger her smile gets. 

  //

  “Welcome to the company single handedly transforming the genetic and biological industry. The future lies within!” The monitor’s voice announces repeatedly, Phoenix Corporation’s recognizable slogan. 

  Zuko’s in awe. He wasn’t meant for a world like this, with fancy lab coats and holographic presentations and people with glasses spewing larger than life terms. Hell, the revolving doors got him fucked up! That shit was too advanced for his liking. Science was his thing , but this was entirely out of his league. He donned glasses as an homage to a father he had never known, abandoning him when he was a baby on his Uncle Iroh’s doorstep. A labcoat was handed his way after the intern program directors approved with the badge of some guy named “Lee.” Zuko desperately tries to ignore the pleas of the real Lee coming from the lobby of the building. 

  “I swear I have a badge, I swear I’m an intern here!” 

  A guard shoves him out the door. “Can it, zit bitch!” 

  “I don’t think security guards are supposed to pick at people’s insecurities,” Lee whimpers. 

  He’s avoiding eye contact as Katara prattles away, taking the sweaty interns every which way through the company’s headquarters. “And here is Dr. Ozai, who will be discussing his cross elemental genetics project.” 

  He’s a formidable man. Tall, broad shoulders. He looks intensely polished, the type of man that always gets his way. The type of man who refuses anything less than what he wants. Zuko can’t help but stare. He looks different from the pictures Zuko found in Iroh’s basement. Meaner . Is this what he will look like in the future? He tries not to think about it too hard.  “Does anyone know the history of the firebenders are?” Zuko sees Ozai relishing in the confused faces of the teens, oily foreheads seemingly glistening in the fluorescent lighting. 

  “They were-”

  Zuko promptly interrupts him. “They were born with the ability to will fire any way they wanted. Legend has it that benders were born with abilities to manipulate all the elements: water, earth, fire, air. These people were invincible.” 

  Ozai smirks. A first for him, a student who understood his work. “Yes, all true. But the truly powerful ones were the ones who could firebend. This element is the most destructive, yet can bring beauty all at once.” He pauses to bring a holographic video to the attention of the students. “My goal is to recreate this ability that once came so easily to our ancestors. To bring humankind to be this powerful again. Where nothing will ever get in our way, no illness, no fear. Just us and the elements, joined together once more.” 

  As the fellow interns become increasingly enraptured by the presentation detailing his work, Ozai turns to Katara reviewing notes for the rest of the office tour. “Who was that kid?” She couldn’t help but feel pride in her soul. As she turns to introduce him to her mentor, her brows furrow in confusion. He’s nowhere to be found.

  //

  He hadn’t meant to sneak into the top secret chamber of research, he swears. One minute he’s looking for a bathroom because he downed one too many Fiji waters because they were fancy and he wanted to feel fancy. And then of course he’s distracted by pretty buttons, and of course the rebel in him is able to remember the passcode scientists used to enter this top secret chamber. (The password was “thrussy.”) 

  He certainly hadn’t meant to get burned. He hastily climbed into the empty tube to hide himself as security guards routinely checked the room. While trying to unlock the door, of course he just had to trip on his laces, and of course he just had to press some button. Next thing he knew, he was surrounded by rainbow colored flames, engulfing his body. He remembers the last thing he searched on his computer was “what are furries festival” and prays that the police spares that from the report when they investigate his death. 

  But, he’s fine. He’s more than fine. He’s fucking fantastic . He’s strong, he has the reflexes of a fucking ninja, and he can conjure fucking flames from his hands. From his hands! 

  He practices every night, after the day at Phoenix Corp. He singed his towels, accidentally broke open his medicine cabinet when he reached for his anti depressants, and exploded his Aveeno bedside lotion. There’s an abandoned building near his apartment, and he climbs to the rooftop every night to control his newfound powers. He’s not clumsy, and swears he can rival Tony Hawk with his skateboarding abilities.

  But the best part is how agile he’s become. He’s strong, noodle arms now muscular. His baggy shirts like a conscious fashion choice, and not just because they were the cheapest in the Walmart clearance rack. The kids that ignored him and continued to make out in front of his locker without any consequence? Pushed to the ground. The bully targeting petite kings? Basketball shoved firmly into his head. 

  “I’m trying my hardest to stop being mean. It’s really not my fault everyone is so fucking stupid.” Zuko petulantly stares at the suspension slip Pakku had written as he waits for Iroh to finish speaking to the principal. Apparently justice has consequences. 

  “Zuko!” Katara serious tone is heavily contrasted with laughter. 

  “Fine, you caught me. I’ve been ditching therapy to hotbox in the Denny’s parking lot.” 

  Katara huffs. “Denny’s? Really, bitch? You couldn’t have chosen, I don’t know, Target at least. Here I thought you were classy.” 

  Their collective laughter was interrupted by Iroh’s appearance, anger maring his usually gentle face. “We’ll talk about this later. Zuko, you know better than this. Why did you have to humiliate that boy?” 

  “He deserved it!” 

  “Enough! I’m have to pick up some later shifts at the tea shop today. Show up for yours today, too.” Zuko senses his uncle has more to say, more to berate him for. He just looks exhausted . Defeated. It’s all his damn fault. Iroh swerves to Katara. “He has you on his computer by the way! I’m his parole officer, nice to meet you.”  Zuko’s mouth falls open, trying to explain to Katara who is barely holding herself together with how loudly she’s guffawing. 

  “I love you,” Iroh says, moving to exit out the school.

  “I know.” Zuko starts to move away, before he pauses. “I love you, too.” 

//

  He thought, you get the girl, you get the firebending skills and you get hot and everything is ok. Everything is perfect. The universe has so many ways to fuck up your life, because serenity is just too easy. 

  Zuko’s heart clenches, staring at his Uncle’s body. There are tears that promise to slip, but never embark on their journey. A monitor nearby is noisily beeping, a tired nurse pats Zuko gently on the back. He’s becoming a recognizable figure, after all he does visit his Uncle Iroh two times a day. 

  It’s his fault . 

  It’s a thought that becomes permanent in his mind. It’s his fault that he lost track of training himself, and didn’t show up for his shift. It’s his fault that Iroh was running around the whole damn city looking for him. It’s his fucking fault his uncle was beat nearly half to death by robbers. 

  He grabs his uncle’s limp hands gently between his own calloused ones. “I’m going to make this right. I’m going to make you proud.” He slips away before he can feel his heart threatens to simply stop, unable to process the infinite pain he feels. 

  //

He glances at his watch nervous for multiple reasons. One, that he was going to miss his shift at the tea shop and get lectured again by June, his neighbor who has graciously taken over running the shop and housing Zuko until Iroh wakes from his coma. Two, that if he stares at the sea prunes any longer without actually eating them, Katara’s grandma would start laughing at him. Three, if Katara’s father kept glaring at him he would combust with how fucking nervous he was. It didn’t help he snuck in through Katara’s window and Hakoda had discovered him watching Tik Toks on her bed. 

  The dinner was a bust. Halfway through and he’s already gotten in an argument with the police chief over a certain masked figure. 

  “I think his name is The Blue Spirit.” Zuko admits, fighting to hide a smile. 

  Hakoda stares down at the boy. “More like Blue Dipshit. He’s destroying the city!” Katara quickly steps in as the argument grows heated, taking Zuko out to her building’s rooftop. 

  “Oh my god, you should be glad he didn’t shoot your ass up.” Katara clutches the railing, staring out to the city lights. 

  The same city lights he lives by, swears by. He remembers trying to seek out his uncle’s attacker. A man named Zhao notorious for his violent temper and attacks on the city’s elderly. He was able to run into his gaggle of minions on his nights long quest. While they had successfully nearly beat him to a pulp, he swears he’s set a few jackets on fire and managed to outrun them. Even if it meant he had fallen through an unbuilt building, tumbling down six stories before landing in the pits of a former fight club. He saw it then, the Blue Spirit legend. An ancient swordsman who dominated the underground scene. 

  He decided he was going to be the best damn superhero the world had seen. Even if it meant wearing an all black leotard every night. He designed it to best complement his firebending, resistant to the heat. The mask he slipped on every night, built to protect both him and his identity. The swords at his back that he’s been training with hours on end. 

“Are you a cop?” he remembers his uncle’s attacker questioning, his new target blocked by Zuko’s presence. 

  “Really? You think a cop is going to be wearing a blue face mask and black spandex?” He doesn’t remember much of that night, anger too palpable and blinding his senses. All he will admit to is leaving him in some police car. Not the bruises littering the bandit’s body. Or his missing pants. 

  “I have to tell you something.” He joins Katara at the railing. 

  She gasps. “I knew it! You listen to Post Malone unironically.” 

  “No, god no. I haven’t hit rock bottom yet to start doing that.” He’s proud of himself for making her laugh. 

  “What’s up?” She asks. He can’t back out now. Not when she’s looking at him like he’s the whole world, not when she’s become his whole world. 

  “I-I can’t” He stutters, breaking their eye contact. 

  She nods in quiet understanding, turning away from him to walk back to her apartment. Zuko sighs, rubbing a hand at his forehead. “ Fuck.”

  He conjures up a storm of flames to surround Katara. The force was enough to whirl her around and towards him, waiting to catch her in his arms. 

  “What the fuck was that?” Katara yelps, before being cut off with the feeling of Zuko’s lips pressed against hers. 

  “I just wanted to let you know. I Am. A. God.” He swears, the flames growing steadily from his palms.  

  “I’m kind of scared of you right now. Not because of the firebending or anything, just because the amount of testosterone is making me nervous.” She initiates the kiss this time. Her lip gloss tastes sweet, and he keeps kissing her until her lips become chapped. His hands can’t help but roam her body, her hands teasing and finding contact with his toned stomach beneath his hoodie. 

  “Are you kidding me!” Sokka calls from the rooftop’s entrance, hands covering his eyes. “I swear to Spirits above Zuko I am not afraid to castrate you right here right now. Katara, get the fuck inside!” 

  Zuko blushes. 

  // 

“Katara, you’re so incredibly mature for your age.” Hama insists. 

  Katara is beaming. “Thanks, it’s the childhood trauma!” 

  The chemistry teacher freezes, looking at the still smiling girl peculiarly. “Um, well. My point is, it’s not worth it. I-I know it’s none of my business. I just see so much of myself in you. Including the mistakes I know you’re going to make. Honey, it’s not worth mixing yourself up with a guy that’s only more trouble than anything else. You’re going to go to the best college in the nation, I just know it. You just can’t afford to lose your focus now. Been there, done that. It’s not worth it.” 

  She smiled seemingly understandingly, struggling to keep her mouth shut. If only she knew. 

  The Blue Spirit couldn’t fight all the crime in the city alone. As much as Zuko was convinced he was the shit, he really wasn’t. The Blue Spirit couldn’t dare match up to The Painted Lady. 

“You’re The Painted Lady?” Zuko questions, eyes closed in confusion while trying to process all the information. To be fair, he’s only gotten two hours of sleep a night ever since his life as The Blue Spirit began. He’s convinced the police really only sit around and eat donuts. If this was Law and Order: SVU , he just knew Olivia Benson wouldn’t need a masked teenager saving people. He opens his eyes when he begins to feel pulsating water near his wounds, Katara controlling its every movement as it works its way through his wounds. 

  After reuniting with his father and become an official intern at Phoenix Corp, he soon realized his father was not as occupied with cross elemental theories. No, he was much more focused on how to resurrect the dragons of the world. The true firebenders, he noted. Zuko had found hidden notes his mother had written before leaving his father. Partners in crime, they were working on their research together. Before his mother had left with the solution, before his father could understand the consequences of his work. Before his father had made himself a subject and injected their concoction into himself, become a half scaled half human hybrid roaming the sewers of the city. 

  He had found his father, bitter to no end as he continues producing the serum that was supposed to make the most powerful being on the planet. Zuko was left with gashes in his chest that made him wanted to vomit with how much blood was pouring out. He was left to die in dirty sewage water, his father cackling as he disappeared. Until she showed up. 

  The Painted Lady. 

  The city’s emblem, etched on coins and dollar bills. He’s heard rumors about her cleaning up the city’s rivers, healing patients doctors long gave up on. Her grandmother had told her their family comes from a long line of waterbenders, the last one born 400 years ago. She had her swear never to reveal her talents, never talk about it, never do anything about it. It was dangerous, the government would want to talk to her. She would disappear, the whole family would be in danger But Katara was never one to listen to directions very well. 

  “Did you just fucking slap me?” Zuko is incredulous, clutching his reddening man tit. She’s nearly healed all the cuts on his body at the hands of his father’s claws. The burn from a dragon is more painful than any other, and Katara’s upset. She can’t heal his eye, no matter how hard she tries. 

  “Yeah, what are you going to do about it? Be mad?” Katara bites back. She pauses the water disappearing from her hands and back onto the mug on her night stand. “I can’t believe you’re so fucking stupid.” She’s in his lap, clad in only a t shirt. Her hair falls in her eyes as she returns to heal his wounds, and he gingerly brushes the strand out from blocking her. 

  “I know.” Zuko couldn’t help but press a kiss to her cheek. 

  “Don’t return the sweatpants,” Katara throws out. 

  Zuko raises his eyebrow. “Why, doesn’t Sokka want these back?” 

  “He says, ‘I don’t want emo butt juice on them,’” Katara shrugs. 

  He blows a stray hair from his scarred eye out of frustration. “I consider myself chic punk more than anything else.” 

  She pauses again. “What if there’s more of us out there?” Katara uneasily peers up at his questioning stare. “More benders?” 

  Even with all the tests and insistence Ozai had for recreating this power, Zuko had been the only successful case. The only person to fully exhibit the power of his ancestors. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t they need to go through some sort of freak accident like I did?” 

  “What if your power was suppressed this whole time?” 

  He contemplates the idea, hands rubbing up and down her waist. 

  “I think my grandma used to say something like ‘One queef and this whole building could tumble down.’”

  He is glaring at her quizzically. “No I don’t think that’s right. What does that even mean?” 

  “It means, life as we know it will change forever. If we find other benders to defeat your father. If we expose what bending is. Hell, the city still thinks you use jetpacks to propel yourself around the city.” 

  He pecks chastely at her lips. She hates how easily she’s able to relax when he kisses away her worries. “You know, I used to think if I had a boyfriend I would simply go beat pedophiles to death with him as a hobby. I don’t know whether or not to be delighted this has come true.” 

  “As long as The Blue Spirit always has The Painted Lady. Everything will be alright.” 

  “You promise?” 

  “You rise with moon. He does, too.” Zuko’s staring at the mask in his hand. His other hand firmly around Katara’s.