#have they drawn near something that caused him to hallucinate?

[onewingedxngel]

Reverse[ strangle ] 

(OH NO ANOTHER ONE THAT'S GONNA BE PAINFUL TO WRITE??????)

Violent Prompts

He wasn’t sure how this had happened. Why he stood alone in the moonlit field, with his ‘father’ before him, taunting him, provoking him. Sephiroth practically growled as he grabbed the scientist’s throat in his hands, crushing tighter and tighter– not enough to kill him, but enough to hurt. He grit his teeth like a raging dragon, remorseless eyes focused and indifferent to the scientist’s pained sputtering.

But things began to change. The night sky merged to day, sun peering over the horizon. And Hojo changed from a greasy, disgusting creature into the familiar, pale-haired woman he’d taken under his wing.

His eyes widened in shock as he slowly let her go, hands shaking as he watched her collapse. She gasped for breath, sides heaving as she fell to her knees. Platinum hair hid any damage he may have caused her neck.

“Aileth...? Aileth, I–” Sephiroth stood still, shocked by his own actions. 

“What have I done?”

Sephiroth kneeled down next to her, placing a hand on her back whilst apologising and trying to make sure she was all right.

He... this was his fault. His mistake for allowing himself to grow close to someone, to think he had any right to put his guard down or accept such kindness after all he had done. He deserved no one, especially not Aileth, especially not after this. 

He was just... too dangerous.

[yeoreos]

avid || jjk (m)

pairing: demon!jungkook x human!reader

genre: 18+, smut

summary: jungkook finds you at a bar and sets you as his night's target

warnings: oh lord smut. lots and lots of smut.

wc: 4k

note: i was kind of lazy to finish it, but hey, its 4k of foreplay; nothing beats that! (also sorry for not posting in a while i was busy with beginning of year exams *cries*)

jungkook first noticed you in a bar. on weekends, it was transformed into a seedy nightclub. he liked to go there while he was looking for something to eat; something to conquer for the night. he discovered a plethora of attractive females and, each with broken hearts and hungry gazes - all yearning for a nighttime lover.

he never believed his eyes when they landed on you. the state you were in was pitiful. he guessed that you had just broken up with this boyfriend of yours, hence the mascara and ruined makeup on your face. or perhaps it was a platonic breakup. despite your state, his mahogany orbs never left your figure. what a cute thing you were.

a pretty face that was exactly his type, the perfect curves of your tits, hips, and ass has his knees weak. if you were to ask, he would give.

of course, his initial plan had been thrown out the window the instant he saw you. you leaned against the bar, accepting an order, with a grin on your lips. It sparked something in him, all the confidence (whether it be from the alcohol in your veins or not, it didn't matter to him) and allure.

he knew your name. how could he miss the way your own name rolled off of your tongue so easily? how could he miss the way your lips formed a smirk after seeing jungkook? how could he miss your scent when you pulled him in to kiss you?

this was jungkook's specialty, depravity. wherever he went, he brought a tale of wickedness and depravity with him, the quality hooking onto him like a magnet.

he was a fallen angel, to be sure. a demon, a fallen angel. to be more specific, an incubus. he fed off of sex and vice, appetites and irrational cravings. he drank often in front of ladies like you, at bars or in beds, whose gazes wracked over him, and he fed off of human energy.

over time, after a handful of centuries, he had gotten bored of playing the same old games in bed. jungkook knew what he wanted, however, he was never able to satisfy that itch in the back of his throat, yearning for something to quench his sinful thirst.

he was tired, watching from atop the hill nearby, where he watched the sun rest for the night. just like you had. the darkness of the night overtook the city of seoul and jungkook knew it was his hour to strike; to feed his thirst.

so, the demon went after you, hovering over your small figure over the pathetic excuse of a bed. the soft rising and falling of your chest and the soft snores that escaped from your mouth once in a while, was all the proof jungkook needed that you were fast asleep.

jungkook extended his hand towards you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek, a tremor coursing through his body as a result of the contact. the energy you were emitting caused every molecule in his body to twitch in response. captivating.

oh how badly he wanted a taste.

when you stirred a little, a small groan leaving your lips, jungkook stilled. had you woken up? however, it was just a small movement you were causing in your sleep which allowed you to further curl up against the pillow.

he grinned.

it was time.

"let's go in that dream of yours, shall we?"

-

when he opened his eyes again, jungkook didn't expect himself to be in the same bar, be in the same exact position as before. however, this time, you were looking directly at him with your hungry eyes, mimicking his.

ever since heaven had decided to clip his wings, jungkook gave up on the little purity he had left, letting himself follow his heart.

so that's why he felt no shame in eyeing your figure up and down multiple times.

it wasn't necessarily anything that stood out about you, but it was just the aura you were giving off, that sweet feminine scent that lingered near the air around you, that small curve of your lips. but it might have mostly been the way you called for him, despite not knowing his name.

"hello, handsome."

jungkook didn't really have a preference when coming to his targets. he didn't prefer virgins; he always thought that they were inexperienced and didn't know how to give a good head. he didn't prefer the experienced either; he always thought that they knew too much and made the sex too sloppy. it was somewhere in between. and by the looks of it, you seemed like the perfect target. it had his insides churning, a long yearning for a good fuck. he thought he was going crazy.

throughout his centuries of living, he saw empires and clans of royalty fall and rebuild itself, being reborn. he didn't go out of his way to feel good, but he took whatever the universe offered to him. in this case, it was you.

when the surroundings suddenly changed to a much quieter one, where no one was bumping into each other, jungkook furrowed his eyebrows. it did not, however, take him long to notice that you were in the premises of your bedroom, the small plants on your windowsill being a huge clue.

“who are you?” you inquired, your voice scarcely audible. smirking, the man took a step forward. in contrast to his sparkling eyes, the moonlight from the window follows his body flawlessly, giving him a blue tone on his skin. you became aware of his exposed skin due to his lack of clothing. as you took in his powerful body, a flicker of longing tingled between your legs.

the man stayed deafeningly silent. instead, the man crept onto the bed, trailed by what appeared to be a shadow. you kept a tight eye on his every move because you couldn't move. you felt yourself spreading your legs wide as he crept over top of you. you had a tremendous want to feel him and be completely consumed by him.

despite being a demon, a sex demon (literally), jungkook still understood the morals of consent, making sure it was his top priority. after all, he wouldn't want it if he was in your position.

"are you okay with what's going to happen?" his words were like a captivating chime in your ears, quickly relaxing you and making you desire more. you found yourself placing our hands on his shoulders in order to feel his silky skin. how was it possible for a man to be both burning hot and icy cold at the same time? the dampness between your legs was unbearable, and you were drawn to him with all your might. your nipples perked beneath your shirt as you didn’t wear a bra to bed, you remembered. this made sense. something you remembered vividly. just a shirt and panties was all you wore to bed. clearly you must be dreaming, so you may as well indulge without regret.

"y-yes." you dropped your hands to grasp your shirt and pull it over your head to display your nakedness while looking into the man's eyes. with a hunger for your every move, he kept an eye on you. as he glanced over you, his throat vibrated with a palpable growl. you noticed he was completely hard as your gaze slid down your body with his. in a humble tone, you inquire, "is this real? this isn't a dream, is it?"

the man's grin makes your entire body twitch. you feel him quickly remove your underpants and fling it somewhere off the bed. you become acutely aware of the excitement between your legs as well as the heat emanating from his body. he lowers himself still more until he's right up against your door.

“would you prefer to be dreaming... or would you prefer to be here with me?” the man inquires, his tone innocent but with a sinister undertone.

when you reached for your thighs to give yourself some relief, there was nothing there. as your eyes scanned your surroundings, all you could feel was the chill of your own flesh. red. your vision was completely red. it was almost as if someone had brought in a red mood lamp and shone it throughout the room. it was entirely painted in a bright crimson color. your epidermis. the walls on all four directions. it was all red.

everything seemed hazy and perplexing, and you wondered where you were. you were in a new environment. some may even argue it was a living hell.

you sat up and wrapped yourself in the nearest blanket you could locate before standing up. warm wooden floorboards greeted your bare feet. “what?” kneeling down, you firmly pressed your hand on the wood once again to be sure you weren't hallucinating, but then again, what's to say you weren't hallucinating the whole thing?

'im not a lunatic... you thought to yourself as the warm sensation of the wood stretched across your palm. you straightened up and looked about your flat, trying to figure out what you could do about the red. you stood up straight and began to look around your apartment to see if there was anything you could do about the red. nibbling on your lower lip gently, you stood up straight and began to look around your apartment to see if there was anything you could do about the red.

the door to your bedroom squeaks open just as you were ready to turn on the light switch. the sound reverberated throughout the room with such eerie intensity that you were nearly persuaded your tv had turned back on and was showing yet another horror movie. then something happened. from your room, a man who could only be described as the devil strolled in as if he owned the place. you would be fascinated by this man's beauty if he hadn't just walked in like that. a scar runs from the left side of his jaw all the way down to his neck, giving him a strong jawline. his delicate yet sharp-looking features are caressed by soft wild hair, and his adorable small head is adorned with two pointy horns. it was the eyes, though, that drew your attention.

not the fact that he emerged from your room shirtless. nor the fact that he had claws and a commanding tail swishing back and forth. no, it was those soulless black eyes that were piercing right through you. your very being. you were in some type of trans as the mystery man - no, not man - thanks to those black coals. devil. That sounded more like it.

you couldn't take your gaze away, but as your feet shuffled you further away from this entity, they did all the thinking for you. it only appeared to encourage the beast to keep going before you pressed up against him and the wall. as you summoned the strength to speak up, your grip on the blanket trembled a little. “wh-what are you looking for?” your voice faded away quietly.

the devil had smirked at your frailty and little dread before running a clawed hand through your unkempt hair “i'm starving, my love.” before leaning in and drinking in your aroma, it spoke in the lowest, almost infantile voice. “won't you feed me nice and well, love? after all, you did want this to be real, right?” you weren't sure if it was the tone of his voice or the proximity, but you nodded in accord.

he grabbed your neck and ran his tongue across his lips before taking you into a harsh but passionate kiss. soft cherry red lips ravished your lips in a ravenous embrace while his hands roamed across your body, grasping and groping everything it could find.

a deep moan emerged from both of you as you felt the tightness of his jeans against your leg, causing a burning feeling. the burning of want burned through your skin everywhere he touched, everywhere he invaded with his mouth, hands, and body. it was almost a nasty, twisted euphoria that made your cunt clench around nothing in eagerness.

as the unnamed monster looked you up and down, an almost animalistic growl exited his throat as he took a deep inhale, you gasped for air. “love, you smell so fucking amazing for me.” he spoke in hushed tones through little pockets of air. “you're so delicious that i could devour you whole.”

the very thought of doing so appeared to amuse him, as he let out a brief but malicious laugh before narrowing his focus to the blanket still clinging to you.

with a scowl on his face, he clasped his larger hand around the one holding the blanket in place before yanking at it, only to have you keep it in place. the devil, with his head cocked to the side, gazed at you, perplexed, as if he didn't understand what you were doing.

“it's just that,” you murmured, tightening your jaw at the gaze those empty eyes gave you like a chill up your spine, "i feel comfortable like this...” you muttered the last bit, swallowing any spit you had.

but there was no justification or apology for him, so he raised his claw into the air and cut the blanket, ripping it open wide.

fear, as well as the lust racing through your veins, were clouding your judgment once more. the notion that his claws were so near to slicing you terrified you and turned you on like nothing you'd ever experienced. it gave a sense of how perilous it was to be so near to this creature, which was part of what made it so thrilling.

"baby, nothing is safe when i'm around."

those words, on the other hand, did it for you. you reached out to him as soon as you dropped the tattered blanket on the floor, exposing yourself to him. you drew him back into another intense kiss by wrapping your arms around him and springing up to wrap your legs around his waist. as he grasped your thighs to keep you in place, he was caught completely off guard by your sudden bravery.

each passing breath spent on one another battling for control, hips sliding up against each other as your damp panties rubbed up against his encaged dick, which was most definitely pressing painfully against the denim trousers he was wearing, made the kiss more hungry and animal-like. the cool contact of skin moving up against your back and down your underwear made you whimper.

despite his animalistic state, you always thought he was beautiful, a rare creature. "you're beautiful," you murmured, oblivious to the fact that you were saying it aloud. he laughed with his head tilted back. his neck was big and thick, but it was the raised markings that went all the way around it that caught your eye; they were woven together like chains, as if he had been choked with scorching metal.

the demon kissed you long and hard, barely pausing to breathe. His tongue was lengthy and had a split down the center. it was a novel experience that was strangely addictive. you became engrossed in the way it encircled your own. with his fangs, the monster simply paused to tug on your lower lip. as his hand moved down to your thigh, you let out a faint little groan.

he sang, “such a good girl,” as he drew you up into his arms. Jungkook snatched you up like feather. as you placed your legs around his tiny waist, his arms bulged. before he entered your room, he gave you a lengthy, scorching kiss. you had your arms around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair and scraping against the base of one of his horns as an experiment.

the devil looked down at you as you lay on your bed, his crimson eyes flashing in the dim light. only those eyes and the white-tipped base of his horns could be seen with the moon blearily seeping through your blinds. it felt as though the monster beneath your bed had arrived to devour you. slowly, he moved his hand up the wall, flicking on the light and bathing you both in a golden glow.

you eventually let your gaze drift away from his, focusing on his toned chest, tight waist, and muscular thighs. when you noticed the bulge yearning to be freed from his pants, you licked your lips. he finally went closer, his lips brushing against yours as he crept between your legs. his hands crept up to the band of your shorts, the heat of his palm scorching and heavy on your bare thighs.

he yanked your shorts down your hips and flung them behind him as he kissed you. he tore through your shirt even quicker, softly cursing as he saw your naked breasts. you yanked on his shirt, trying to get a better look at him and to touch every scrap of exposed flesh you could discover. he sat back and yanked his shirt off, displaying golden skin stained with crimson ink and muscular abs that rippled with each breath. you were so focused on his appearance that you almost missed the expression in his eye as he glanced down at you.

“fuck, you look like an angel,” he said, reaching down to rip your panties apart, only to shred them. your moist lips were exposed by the chilly air as you gasped. at the sight, he bit his lower lip and groaned. “very gentle and plaint." slowly, he ran his hands down your body, starting at the rib cage and working their way down to your thighs.

his fingers became hotter and hotter along the way, till they were on the verge of burning. until he came to your knees and quickly shoved your legs apart and up, crimson streaks remained on your skin. smirking at your hiss of pain, his palms pushed your thigh back till they touched your chest. “so ready to be used,” he states.

"please do."

“well, angel, since you asked so nicely,” he leaned very close to your cunt and licked a lengthy strip. his forked tongue slithered inside your slit, relishing in the lengthy groan that came out of your mouth. he swirled above the opening for a minute, then slipped just the tip of it inside when you finally relaxed against him.

jungkook gradually started penetrating your pussy with his tongue. the warm, slithery appendage that slithers in and out of you with increasing ease, flicking at your g-spot and making you whine in delight. you exhaled with relief when he licked up to your clit, only to scream when he clamped his mouth over the delicate nub and sucked hard enough for you to see stars.

moans and groans emitted from your lips and the demon could have sworn he had never heard anything prettier. his mouth salivates against your lips, only causing him to dip down near your entrance and trail his tongue back to your little nub. oh how sweet you were.

"my angel's already close to cumming?" there was no denying that. he had already noticed you were quickly approaching your high by the way you tugged on his locks and the way your moans became higher in pitch.

the demon took two of his long fingers and slipped them into your pussy, a squelching noise emitting from the action. you tugged so hard on your lips that it was plump and swollen, the irony blood almost spilling from them. he quickly started pumping his fingers and curling it, sending you seeing stars. he wanted you to get ready for the real deal (aka his cock).

"god, please fuck me, please please i'm so close to cumming but i wanna cum on your cock, please," if it weren't for you sounding so pretty and desperate for him, the demon would have prolonged the foreplay.

“there is no ‘god' here,” he hissed, sliding two fingers inside your pussy and sucking hard on your clit as you almost shouted in delight. his fingers curled within you quickly, drawing you closer to the brink. your fingers ran aimlessly through his hair, yanking it back to keep him near. you scratched on one of his horns with your nails.

it wasn't until another orgasm crashed upon you that the demon stopped.

you were spent; messy hair, hazy eyes, drool dripping down your chin and onto your neck and some parts of your chest.

as sly as a fox, you felt jungkook pressing his heavy length on your clit, the warmth and hardness of it evident in the way it pressed up against the little nub. jungkook evilly rutted against the bundle, sending sharp pleasures erupting from the mere action.

you thought he would stop at a few thrusts, however, jungkook had other plans in mind. those being seeing you completely helpless underneath him (not like you weren't before).

with one more came a push, your insides clenching and squeezing the head of his cock like a vice. jungkook stills above you; only the tip in and you're already this tight? he allows a shaky breath to reveal itself from his throat, the sound coming out a little more strangled and choked that he intended it to be.

you took him inch by glorious inch. the two of you reveled in the pleasure, drinking off of each other's moans and heat.

the rest of the night was spent in each other's arms. it wasn't romantic, but it sure as hell was full of pleasure.

[svnflowervol666]

hey! can you write one where harry invites y/n and his band mates out for drinks and they try to hand her a drink but she reveals she previously by saying like “you can’t drink when your pregnant” ...

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I combined this one with a request for where Harry constantly refers to Y/N as his “ex-girlfriend,” because they’re engaged now. ((Super cute. Super corny. Makes my heart mush. Anyway.)) Kinda short but still sweet. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Take care and TPWK.

“There she is!” 

His voice is drowned out by clanking glasses and the heavy bass of whatever rock song was playing through the shitty speakers in the corner of the room, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. Followed by his “greeting” were the shouts and howls of the rest of the bunch, most of them raising their glass in honor of her (late) arrival.

“My ex-girlfriend!”

Harry, despite his inebriated state, smiled widely and welcomed her as protectively as he always had in the past few weeks - relieving her person of any bags or extra weight, this time being her coat and purse which he hung on the brass hooks underneath the bar table, and inspecting her facial expression for any signs of discontent or worry. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when he kicked his “dad-mode,” tendencies into overdrive, but it certainly began on that rainy, Thursday night in their shared bathroom as they sat against the wall of the bathtub with four positive pregnancy tests in both of their hands.

“Really wish you’d stop calling me that, Har,” she sneered as he helped her shake her arms loose from her coat.

“One of these days you’re gonna cause a scene.”

“'S true, though,” the drunken boy giggled.

“You’re not m’ girlfriend anymore. You’re my fiance.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at his antics, intending to pull him in for a quick hug and kiss when her attention was drawn away from her curly-headed brunette and towards the man of the hour.

“Y/N!” 

“Hello, birthday boy,” her voice was mellow against the drunken slur that had started to take over her friend, Mitch’s.

“‘S not very nice of you to be late to my party,” he slurred as he pulled her in rather harshly for a bone-crushing hug.

“Sorry, got caught up with some work stuff,” Y/N managed to get out through a chuckle in between Mitch’s squeezing.

She saw Harry stiffen out of the corner of her eye, like he was torn between yelling something akin to, “Take it easy on her, mate. She’s pregnant for christ’s sake,” or letting the interaction play out. He knew he wasn’t allowed to do the former, as they’d agreed to wait until they could have all of their friends and family over at the same time to tell them the good great news, so Harry opted to let Mitch hug her extra tight despite his unrealistic, dramatic worries that he’d crush her fragile frame or hurt the baby in some way. She made sure to send a reassuring smile Harry’s way when Mitch let her go from his grasp.

Short and sweet was her greeting to Sarah, both of them opting to kiss one another on the cheek.

“Let me see it one more time,” her voice was quiet amongst the chatter of the bar, almost sounding like a whisper.

Y/N felt the heat climbing to her cheeks as she let Sarah take her hand in hers to examine the ring on her fourth finger. The band was gold and slim, adorned with a dainty yet sizeable single diamond in the very center. 

“So pretty,” she gushed, admiring the way the gem flittered, even in the dim, tungsten-glow of the bar.

Y/N muttered a quiet “thank you,” before making her away back to the other side of the table where Harry was waiting for her with an outstretched arm, yearning to get back to what they had been doing before Y/N had to make her rounds.

As he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, Y/N caught wind of the tequila on his breath. She tasted it too, when she pecked his lips quickly and - oh god, did she taste stout as well? Maybe she’d end up taking care of him later tonight when his head was stuck in the toilet, but that seemed plenty fair considering how often Harry had been doing the same exact thing for her here lately.

“Yeh alright? Had me all worried when ya said you’d be late,” Harry’s question was asked lowly so that only she could hear.

Harry had been with Mitch and Sarah all day celebrating, hence this was the first time he’d seen Y/N since this morning when he kissed her and sent her off to work.

Y/N nodded and smiled, though her face led Harry to believe differently.

“Got sick when I got home from the office. Just took me a little bit longer to get out the door,” she shrugged, insinuating that it wasn’t a big deal, but that she wasn’t feeling one hundred percent ready-to-party either.

“Baby,” Harry half-scolded her, feeling a good portion of his buzz leave his body when Y/N mentioned that she hadn’t felt well.

“Why didn’t yeh just tell me you were sick? Coulda came home and sat with you.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to ditch your best friend’s birthday dinner just because I was throwing up for the fifteenth time this week,” she was stern in her words and made it clear that she was fine.

“I’m alright. I promise.”

Harry’s jaw softened at her proclamation, the muscles in his torso easing up from their tense position.

“Oi! Will you two stop whispering and get drunk with me?!” Mitch shouted across the table, bursting the bubble that had temporarily surrounded the couple whilst they talked about their sweet little secret that they were dying to tell everyone about.

“You,” Mitch pointed his finger towards Y/N’s head.

“Shots. Now,” he gestured to the bartender making drinks on the opposite end of where their table was.

Both Y/N and Harry chuckled nervously, unsure of how to work around the fact that Y/N couldn’t drink without spilling the beans.

“Think I need to get some food in my stomach before I do that. Why don’t you take Harry,” Y/N urged Harry forward by his shoulder and prayed it would be enough to entertain the drunk boy.

“Fine,” Mitch glared.

“It’ll just make it hard for you to catch up later then!”

He grabbed Harry by the bicep and cleared through the crowd of people in order to get his liquor he was so keen about.

The conversation with Sarah was light, mostly about what all they’d done today and bets on if Mitch would end up needing to be babied for the rest of the night. Y/N successfully dodged Sarah’s questions about the wedding and how planning was going along, chalking it up to busy work schedules and failing to come to an agreement on a venue and date.

“Harry’s dead set on a summer wedding, but I’m fighting for a winter date,” she dismissed through a nervous chuckle when the reality was that they were unsure how to navigate planning a wedding around the arrival of their baby to make any more decisions.

It seemed like ages passed before the two men returned. Y/N was picking at the fries and sipping on the ginger ale Harry had ordered her before she’d gotten there but was interrupted when Harry and Mitch came barrelling back to the table.

He was drunk. Quite drunk. And Y/N knew that because his body felt even warmer and his eyes looked even hazier than before he’d left. She imagined they definitely had more than once shot at the bar, but she didn’t have much time to ponder that before she felt his hands snake around her waist and rest on her hips. She reciprocated his touch, looping her arms around his shoulders and laying her head against his chest.

“Love you,” Harry muttered into the soft spot between her jaw and ear, then his hands wormed their way under her shirt to rest on the underside of her tummy.

“Love you too,” he said again.

She could feel him smile against her skin as he cradled her almost non-existent baby bump from underneath her oversized sweater. Harry was the only one who saw her regularly enough to notice the minute changes her body had been going through. To everyone else, she still looked like plain, old Y/N.

“We love you more, but if you don’t stop canoodling me in the middle of this bar,” Y/N began, speaking light-heartedly and quietly in his ear, “Everyone’s going to find out and you won’t get to have that announcement party you’ve been planning for weeks now.”

Harry sighed, knowing she was right, and loosened his hold on her tummy and opting to sling an arm over her shoulder to at least keep her close instead.

“I know what you’re up to,” Mitch glared at the two of them from across the table.

This gained the attention of not only Y/N and Harry but Sarah as well. Everyone turned to look at Mitch, anticipating what he was going to say next.

“And what would that be, Mitchy?” Y/N toyed.

A pout formed on his face, arms quickly crossed his chest as he huffed.

“You’re trying to get out of here and leave me all alone on my birthday.”

“Guess I’m not even here then. I’m a hallucination,” Sarah baited with a roll of her eyes.

“We’re not trying t’ leave ya, mate. Promise,” Harry stuck his pinky out across the table as a gesture of sincerity.

“Are too.”

Mitch’s drunken rambles were beginning to sound quite childish now and became more amusing by the second.

“Are not, honey bun,” Y/N requited.

“Liars. Both of you.”

Mitch launched a bunched up straw wrapper in Harry’s direction that bounced off of his most prominent curl and landed somewhere near his feet.

“Where would we even go, hmm?” Harry taunted, resting his chin on the knuckles of his free hand that was leaned against the table.

“What could we possibly planned tha’ would be better than spending time with you lot on your birthday?”

They watched as Mitch’s remaining sobriety fought hard for an answer, but ultimately giving into his drunkness and murmuring, “Don’t know! Probably going off to screw each other or something!”

The table burst into laughter, and Y/N hid her face in Harry’s chest out of embarrassment. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me actually,” Sarah quipped before taking a huge sip of her cocktail.

“Look. Here’s the deal,” Mitch tried his best in his drunken stupor to be serious.

“Prove to me that you’re not gonna leave me and take another shot.”

“Fine,” Harry shrugged.

“Let’s go back t’ the bar then.”

He started to pull Mitch along but was stopped suddenly.

“No,” Mitch was quick to intervene.

“Y/N too. If you both drink, you can’t drive home and leave me,” he said proudly as if his idea was the smartest thing he’d ever come up with.

She knew it was only Mitch being sloppy drunk and acting like the idiot he always was, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel her palms begin to sweat. They couldn’t tell Mitch the real reason why she couldn’t drink with the group tonight, so she was quickly wracking her brain for another excuse now that she’d filled her belly with french fries since giving her last one.

But there was no need to think any further, as Harry stepped in for her.

“She can’t do tha’, mate. Now, c’mon. Let’s get some more tequila. Looks like Sarah needs another drink as well, hmm?”

Harry pinched his nose in annoyance. He was trying his hardest to keep this all under wraps, but Mitch was making it extremely difficult.

“Who are you? Her keeper? Telling her what she can and can’t do?” Mitch yelled.

“No, you nunce. She can’t drink because yeh can’t drink when you’re pregn-”

Fuck.

Harry clapped his hand over his mouth before he finished his sentence, but it was too late. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking when he said it. Wasn’t even sure if he was thinking at all, to be completely honest. He silently prayed that neither Mitch nor Sarah heard him, but he quickly realized that was untrue when they both stared between him and Y/N with wide eyes.

“Y/N L/N. Are you pregnant?” Sarah was the first to speak up.

Y/N felt like she was stuck in place, only able to look at Harry with a racing chest and her mouth agape. 

“I, um, I - yes?” It came out as more of a question due to her state of shock.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry. Holy shit,” Harry exclaimed as he went back to Y/N’s side to console her.

He was spiraling in fear that Y/N was angry with him, but it was mostly the alcohol making him think so.

“You’re having a baby?” Mitch’s voice was unusually quiet for how loudly he had been yelling just moments ago.

“Yeah. We are,” she was laughing nervously as she spoke.

“Sorry that Harry ruined the surprise. We wanted to have a big party and tell everyone at the same time, but I guess the cat’s out of the bag for you guys.”

She rubbed Harry’s back with her palm, a silent reassurance for Harry that she wasn’t upset with him. Mitch and Sarah, however, they couldn’t read.

Mitch said nothing, only leaving his position beside Sarah to go stand in between Y/N and Harry. He looked at them both with an expression that resembled both anger and confusion, which only added to their discomfort.

In a split second, he had his arms around both of them, hugging them tightly.

“Holy shit! This is the best birthday present ever. Uncle Mitch and Aunt Sarah. What the fuck?!” he was rambling now, beaming from ear to ear as he ran over to pull Sarah, who was also losing her shit, just in her own seat and not on top of Harry and Y/N, into the group hug.

Their eyes caught each other in the midst of the friend-sandwich they were being forced to be a part of. A smile and knowing look were exchanged between them and they knew, despite it not coming out in the most fashionable way, their precious little bub would be surrounded by people that loved them dearly.

[zodiyack]

Who’s Watching

Requested by @cai-neki​: May i ask a request; Youngest Shelby!reader one an angsty again, where someone's haunting the reader (she couldn't grasp if it's a past memory or person) ending up into various looks from her brothers thinking she may have a trauma but it turns out there is really someone following her around. Kinda long and messsy but yeah.

Pairing: Shelby & Gray Family + Shelby!Female!Reader

Warnings: Stalkers, swearing, my horrible reference in the title, angst

Words: 1,642

Summary: (See Request)

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @peakysputain​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @cai-neki​, @simonsbluee​, @marquelapage​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @thewarriorprincessxo​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Her chest heaved with uneven breaths as she slammed the front door shut behind her, back pressed against it. Her brothers walked in to see what the noise was about, surprised to see their sister’s disheveled body blocking the door.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Arthur exclaimed first. He eyed her with wide curious eyes, not all that sure whether he should be mad at her or getting revenge for her.

“S- some- someone-” She couldn’t form a full word with how heavy she was breathing, gasping for air as she rested her hands on her knees.

“Someone what? Did they follow you?” Tommy moved to the windows, looking around before drawing the blinds. “Are you alright?”

“W-wat-wah-”

“Water. Get her some water, Finn!” Arthur yelled before turning back to his sister. “Nod or shake your head. Are you alright?”

She shrugged.

“Do you need help?”

Again, she shrugged.

“Did they want to kill you?”

She shrugged once again, this time taking the water as Finn passed the glass to her.

“Can you stop fucking shrugging?”

A few gulps of water later, the cold liquid soothing her dry throat, she spoke up. Her breathing was still off, but she was recovering. “Someone was following me. I don’t know if they’re trying to kill me or if they followed me home, I just know that I did the thing you taught me-”

“What thing?” Finn furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Tommy. He told me that if I got a bad feeling about someone walking in the same direction as me, to turn a couple times, walk in directions off-route. This person followed me even then. As soon as I realized that, I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t even take the time to look back.”

“Good girl.” Every head in the room turned to Pol, who leaned against the door-frame of the family room. She slowly walked forward, moving her niece aside to look around outside the door before shutting it and locking it. Tommy gave her a questioning glance, to which she replied, “all clear at the front door.”

“Alright. Finn, go check the back, Arthur, can you patrol the house? If one of the doors were unlocked, they could have gotten in while we were talking.”

“Yep.”

The three waited in the main room for over an hour. Tommy and Polly took turns comforting Y/n as they waited for the boys to return. When Finn and Arthur did indeed return, Tommy was suddenly more doubtful than Y/n expected. Finn confirmed that all the doors were locked, Arthur reporting no one but themselves in the home.

Thomas turned toward his sister. “Are you sure someone was following you? Did you forget a turn and assume they were?”

“What?” Y/n’s face morphed into an expression of disbelief, hurt that her brother would question her. She was horrified, looking as if she’d seen a ghost, when she ran inside. The entire time she was running, her body felt uneasy, like she would faint had she stopped for even a second. It felt like her stomach had dropped.

“Are you one-hundred percent serious?”

“Yes- well- I-” It was ironic. She’d looked like she’d seen a ghost and for a split second, she thought it was a ghost. Had she been hallucinating? No, the chase felt too real. Whether it be a person or something from long ago, she knew it was after her. “I don’t know if they were human but-”

“You don’t know if they were human?” Arthur cackled. “Tommy, she thinks a mummy ran after her!”

“I never said that!”

“Was it a werewolf? Was he going to eat you? Gobble you up?” Arthur continued to poke fun. Only Thomas, Polly, and Y/n remained straight-faced. Polly noticed Y/n tearing up, the genuine hurt in her eyes saying that whatever it was, she was still terrified for her life.

“Arthur. Stop.” Although he continued to chortle, Finn’s laughter faded as he made eye-contact with his aunt. “Arthur.”

Finn nudged Arthur harshly. He stopped laughing and turned to Pol. “Yeah?”

“Stop teasing your sister right this damn moment or I’ll find whatever was chasing her and let it have you instead. She was beyond terrified. Look at her!” Polly snapped. “Can’t you see she thought she was literally going to die?!”

As the arguing went on, Y/n sighed and headed to her room. Her aunt was a great save, but that didn’t mean she believed her either. Only defending her due to catching how mortified she was. The embarrassment gifted to herself by a simple overthinking thought. ‘What if I was only imagining things...’ her brothers made her second guess herself.

The night went on, lights turning off, Shelbys and Grays lying in their beds, until everyone in the home was fast asleep. The windows and doors were locked, blinds drawn, and home quiet. The creaking of the wood, however, was new. It sounded like someone was stirring, but no one was awake to hear it.

Screaming awoke the members of the Shelby home. John had just returned, Ada as well, and had a head start to their sister’s room. She had sat up so quick it felt like she should’ve gotten whiplash. When the other four got to Y/n’s room, Ada was sitting on the bed beside Y/n, holding her close to her, and John was sitting on the edge of the bed, shooting her a sympathetic look.

“Did you see them again?” Finn inquired. Arthur slapped him up the back of the head, earning a glare from his little brother. “I’m being serious!” He whisper yelled at Arthur, only to be ignored.

“See who?” Ada looked at her family with widened eyes of confusion. She turned to her sister then back to her brothers and aunt. “What happened?”

“Ada. I’ll um...tell you in the study, okay?” Polly mumbled softly. Ada nodded and rose from the bed, hugging Y/n reassuringly before walking to her aunt. Both women stopped in their tracks as Y/n’s voice sounded again.

“I had a nightmare. The same person. They were in...here. My room. They opened my door and began to walk over to my bed. I couldn’t move. I was terrified. I thought it was all over, but another door opened and the person ran away. I screamed when I could, but for some reason, it was delayed.” She didn’t even take a break to breath or rethink details. It was like she was reliving it even at that very moment.

Tommy looked concerned. He whispered something to Pol before gathering his brothers and the other two females. They left the room, Tommy closing the door behind him, and left Y/n by herself to meet in the study.

“She’s got some kinda flashbacks or something like that.” Finn commented.

“We went to war, she...well, whatever happened, it wasn’t as bad as war. I doubt it’s some kind of thing she’d seen. Perhaps it’s her imagination again.” Arthur grunted in response.

The three older brothers had dealt with PTSD before, the effects similar to Y/n’s awakening, but Arthur didn’t believe she was hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. The man wanted his little sister to be safe, and knowing he couldn’t keep her so would hurt him more than the war did.

“I say it’s a trauma.”

“What kind?” Ada was quick to question Thomas, as per usual. “Injury related or event caused?”

“Either. If she hit her head, perhaps walked into something on the way home, or if she saw something she didn’t want to see...”

Unbeknownst to the family in the study, Y/n was on the other side of the doors. She pushed them open with a furry. “I’m not traumatized. Nothing that happened is from my imagination or some injury! This person is real and no matter what you do or say, they won’t stop.” She stormed out just as quickly as she stormed in, leaving her family to dwell in her warning.

She hadn’t left the home all day. It concerned the family, but they understood. No one had spoken a word to her since she’d made her point. When it was time to sleep again, Ada and Pol were the only ones to bid her goodnight, the boys cowardly, even more so when it came to admitting it.

The creaking occurred again. Y/n was awake this time, wide awake. The dream felt just as real as her escape had. Last night, she’d fallen asleep, given the person an advantage. Not tonight, she swore, not tonight.

Footsteps grew louder as they neared her door, the small squeak of the door opening causing Y/n to clench her eyes shut. Cold air followed the stranger; Y/n thought to herself, the person must have opened a window...but they were all locked, were they not?

She couldn’t be certain.

They stood over her bed, hesitating for whatever reason. Y/n had her own advantage this time. She wasn’t in sleep paralysis, she wasn’t incapable of showing the stalker what Shelbys learn since birth. Right as they reached for her, the mirror next to the wall by her bed positioned so she could see them, she slid under their squatted legs and darted out her bedroom door.

Behind her was not her concern as she ran for a specific room. Their footsteps thundered loudly, yet not loud enough to wake the rest of the family. Hot on her trail, they aggressively swung for her, but her distance was just far enough that they couldn’t reach her fully.

Reaching the room, she grabbed the first gun in sight, turning and firing. A few seconds later, steps padded throughout the house and stopped at the door. There they saw their little sister with a gun, standing over the person who’d been stalking her, wounded but not dead.

“Told you.”

[its-sixxers]

A Sweet Embrace

VTMtober Day 2 Prompt. The life - and death - of Casimir Savatier.

At twenty, in the year 1755, Casimir Savatier had drank his fill of the world and found it wanting.

Since he’d been torn from his mother’s skirts he’d sailed the sea - seen the Isles, the Mediterranean, the northern shores of Africa. The secret places of each he had seen, too, places as withdrawn as he, as unassuming. Casimir laid his hands on relics ancient and occult, and they had given him riches in turn. The ire of the Church was a small price to pay, for he was captain of his own ship and his own destiny. They did not call him corbeau for nothing, for he flew wherever the wind carried him.

Knowledge, coin, success, women - he had it all, but as he stumbled out of Calais’ premier brothel drunk on wine and pleasure the night air felt like a slap in the face. Another night, another dance, the same routine every time his feet alighted on land. A distraction from the knowledge that washed over him in the cool night air. Something was missing, and for a man whose greatest talent was finding that which was hidden he found himself unable to discover it.

He stumbled down the cobblestone streets to the harbor, sea air filling his lungs. The moon was full, waters placid, reflecting her in all her glory - and somewhere at port lay his ship, his quarters, his home. All was silent, dockworkers long since retired to their beds, and Casimir was eager to do the same until a clear high note broke through the darkness.

The sound was beautiful enough to make him stumble. A woman’s voice - an angel’s - singing a hymn of a lost soul welcomed to Paradise. Casimir whirled about, trying to seek out the cause of the sound, still tasting wine on his breath, but the song seemed to surround him, to run through the air and fill his lungs.

In his drunken haze he returned to his quarters and passed out upon his bed, the voice singing him to his rest. When he awoke the next morning even the worst hangover of his life could not erase it from his memory. A drunken hallucination, he told himself, but when he set sail and watched the port fade into the distance he found himself singing the same hymn under his breath.

It was months before he returned to Calais again, a relic from an obsidian temple in an island off the coast of Portugal in hand. It thrummed with energy, its buyers met under cover of darkness on the pebbled beach below the docks, and when Casimir walked into a tavern to begin his usual dance of shore leave anew a business contact warned him that the Church had blades seeking his throat. It was best to leave until he’d faded from memory, and a plan was drawn for a delivery to the New World. It would be years before his return - but the New World was a place Casimir hadn’t yet seen, and perhaps it would hold the key to the void in his chest.

When he made his journey from tavern to brothel, deep within his cups, there was no moon in the sky, darkness complete. Turning down a narrow alley, he kept his hand on the grip of his flintlock and used the other to guide himself through the inky night.

Again, a woman’s voice cut through the night air singing a hymn - Casimir wondered if he’d hallucinated it, but it carried on - a whisper, and this time he could pinpoint its origin. Behind him.

He turned around, trying to seek out a form in the gloom. “Who are you?” he barked into the darkness.

The song stopped, then, gentle as summer rain; “A friend.”

Casimir barked laughter. “I have no friends. Merely business partners.”

“I know.” she answered softly. “You walk these streets alone. Your company is bought. You are lost, drifting like foam on the sea.”

He swayed on the spot - the voice was like a caress on his skin, and he walked forward with arm outstretched, seeking out the woman who spoke to him thus - who saw him thus.

“Please.” she murmured. “If you saw me you would not understand, would not see the truth in what I say. I beg of you - stop on this path you follow. What you seek is not in the bottom of a cup or coin purse.”

An angel, he thought to himself - be not afraid, they said, when speaking with mortal man. “What do I seek?”

“Purpose.” she answered. “Purpose beyond that of fetching trinkets for evil men and the idle rich. You seek something greater - to be part of a whole, to see something planted by your hands grow.”

Casimir stood still in the dark, eyes wide. “What must I do?”

“That is for you to decide.” Something skittered in the alley, then; “I must go.”

“Wait -” he cast his hand out into the darkness, reaching for her. “- please. Are you angel, or woman? If you are of flesh, I would…” he trailed off, unable to voice his heart’s desire.

“I am neither.” she whispered, pained - and then the air seemed to shift imperceptibly. In that moment he knew he was alone in the dark once more.

--

The next evening he hammered on the door of every alehouse, every brothel, seeking out the woman who he had spoken with - Casimir had something he wished to find, and for all the coin and power he had he would find her.

Each establishment either laughed him out or gave a sad admission that they knew not of who he spoke - so desperate was he that he even walked through the doors of the Église Notre-Dame, raving about his angel. The priests treated him more gently than others - they knew not who he was - but they believed he’d received a warning, to save himself before his spirit was damned for eternity.

The Lord did nothing for his mother, sweetest being he ever knew, and so Casimir embraced damnation - but death now that he knew there was an answer to the hollowness he felt was unbearable. He had only a few weeks before he departed to the New World, and his angel would be lost to him forever.

Each night he wandered the harbor, singing the same hymn - desperate to lure her out, to even hear her voice once more. On the seventh night he changed tactics, singing a love song - and on the seventh night, she answered him.

It wasn’t on the docks. Casimir laid in his bed in his galley, the windows thrown open to let the fresh air and moonlight in. Sleep had nearly claimed him, when he heard her voice.

“Who do you sing to?”

Casimir bolted upright, then recalled her previous words - to rush to the window would frighten her. “You.”

“I am not what you seek.”

“Yet I can’t get you out of my mind.” he replied. “You… you said I was lost. I have no one. I thought I needed no one, but you… you’ve seen me. Please - if you are no spirit, I would speak with you.”

“Speak?” It shocked the woman, he could hear it in her voice - and then it softened, quieted, as if trying to make sure none would overhear. “... you are content to merely speak?”

“Yes.” he breathed, a smile breaking out over his face. “I know not who you are, what you are, but I would hear what you have to say regardless. You’re different from anything.”

“You are a man who makes deals.” The woman said, cautiously. “I will make you a deal. I will tell you whatever you ask of me, so long as you never see me or ask how I appear or what I am. And… you tell me what I ask of you.”

“Done.” It was the easiest deal of his life. “Then I would ask you this, first - what is your name?”

A pause, then, as if it was foreign to her lips; “Elaine.”

--

Every night they spoke, he in his quarters and she somewhere near the window - he wondered if she lingered on the deck above, and marvelled at how she’d snuck aboard. They spoke of all things - she adored tales of his travels, and he listened to her knowledge of history. How a woman was so learned was beyond his understanding, but Elaine was a creature beyond anything he knew. Sometimes they exchanged songs - she knew mostly hymns, or melodies so old the language itself wasn’t quite the one he knew. He fast learned that bawdy songs would make her quiet or displeased, but sea shanties were beloved - sometimes he swore he could hear her weep when he sang of the sun glimmering on the waves, of the deep blue expanse, water and sky.

Once he laid flowers he’d gathered in the day at his windowsill, and awoke to find them gone.

Casimir no longer wanted to flee to the New World - he wanted to stay, to brave whatever accusations of heresy the Church would throw at him, if only to have another night to speak with her. His crew noted his lack of sleep, the dark circles around his eyes, and some murmured he’d become enraptured with some siren.

Yet sirens led men to their doom. Elaine gave him life.

Time marched on, and the days before his departure grew short. One night he couldn’t keep himself from weeping, and he could hear longing in her voice when she spoke.

“You are to leave soon.”

“Yes.” he answered thickly, wiping at his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll return. It may be years.” Then, a thought. “Come with me.”

A long pause. “I cannot.”

Casimir walked to the window, gripping the sill in his hands. “Please.” he begged. “I can’t go back to a life without this. I know so little about you - I want to be able to fill pages upon pages. You speak of a desire to see what I’ve seen - we can both see the New World together. Perhaps… perhaps we can each find what we’re looking for.”

“I know what I desire.” she murmured in reply - from her voice he knew she, too, was weeping. “To resist is a test of my faith. I cannot, Casimir, I cannot, not without damning us both.”

“To hell with damnation. Life is damnation, if I continue it as I have.” Casimir extended his hand out of the window. “Please, Elaine.”

Another long pause, then, “Close your eyes.”

Casimir did as commanded, then felt something cold and leathery slip into his palm. He shuddered, the breeze suddenly carrying with it the stench of rot. Instinct screamed at him to run, to flee. Still, he kept his eyes squeezed shut - if this was a test, he would pass it.

“This is all I can give you.” Elaine spoke, voice quivering - he was aware of something metal being pressed into his hand. “Hold it and remember me - hold it and remember purpose. Do not speak so lightly of damnation, love - treasure your soul as I do.”

The leathery feeling disappeared, and Casimir opened his eyes to see a silver cross on a chain in his palm. Gingerly he drew his hand to his chest, staring down at it in the light - it was old, centuries old, and he wondered how Elaine had found such a thing.

“I will remember.” he promised to the night. “I will return, for you.”

“Until we meet again.”

“Goodbye, my love.”

He found blood on the deck in the morning.

--

Months on the sea - Casimir cared not for it. Where once the voyage would make his heart soar, now he could only stare at the cross that now hung around his neck, could only tilt it and see how it caught the sunlight.

They came to the New World at night, the lights of the colonies twinkling on the horizon, and to his despair Casimir found it much the same as the Old World. The same buildings, if simpler, the same people, if rougher. Two years, and he could return. He watched his ship disappear on the edge of the sky, and hoped his business partner would not betray him.

He took to trapping and hunting, finding relief only in the wilds - woods thick and dark, untouched by man, ancient beyond his comprehension. They reminded him of her - everything did. A doe caught in a sunbeam, locking her gaze with his before darting away. A rabbit by a stream, standing on hind legs and sniffing the air. Winter snows blanketing the harbor, the world soft and quiet.

In his cabin he was alone, far from aid should anything happen to him, but Casimir felt no fear. He read books on books, trying to seek knowledge of what Elaine had spoken of - each trip into civilization had him carting back more. French history dating back centuries, the world his was built on top of, and between the lines he could see hints of something greater. Perhaps his isolation was driving him mad, seeking connections were there were none, but with each new moon when the night was blackest he felt a glimmer of the purpose Elaine had spoken of.

Two winters passed, and come spring he cut his hair, shaved his beard, and returned to the harbor. His ship awaited him.

Sickness took the ship on the journey back, another member of the crew dying with each turn of the moon. Casimir hardly dared leave his quarters for fear of catching whatever plagued his crew, clutching Elaine’s cross to his breast and repeating his promise. He would return. He’d found his purpose.

It was dawn when they reached Calais once more, blankets and clothing taken out for burning. Casimir begrudgingly set foot on the harbor, though he desired nothing more than to stay in his quarters until nightfall, until Elaine would find him again. Instead he roamed the city streets, all of the anxious energy of months at sea leaving him unable to rest.

By nightfall he’d made it to the Église Notre-Dame, his right hand resting on Elaine’s cross. Staring up at the cathedral, he knew it belonged to the age of which Elaine so often spoke - and he sang out into the night. The stars shone bright above him, and he realized he’d been too drunk to ever marvel at the beauty of the city - to ever appreciate the wonder of standing alone bearing witness to creation.

Footsteps sounded behind him - he turned, thinking it Elaine come to reveal herself to him at last, but he recalled too late that Elaine was ever silent. Instead he saw a single figure in a dark coat - a man, his face masked by the wide brim of his hat.

Too late, Casimir saw him draw a flintlock from beneath his coat - and he fired.

The sound split the air. Casimir stumbled back as if he’d been struck by an ox - his shirt had gone red, scorched from where the bullet had entered just to the left of Elaine’s cross. He fell to his knees, legs suddenly unable to support him.

Somewhere far away, he heard a scream.

The man lowered his smoking flintlock and approached. “Your business partner fears the wrath of God. He has repented, and paid the price for his own part in this.”

“Elaine.” Casimir choked out, looking up at the stars above, willing them to intervene on his behalf. A cloud passed overhead, blocking out the moonlight. The color was fading from the world, and he could smell rot on the air.

“An accomplice?” His attacker questioned. “If you tell me where to find her, I’ll end it quic-”

Casimir saw a blur in his periphery - a shadow that reminded him of a dancer with ribbons. It collided with his attacker while the man was mid-sentence, and Casimir heard only a choked noise before the sound of tearing meat and blood spilling across the pavement drowned out all else.

The cloud above passed by, and though the edges of his vision had begun to blur Casimir saw clearly what had taken place. His attacker lay torn in two on the pavement, blood and organs sprayed across it, steaming in the cool air. Above stood a woman in a ruined nun’s habit, her arms wrapped in bandages - like ribbons - and as she ran to him he realized her arms were too long, hands like claws.

“Casimir.” she choked out, and he realized his Elaine was a corpse.

Yet she was his Elaine - and the leathery hands that drew his own toward her made his heart ache.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled, tongue thick in his mouth.

“No.” Elaine replied, gaze fixed on the wound in his chest - her face was blurring before him, but he could make out her eyes - glowing white and pure as diamond in the dark, edged with panic. “You… you shouldn’t have come back.”

“I had to.” Casimir answered - his hands were going numb, cold as hers, and he gritted his teeth. “Couldn’t die there. Can’t… can’t die now.”

Elaine was trembling, gaze shifting between him and his wounds. “Do not ask this of me. I will damn us both.”

He smiled at her, then - she was no angel, no woman, she’d told him no lie. Whatever she was, he was certain god’s light had abandoned them both. “You said… you said that when I asked you to come with me. Why?”

“My kind cannot dwell among yours. We are cursed, to live forever, hideous - oh, love, I never wanted you to see me like this -”

Casimir pulled a hand away from her - she shuddered and closed her eyes until he placed it at her cheek. It was leathery as her hands, part of it torn open, but he could feel the blood on his palm and that was enough. “Elaine.” he croaked. “If damnation will let me live -”

“It is no life.” she whispered. “You will never see the sun again. You will never sail the sea. You will be a monster.”

“You aren’t a monster.” he murmured, hand dropping from her face. Casimir slumped forward, the cold in his limbs spreading, body growing heavier. “A life, with you…”

The air left his lungs, and he found himself unable to take in more. Elaine remained kneeling in front of him as he collapsed against her, head buried in the crook of her shoulder. The tremble in her body kept him on the edge of consciousness long enough to feel her gently pull his hair away from his neck.

“Just a Kiss, love.” she murmured into his ear, before placing her lips to his throat.

At twenty-three, in the year 1758, Casimir had drank his fill of life and found it wanting.

At the lips of his angel, he found purpose in death.

[rsgguk]

true love, almost always — jjk

↳ aka — 'cause baby you're perfect for me

summary: y/n didn't know much about her soulmate. She knows that he's artistic from the little doodles that appears on her arm. She knows he's athletic from the scrapes that appears on her knees. She also knows that he has pain in the ass friends from the random dick drawings that appears on her forehead

genre: romance, angst, comedy, fluff

word count: 5.8 k

pairings:

Jungkook + reader | soulmates

warnings: so let me tell you, this is probably gonna be a bit inconsistent, I had written most of this during the middle of the night when I had a severe case of the feels. Now this isn't my usual style of writing, most things are in passive form because I'm trying to focus more on how they feel. I’m not sure if I’ll ever go back to this writing style but I had fun generally not worrying on the dialogue.

Y/n didn't know much about her soulmate. In a system where everything marked on your soulmates skin crosses on yours, she knows from the seemingly many doodles that appears on the plan of her hand that he is an artistic person. She knows from the way her knees would appear scraped at times meant that he was either athletic or desperately clumsy. She knows that by the scar that daunted on her cheek that he got in a ’fight’ with his brother. She also knows from the random dick drawings that appear on her forehead that he has the most chaotic of friends.

Jungkook would like to say he knew a lot about his soulmate. He knows by the way tiny little hearts would appear near his doodles that she wasn't the most artsy person in the world, but she could draw a damn to near perfect heart. He knows by the way that small little freckles would gloss over his skin that she was an outgoing person. He knows by the way that shallow cuts would appear on his arms and fingers that she had an asshole cat. He also knows that by the way tiny reminders would appear on his palm that she had a knack for forgetting things (he also knows that her handwriting might be the cutest thing he'd ever seen, but he may be a little biased).

They're sober to the fact that the other exist by the time they're 11. Jungkook was bored in class and started drawing little clouds, trees, the sun with shades on, the whole package on his arm. And then on the expanse of his palm would appear in large curvy letters, 'can you draw a cat?'.

He thinks back to the day and guesses that he didn't really understand the extremity of the situation back then. Everyone had a soulmate, but it was the first time he'd actually 'talked' to his.

He didn't gasp or scream or shed a tear, only complying with her request and drawing a cute little cat next the tree trunk. He'd think he was hallucinating about the request until he watched as a ribbon was drawn and coloured in the middle of the cat's head.

The next week, he would have a fight with his brother that had ended in him getting a cut on his cheek. He doesn’t worry about it, only locking himself in his room and sulking in his sheets. It’s when a few words appeared on his palm that he finally sat up with a smile on his lips. She would write down if he was okay because a cut had appeared on her cheek.

‘I’m sorry’ he’d write.

‘it’s okay my daddy said I look cool’ she would reply, and his cheeks would flush because his mom had always said that a woman’s face was her pride. Jungkook had never understood it back then, because if he could be covered in dirt after a fun game of soccer, and still be called adorable, why should it matter what a girl’s face looked like?

She’d ask what happened and Jungkook would bite down an embarrassed whine. ’My brother said I played with the computer too much so I threw a pen at him’.

‘did you win?’ She’d ask a second later.

’No it hit the floor and bounced to my face’.

‘and then he laughed at me’

‘your brother sounds stupid’

‘he is stupid’

They didn't talk more than that, they were still young and the whole soulmates thing hadn't made sense yet. Jungkook still drew his doodles on his arm and she'd add little details (mostly hearts) around them, a tiny reminder that she was there.

It was barely considered a means of communication but it had morphed into a sense of comfort for Jungkook. He draws the little doodles, sometimes it was of a cat (He would never admit it but he'd learn how to draw a cat because he knew she liked cats). And each time without fail, she'd draw a tiny ribbon on its head.

And then Jungkook entered high-school and he met his friends. His stupid, chaotic, love them to death friends and his soul mate was still there, drawing little heart across his skin. The boys say its cheesy (as cheesy as it is to the fact that she's literally his soul mate) but he really hadn't given a shit.

He'd considered himself a romantic throughout the years, although he's gotten not a single bit of experience, he cries at the ending of titanic every single time and his ideal way of proposal is during the sunset walking across the shoreline of the beach, nightlights littered in the scenery and him on one knee, asking to marry his one and only soulmate.

He tries his best to keep up a mature kind of facade for his soul mate. Afterall, that was what they were into right? Older and more mature men. Sure, they'd like bad boys too, but honestly Jungkook bruises like a peach. His act of maturity consists of drawing thing with 'deeper meaning'. And yes, maybe a cat surfing on the beach tides has a deeper meaning, you never know.

His act is ruined when one day, he falls asleep during lunch after a long night of overwatch (in which he dominated by the way) and wakes up to Taehyung snickering beside him, looking at him with the largest shit eating grin he’d ever seen. Jungkook would shake his head and roll his eyes, dismissing whatever it was that he did.

Later during class, everyone kept giving him weird looks, and his teacher even laughed at the sight of him. It wasn’t until multiple frowney faces appeared on his arm that he really realized that something was wrong. His heart skipped a beat when he answered back with question marks written along her doodles.

‘there’s a dick drawing on my forehead :(’ she’d rely with the same curvy letters he’d gotten used to. And then there was a sound that had left his mouth. A mix between an angry scream and a surprised gasp with a little bit of an embarrassed groan. He’d then realize he was still in the middle of class and that every one of his classmates were staring at him.

His teacher would give him some sort of look between annoyed and amused, and finally asks ’so you finally realized huh?’. Jungkook would splutter on his words and immediately turn towards Jimin and Taehyung. It was barely a second before Jimin had shook his head and pointed at Taehyung. He would finally lift his hand off his mouth and bursts out laughing for a minute or two before outright choking, tears in his eyes.

That day, Jungkook along with Taehyung and (for some reason) Jimin would be sent to the discipline teacher. Jungkook wouldn’t give a shit about being sent to devil’s incarnate, only silently punching Taehyung’s shoulder and cussing it out at him for making him look like a fool to his soulmate.

When he’s home (after a lecture from his mom, a pat on the back from his dad and a high five from his brother), he locks himself in his bedroom and takes a pen from his bag, writing apologies all over his arm. She’d reply a minute later, saying it was okay.

His fingers would then drum along his arm, his leg jumping up and down, trying to figure out what else to say to her. He’d get up the courage and ask her what was her name. She’d respond with y/n and he’d have a smile riding up his lips, saying her name again and again, realizing that he loved how it felt to say her name.

Then the two of them would keep talking to each other, Jungkook constantly rolling up his sleeve to make some room for more words. They would spend the whole night getting to know each other and filling up a whole decade of silence. When they had run out of room to write, she would go on and ask for his number so they could text instead, and Jungkook would get up to his feet, jumping up and down on his heels. He wouldn’t waste a second to write down his number on the little space he had left.

The next day, he had woken up with an especially good mood. An extra jump on each of his step, a large grin on his face as if he hadn’t gotten into trouble for having a dick drawn on his forehead just the day before. Taehyung would expect a more than pissed of Jungkook, maybe a little bit of pettiness in the mix, but Jungkook shows nothing but adoration for him, even going as far as to buy him the apple juice he knows he loves from the convenience store nearby.

Texting her falls so easily in his routine. One second, he’s hesitant to text her, afraid to show her just how much of a dumbass he could be, another second, he’s called her the fifth time in a day because he swears a baby just gave him a nasty look. They connect quickly. She finds out the reason she suddenly gets eye bags after a full night’s sleep with because her idiot soulmate had spent the whole night screaming at wario for cheating at Mario kart.

Taehyung says it’s sickening to see just how lovey dovey Jungkook was (Jimin says it’s nice to see him so in love, but they both knew he secretly hated it too). The way his eyes light up at the sight of her name appearing on his screen.

He gets in trouble more nowadays though, teachers having caught him talking to his soulmate on his arm, and the most embarrassing time they read out his not-so-failed attempts of flirting off his arm to the whole class. Let’s just say he’d gotten teased for the life of him when it reached his brother’s ears (though he supposes his brother isn’t any better when he would literally be a make shift carpet if his soulmate asked for it). The Jeon boys treat their women like proper queens and won’t settle for anything less.

The first time they video call, Jungkook has fixed his hair for the hundredths time, a comfortable (and new that he bought just for this occasion) sweatshirt hung loosely on his shoulders. She’d asked if it was okay if they could do a video call the day before and Jungkook being as whipped as he was, of course agreed with her, only regretting not to be the one who asked first.

He’s so tense that when his phone starts ringing, he nearly chucks it off to the wall. He forces himself to calm down before setting it up on the table and pressing the green button after taking a deep breath. He looks at the screen and watches as her face appears. His heart almost bursts, because he’s thought of this moment a million times. He’d expect her to be something like a glowing figure, that she’d resemble a star and that her voice would sound like a serenading angel.

She’s nothing like he’d expect. She’s not glowing like an angel. Her camera has bad lighting and he could see a few strands of her hair sticking out. When she says hello, it isn’t like an angel, her voice isn’t smooth, a little raspy. But she still manages to surpass all his expectations, and he realizes she’s so much better than he’d ever imagined. His heart beats faster and faster because she’s only said one word, and Jungkook is already falling for her. She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect for him.

It’s going well, very well. There’s a way that she makes him feel, a way that just brightens up his day, and when they have their video calls and she laughs at one of those lame jokes that he’d gotten from one of his friends, her voice just soothes him, lets him relax into his seat and just watch as her eyes crinkle in joy.

 It starts to become a routine, the video calls are weekly but the texting is daily. Whenever he’s nervous about an upcoming exam, he calls her and just listens to her talk about her day, lets her voice fill his ear and calm his nerves. And then she would get off track and asks why is it that he had called her and he’d brush it off, he called to hear her voice, but he won’t say that because it’s too cheesy and he has a reputation to keep.

It’s during one of his classes that he feels it, a gut wrenching feeling deep in his stomach that has him groaning. It’s a different type of pain, nothing like nausea or a muscle cramp, because he’d always considered himself as a person with a great pain tolerance, but at that moment, he had just felt like curling in a ball and crying. Jimin and Taehyung would take him to the clinic immediately, and he’d just have tears rolling down his cheeks, and he’s sniffling and making these weird choking sounds when he tries to smother down his sobs.

He stays there for a while, the curtains draped closed with Jimin and Taehyung just rubbing his back soothingly. He tries to calm down, but every so and then, a sob bubbles up to his chest and a new wave of tear roll down his cheeks. It stays like that for an hour and the pain in his stomach travels up to his chest. His right arm starts to ache and dizziness starts to seep in his head. He falls asleep in the clinic bed, his whimpers slowing down and his eyes drooping heavily.

When he’s back at home, he doesn’t try to talk to his parents. They’d come visit now and then, giving a few hugs and pats on the back. His brother would come by when Jungkook had calmed down a bit, ruffling his hair and saying ‘it’s going to be okay’. But that’s the thing, there isn’t an ‘it’ to be okay. For all he knew, ‘it’ was all okay, everything was going okay in class, but then there was this rush of emotion that came over him and he’d just double over in pain. There was this burning sensation in his gut, something that hadn’t been building but more of an eruption. And then it would slowly cascade to his chest, and then he’d start crying and crying, choking on his sobs.

He’s in his sheets, listening to the sounds of pans clanging from the downstairs kitchen. His mom was cooking dinner, but he doubted that he’d go down to have some himself. The sound of the washing machine clashing against itself. That old thing was always just waiting to give out. The sound of the TV running from the living room. There was always some sort of game his dad would be watching, cheering on for teams he’d never even heard of. These are all sounds he’d never realized he’d taken comfort into. Such meaningless things that were just always there, a consistency that had always reassured him in some way.

He’d just lays there, listening to his own heartbeat. For the first time in hours, he feels relaxed and his breath relax into a steady pace. His eyes almost drift to sleep, because It's been a long day and Jungkook feels exhausted, but then there’s this loud blaring noise that breaks the silence. He knows what it is, someone had gone up and called him again. It would be the sixth call he’d get from his friends.

Only it turns out that it wasn’t his friends, it wasn’t Jimin, nor Taehyung or even Yoongi. It was her, and it terrified him because he’d always smile at the sight of her name, but there was this raw and intense feeling that had him wanting to decline the call. It terrified him because she’s his soulmate and supposedly the ’love of his life’ but he had wanted nothing more than to hang up the call. And it just stays like that, him wallowing in the fact as his phone had stopped ringing, and then a few seconds pass and her name appears again. His arm would suddenly feel heavy at the weight of the phone in his hand. Slowly, he would finally tap on the green button.

Her voice hits him like a wave. Jungkook doesn’t even have the chance to say anything when her voice starts filling his ears. Her voice is raspy and broken, there’s sniffling and whimpering as she rushes through her words. ’I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ she whispers in uneven breathes, and he would have stopped her, to comfort her and ask her why she was crying and that ’it’ was going to be okay. But then there is this sudden realization that hits him that ’it’ wasn’t going to be okay, and he probably wasn’t going to be okay. So, he just sits there as new tears roll down his cheeks.

When she finally speaks, everything just dawns on him. He felt like he was dying because his soulmate had kissed someone, he felt like dying because his soulmate had kissed someone that wasn’t him, he felt like dying because his soulmate’s first kiss wasn’t him, and will never be him. And then all of her other words just go straight through his other ear. He doesn’t hear it when she says that she didn’t want it, or when she says that she didn’t know it was going to happen until it happened, or when she says that she also felt the pain, the suffocating and unrelenting pain, that she also felt like she was dying.

He hears it when she says she loves him.

Jungkook has always one for cheesy romances and tear-jerking speeches. He imagines their first exchanges of ‘I love you’ to be at night, with a sea of stars sunken in the night sky because that was where they would have their first kiss. She would have his jacket that was a little too big for her on her shoulders because the night was breezy and his mom raised him to be a gentle man. Her hands would be in his because she always has cold hands and he always has warm hands.

He would talk about the ‘old times’ like when he had drawn those little cats for her or when he’d waken up to many frowney faces along his arm because his friends yet again drew dicks on his forehead (he should really get some proper sleep). And then he’d try to coax a few tears out of her and end it off with ’I love you’, and because this was Jungkook’s imagination of how things would go, she would also say I love you, and they’d kiss in the night sky.

Jungkook then realizes that nothing he’d imagined will ever go as planned, that they will never have a first kiss, because she’d already had hers with some random asshole, and that they’d never have their first ‘I love you’, because she had already said it through the phone while they were both out of breath and sobbing every drop of tear from their bodies.

He doesn’t realize it, but when he’d finally gotten out of his phase, the call had already ended and his cheeks had become tear stained and his sobs had calmed down to weak whimpers. He realizes that he’d just hung up on her after she’d said she loved him, and he just panics, because she’s going to think he doesn't love her and he should immediately call her and tell her that he loves her, because he does, he loves her like he’d never loved anyone before.

He’d started talking to her in his sophomore years and he was now a senior, and she'd been there in every step of the way. But he just doesn't, he doesn’t tell her he loves her, he doesn’t call her, because he doesn’t trust himself if he does. And she doesn’t call back either.

There are a few times when Jungkook forgets that y/n is his soulmate. He doesn’t know what he’d expect when he doesn’t talk to her in a week. It starts off small. He catches himself dozing off, looking into the distance and zoning out. His friends would ask him if he was okay and he’d reply with ’I’m fine’, even though he knew he wasn't, and that he knew they wouldn’t believe him anyway, because who the hell would be fine yet walk into the classroom with puffy and bloodshot eyes.

And then when class goes on like normal, he’s moving his leg up and down, fingers drumming along the desk, because he swears class had never been this long before. He realizes later that class had always gone on so fast because y/n was always there for him to talk to. He looks back at it as if it had happened years ago, as if he hadn’t talked to her in decades.

The truth is that they haven’t talked in no less than three days, yet he’s been missing her as if he’d gone days without a limb. A piece of him feels missing, torn apart from him and left out to dry. It’s a weird feeling, a suffocating feeling that has him yearning for her, that has him filling his mind with nothing but her. He supposes that was the thing with soulmates, when they were together, it had felt like he was he was over the moon, as if nothing could ever go wrong in his life, but when they were apart, it felt like he was missing a part of himself.

She would nag at him whenever he was bombarding her with doodles on his arm, waiting for her attention so she could drag him from his boredom of class. She’d say ‘you have class’ and he’d say ’I also have a soulmate, and I’d rather pay attention to her’. His friends would tease for it, for flirting and dancing around with her as if it was a game of push and pull, as if she wasn’t his soulmate.

That’s the thing that terrifies him, because as far as he had ever known, having a soulmate was the best feeling in the world. It’s all rainbows and roses, because it had meant that there will always be that one person that just gets you, that just loves you unconditionally for all your flaws and perfections, all your quirks and mishaps. That one person that will always be there for every step of the way. He yearns that, the comfort of knowing there was someone the universe had picked just for him, the missing piece to his puzzle.

And then he meets her, and he realizes just how perfect she is for him.

And then the whole fiasco happens and he realizes just how much it would hurt if he didn’t get his happy ending, because he knows it wasn’t uncommon for soulmates not to work out, usually from the intensity of their emotions for each other.

Having a soulmate had also meant other things. It meant that when you were together, you’d feel the happiest you’d ever be, but if you weren’t, you’d dread every second of your life. You’d feel pain, you’d feel nauseous, you’d feel your body start to crumble. Having a soulmate was almost like a drug, something so addicting that your body starts to dysfunction when you go a day without.

Jungkook still feels it sometimes, when he’s managed to get her out of his mind. There was this sudden jolt of pain that shoot up his chest, causing him to lose focus. And then all he can think about is her, her, her. He wonders if she feels it too, if she misses him too, if she thinks of him too. He realizes how stupid he is, because his phone is right there in front him, and he could end all of this with just one button.

Truth is he’d stopped mulling over the whole kiss thing a while ago, and that he should’ve called her a long time ago, but he was scared, scared of his own emotions, scared of how much he loved her, scared that this whole thing is going to destroy to him.

He wants to talk about this with someone, to anyone, but then it dawns on him that the only person he really wants to talk to about this was his soulmate, and that she was the only person he should be talking to about this. So, he picks up his phone and presses on the name he’d been missing for what felt like decades now.

She answers after no less than a few seconds. She speaks after a second’s hesitation, and her voice is filled with the sort of hope, as if she has done something wrong. Jungkook cuts her off when she starts on her little ramble (a habit he’d learn she had over the years) and apologizes, two words that hits her as hard as a brick. ‘I’m sorry’ he’d say again, and again and again. He says it until he can hear her start crying on the other end of the call. He knows she’s crying in a way that she’s trying to hide it from him, but he’d still hear her weak sniffles and whimpers.

It breaks his heart because he knows he never should’ve hung up on her that day, that he should’ve said that it was never her fault that ‘it’ happened, that he never thought of ‘it’ as her fault, that he was sorry ‘it’ had to happened in the first place

There’s a lot of things he realizes that he should have told her, so he doesn’t give her the time to say anything before he gets everything off his chest. He tells her everything. He tells her that he had never been upset with her, that he was upset with what happened to her. He tells her that he’s scared, no— terrified of how strong his feeling are for her, that the pain he felt that day was never what he’d ever experienced before. He tells her how much he had missed her during his period of stupidity when he decided not to talk to her, that he’d thought of her every second of the day.

And she just swallows in everything he tells her, listening to every word he says without a single interruption. And then they talk, talk, and talk until they shed more tears, because they’d never realized it, but they had always needed this. It’s a bit like clearing the air, speaking up about every and any hesitations they’d have.

They talk until their voices go dry and their eyes droop heavily. It isn’t until then that Jungkook realizes he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in days. Sleeping had always come easy to him, but during the past few days, he would lay down in his bed and just had this queasy and tense feeling.

When they’re nearing the end of the conversation, he knows there’s this one thing he hadn’t said yet, and he knows she’d been waiting for it too, those three simple words that had meant everything to them. He wants to say it, but there’s this one nerve in his stomach that causes his throat to close up when he tries to.

She finally ends the call after hours and hours of talking about their feeling and what they’d miss. Jungkook would again take out his pen, and write the words he’d meant to say in the palm of his hand. I love you.

Jimin shares a look with Taehyung when Jungkook comes to class the next day (he’s always late and it’s definitely not because of his poor excuse of a sleeping schedule), and the next thing he knows, they’re just screaming and hollering before running towards him. Jungkook swears he’s never felt more scared than he was at that moment, with the sight of his two best friends sprinting as if they were about to run them over like the untimely death of Mufasa.

And then they just hug him, stuff him with pats on the back and intense noogies. Jungkook just stands there, accepting it with the most confused expression ever. They go on about how glad they are that he got over whatever it was that had set him in such a sour and glum mood the past week and it puzzles him because he doesn’t remember being that much of a debbie downer.

They prove him otherwise by listing all the reasons he was such a pain to hang out with, because he’d somehow turned into a dictionary of depressing jokes and emo quotes. They end up finishing each other’s sentences, locking eyes when they say the same words and giving each other a bunch of high fives (Jungkook sometimes feels sorry for whoever their soulmates are, because the two of them are so in sync that they were already each other’s soulmate).

They’re interrupted when the teacher finally enters the class and tells everyone (specifically the two of them) to take a seat. They turn to Jungkook one final time and give him a pat in the back because they’re genuinely happy that the kid had no longer seemed so miserable.

Jungkook hadn’t thought hearing ‘I love you’ would change much for him. He’d heard it a dozen times from his parents (never from his brother, but let’s be honest, that’s to be expected) an amount more than you’d expect from Jimin and Taehyung (although Taehyung would say it more to annoy him and it works every single time), three times from Namjoon (which makes him grin more than it should) and once from Yoongi (now that one he wears like a golden medal).

Hearing it from his soulmate hits him in a totally different way. The conversation they had led them to get more comfortable in their relationships, this time acknowledging each other in a more romantic way. The way she says ‘I love you’ during insignificant moments like during a goodnight text or his after his daily ramble on how his friends are a pain in the ass sends him in a sort of high. It makes him giggle and flush and swoon all in the same time. It makes him feel things in a way he never knew he could.

Jungkook would learn that he shouldn’t plan things out as much as he used to, lets himself enjoy the moment for a while. Takes one step at a time, and this time he’s not as terrified to his wits anymore. It turns out when he's not worrying about all of his 'plans', time happens to move so fast.

When he finally sees her, she's got her back turned towards him, she hasn't noticed yet.

Jungkook takes a moment to take it all in. Sparks don’t fly, his hands don’t sweat and his breathing doesn’t pace. There is no nausea or nervousness that bubbles up in his stomach. When he sees her, his heart starts beating faster, but it beats in a way that you see something familiar after a long time, there is this sort of comfortable feeling. There’s a moment of complete peacefulness and serenity when he sees her. He’d never felt more at home.

When she sees him, her knees almost buckle, because he’s there. The boy, the dumbass, her soulmate that she’d been talking to for years now is finally there, and he’s waiting for her, looking for her. Her eyes almost well up in tears and she hates it because she swore to herself, she’d done cried enough times in their relationship, she doesn’t need to add another one to it.

She cries anyways, and she guesses she doesn’t hate it that much after all. Jungkook had managed to overturn all her expectations of their relationship that she’s not surprised that he pulls this either. She’s always known that her forgetfulness would bite her in the ass one day and she guesses she can’t be mad when this happens.

‘4:30 java time café pick up’ and right below on her palm is his handwriting, the handwriting she’s grown to adore and look forward to all these years, is written ’I found you’.

[whump-town]

Lie to Me

Guess who's back on their shit?

Another cancer fic for you because there's something very weird about me that stays drawn to the idea of secretly being sick

Anyways

Warnings: well... cancer

Pairings: none? yet.

Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner has a certain reputation around the office. The BAU’s ghost, walking around in his leather dress shoes and fancy suits without so much as a groan from the old, torn tile beneath his feet or the muffled swish of the material of his slacks. You never know he’s there until he wants you to and by then it’s always too late. By luck of his poor hearing or his natural affinity for silence, nothing admitted in his silent presence ever graces his lips for a repeat. The secrets all die with him. He’s as loyal as a dog -- in ways that lead to natural gravitation. The reason why Penelope Garcia beams at him every time their paths cross, why she so eagerly rushes to match his pace. To just walk beside him and talk his ear off even though she knows her answers will come in the form of soft hums and furrowed brows. In other ways, it’s killed him. Left him to live the life of a lame dog, dragging his dying body away from them. Hoping to spare them the agony of his death.

Some things that people say about SSA Hotchner are true. He really does move like a ghost and it’s a thing of great mystery and annoyance. It’s cost Emily Prentiss numerous mugs but perhaps the flash of his smug crooked grin makes that worth the shattered cup at their feet (she wouldn’t agree with that statement). He’s made Derek Morgan nearly jump out of his skin, whirling around to attack whatever snuck up on him only to find Hotch frowning back at him. If asked, David Rossi will blame Hotch for 79% of the grey hairs on his head because he hadn’t even begun to go grey until he met Hotch.

He’s really not as scary as people make him out to be.

Penelope Garcia wishes everyone knew that. She wishes cadets looked at Hotch the way that they look at Derek and Spencer. As awe-inspiring giants, they crane their necks to look up to. Instead, they lower their eyes away from him. Whispering to one another about the rumors and the things that they have been told. They regard him as a lesson -- someone to measure their existence against. To know when to get out of the job. To know when they can no longer turn back.

He’d saved her when it seemed no one else in the world really looked at her. She’d watched him take her homemade pink stationary in his hands, held it delicately as he looked over what menial ideas she could think of. He’d looked at her kindly, not at all like the snobby FBI brat she assumed him to be, and shaken her hand, “Thank you, Miss Garcia.” For the months following her career change, he’d been too kind. Brought her lunch to her desk because she was too anxious to leave her office. Gave her advice about where to park and how to miss Strauss in the hallways.

As important as his approval is to her, his well-being is more important. So, no, she doesn’t turn away when she sees him on Saturday in the emergency room. He’s sleeping off a cocktail they’d given him, turns out it’s rather hard to place a catheter near the heart when it’s beating erratically. His anxiety had nearly caused him to be sick and so he’d agreed, finally, to let them give him something to calm him down. Which is where Garcia finds him, left arm cradled to his chest, too long limbs hanging off the stretcher, and breathing slow and steady through the oxygen canal under his nose. A precaution, that’s all, given the sedatives they’d doped him up with.

“Sir?”

The fingers in his left-hand twitch, flexing towards his palm and he grunts softly at the pain that the movement causes. Slowly, breathing hitching and his eyes fluttering open, he wakes up. He’d heard, vacantly, the hesitant “sir” from the end of the bed but he assumed it was a nurse. As his eyes rise up to search the room he’s surprised, entirely so that he thinks he’s hallucinating, to find Penelope.

“Are you okay?”

He’s still piecing together the last few hours but nods. Cracking open his dry lips he swallows thickly, trying to work his voice around the tightness in his throat. Dehydrated and still disoriented he reaches for the cup of water left for him but at the current angle that he’s laying at, he can’t get it. He clears his throat, sniffling, “can you, ugh--” He’s still looking at the cup, dazed to the point he can’t think of the words he means to say. Tired eyes look back at her, pleading silently that she understands.

Penelope nods, moving forward instinctively. She doesn’t look at him, at his dark blood dried to his arm. His hospital gown stopping just at the clear protective barrier between her and the port placed on the inside of his arm. “Here,” she whispers. She needs to be closer so he doesn’t have to stretch but can’t bring herself to be close. Not within his reach. Not so close that she can see the dark rings of sleepless nights carved under his eyes. Far enough away that the tremble in his hand is easily overlooked. So that he doesn’t seem as weak and frail as his voice sounds.

He sips the water, knows from too many mistakes not to drink too much just yet. “Why are you here?” He nearly sounds like himself, dark brows furrowed and voice taken its steady, deep rhythm back.

She looks over her shoulder, past the curtain pulled around them for the sake of privacy. “I, uhm, volunteer for a support group that meets every Saturday here at the hospital.” She points to the front desk, to a woman with curly hair pulled back in two ponytails. “I came downstairs to say hi to Mac and I saw you and I just…” Suddenly, realizes how she shouldn’t be here. That if he wanted comfort he’d have told them, or someone.

Wait. Stop.

That doesn’t matter. Hotch doesn’t know what’s good for him. Everyone knows that. So she made the right decision to come over here.

“You’re not driving yourself home, right?”

In her silent contemplation, he’d began to fall asleep again. The cup in his hand dangerously tipped and eyes held open by slow, deepening blinks.

“Hotch?” She touches his hand, flinching away at just how cold his skin is.

He cracks his eyes back open, cracks of soft brown iris finding her slowly. He hums, mouth cracked open.

“Will you let me take you home?”

Home. He hums again, vaguely aware of her warm hand coming to rest over his. Moving his stiff fingers away from the cup, taking it from him so he doesn’t spill it over himself.

It’s meticulous work, keeping him awake. Even harder making sure he gets dressed but once he’s sitting up he’s much more alert, grumpy now for being duped into asking her for help. She’d offered it but that means nothing to him. He’s no less thrilled to find his brain too foggy and arm too weak to work his arm through his sweater. She still smiles when his head pops through, hair a crazy mess on his head.

She packs him carefully into her car, a boxy little thing he’d frowned at when she bought it. He’d been the reason behind Morgan and Reid both coming to her office with statistics and fear about the safety of it but she’d loved it. He’s a worrier, prone to stewing and her car had taken up a lot of his energy for the first year she owned it. Now he’s being packed into the green monstrosity, senses assaulted by incense. Everything’s sparkly and he ends up sitting with a teddy bear in his lap, a troll in his hand. He’d taken their rightful place as her passenger.

His legs do not fit no matter how far back he moves his seat back and Penelope feels awful that he looks so uncomfortable but also finds it to be humorous. His knees to his ears, dark scary Agent Hotchner holding a stuffed bear to his chest, head resting against the window. It’s sweet.

It’s fairly easy to figure what his thought process today when she pulls up to his house and no one’s home. Jack’s camping, she learns. He’s dozed off again, prone and more willing to whisper half-truths. Will be away for the whole weekend until Tuesday morning. Jessica is getting her nails and hair done, he’d made the appointment just to make sure she really did it. The haircut should have ended just in time that he could call her and ask if she’d pick him up from the hospital. Where he thought he would have already artfully hidden the PICC line under his sweater and played the affair off as a routine sort of deal. A check-up.

“Sir…” she’s standing now, awkwardly, in his living room. The curtains are drawn back the way he likes, closing off the sun. He’s tucked under his heating blanket, trying to remain awake for the sake of the fact that it’s rude to fall asleep while entertaining guests. Yet, failing miserably. “Sir, I was just wondering… Is everything okay?”

“I’m--” the truth nearly slips right out. He clears his throat, managing to sit up just enough to catch her eyes. “Don’t worry about me, Garcia. Jessica will be around in an hour.” He holds his left hand closed, trying to stop his cramped fingers from twitching. “Dave and Emily are coming by for dinner. I’ll be okay.”

It’s completely unethical.

It’s so unprofessional.

But she can’t help herself.

Her eyes prick with tears when Emily shakes her head in the kitchenette, the sound of Hotch’s wet coughs breaking through his closed office door. “He needs to get that checked out,” she sighs, hiding her bleeding worry with annoyance. “Sounds awful.” And Penelope stands there with Hotch’s secret tongue-tied.

He’s getting worse and fast.

She gets a call from Derek, seething anger laced into his words. “He fucking-- He fucking just-- .” She knows it’s really just fear. Can hear him walking, his rapid pacing as he tries to outwalk his expanse of emotions. “He -- He shouldn’t be in the field. I mean, it’s like he didn’t even see it coming. He was just…” She remains steady. Wipes the tears that slip past her eyelashes with the back of her hand. Derek cries, on the ground with his knees to his chest, and he tells her what happened. How Hotch was paying attention to him and if he hadn’t been then maybe…

She greets them at the elevator, feels her smile attempt to waver when Hotch’s tired eyes raise from the ground. The bruise along his cheek a deep agonizing yellow, the wound on his temple still weeping angrily through the bandage. He can’t fly until his concussion is healed, longer if his tinnitus doesn’t get better. “It’ll be fun having you home,” she assures him, giving his fingers an extra squeeze.

Luck, it seems, has never seemed to favor Aaron Hotchner’s particular brand of bold.

Working at the District Attorney’s had been a morally fulfilling job. In theory, he could rest assured, each night, that he was doing what he could to help people. He was putting the real bad guys behind the bars. Even as his dreams filled with the images of the victims who had to wait for months, and even years, to get their proper justice. In reality, he slept poorly and rarely. Unable to properly maintain his workload without impossibly long hours. With time he found his work to be unfulfilling. He was doing nothing to stop crime from happening and sinking further into the realization that was failing more people than he could ever begin to help.

In court, he was ruthless. Haley didn’t like the man he became in the courtroom. Ruthless and harsh, he appeared evil and terrifying with his hawk-like eyes and infallible ability to pinpoint weaknesses in his opposers. Around the office, they nicknamed his alter-ego “Hot-head Hotchner” because the Aaron that gets flushed ordering lunch couldn’t possibly be the same man who made a man wet himself on the stand. Haley couldn’t agree more.

Hot-head Hotchner got him offered a job in corporate law, several firms were throwing big numbers at him to encourage that lasered focus to be on their side. Lest they find themselves opposing it. Morally, he could never go into corporate law but the offer to spend hours bending law into something pliable and poking holes in judicial wordings was compelling. It would be complex, rewarding work with a big pay-out. Better than the shitty salary he made at the D.A.’s office. Before he could make the compromise he met David Rossi and he never got his chance to bend the law to his will, he held his moral ground and instead changed career paths.

It was bold leaving what he knew he was good at for something new entirely.

A costly decision.

He never got to fulfill his secret desire to mold the law but bending the truth wasn’t a far cry from the same thing. Lying has never been something he felt comfortable with and that had no exceptions. He hadn’t wanted to tell the team Emily had died but that had far less to do with his morals and so much more to do with a picture much bigger than himself. The hell he knew that would rain down upon them in the weeks to come. The inability of the team to cope. Intuitively something holding them back and what they could only assume was a stage of grief.

To Emily Prentiss, he has never lied. Stretched versions of the truth he maintains to not be the same thing as a lie. If they count then his answer would be different but the eye of the beholder adds context. And as the holder of this context, he resolutes the power to declare them very different.

“New girlfriend?”

He’s breathing through a bought of nausea attempting to take him off his feet. The cold countertop biting into the skin of his wrist, his palm pressed flat to the surface so that he doesn’t grip the edge. So that his pale bloodless knuckles holding onto dear life do not betray the severity of which he fears he might get sick or pass out.

His phone is on the counter, turned upside down so that he doesn’t have to see the screen light up with every new text that comes through. The high-pitched “ding” of each new message is lost to the tinnitus he’s been succumbing to now for the better part of the week. No amount of coffee or Tylenol has helped.

Raising his gaze makes the pounding in his head worse but he has to meet Emily’s questioning gaze. They’ve started to notice his “off” behavior. His inability to stand for long amounts of time without physical drain. His decision to stay home on the last several cases, working here with Garcia rather than joining them in the field. The way he relies on Morgan’s lead more than he used to, falling silent and allowing the other man to make decisions. He suspects they just assume he’s looking into retiring or that he’s struggling to kick his “chest cold”, he doesn’t bother correcting them.

“No,” he manages, swallowing around the heaviness of his tongue. The way his mouth seems full of salival added pangs to his stomach as he knows he’s going to be sick. “It’s Jessica.” She’s angry with him and for good reason, though he doesn’t offer an explanation as to why.

Emily hums, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head. “What’d you did you do to piss her off?” In other circumstances, he might assume she’s attempting to pry. She’s just here for another cup of coffee, offering him a way to release some of his stress. No hard feelings if he suggests she fuck off and willing to lend an ear if he wants to talk. She’s not holding her breath but she hopes he comes undone. That he admits to some awful conspiracy and that this whole time they’ve been in some twisted social experiment to see how unified they actually are. That he isn’t as sick as he looks. That he’s just in a low spot and in a month he’ll be putting the weight back on and Derek will be telling them all about training for another marathon. How Reid could do more pushups than Hotch.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispers. He tries to step away from the counter. Feels the temperature in the room drops several degrees, his skin broken out in goosebumps. “I think to sit down,” he says frantically, knows now he needs to sit before he passes out.

Emily grabs his arm, tries to help him up. To get him to the chair that’s right there, so close.

“Hotch?” Derek jogs into the kitchen, he’d seen from afar and come running. “Emily, what’s wrong?”

Emily helps him to the ground, hand holding the back of his neck as his body starts sinking faster, beyond his control. She sits down on the ground beside him, eyes scanning across his body to find a feasible answer. Below her, Hotch’s breathing has gone rapid and shallow. His eyes rolled back into his head, neck-craning as he unconsciously fights to get air into his lungs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know. He just-- He was just--” Hotch wheezes, an awful sound. He chokes, blood coming to paint his lips. To coat his teeth.

“Hotch?” Derek moves to his side, picking up Hotch’s shoulder to move him onto his side. “Hotch, answer me!”

His only reply is a wet gurgle, a blood-coated wheeze.

[frukmerunning]

So you have any angst Itapan HCS ?

not really, i think they would be genuinely happy together. i have done some pretty sad au’s tho.

like we all know my cardverse au where they both end up dying and they’re pretty awful people solely for the sake of being together

me and a friend did a harry potter au where italy was basically like the voldemort character. what ended up happening was that italy knew he was developing feelings for japan and he didn’t want that to get in the way of his plans so he kills him. and then the characters that were the golden trio end up using that against him. it wasn’t really a 1-1 harry potter au, more so just the universe. but man that au was fucked up.

and of course there’s the obligatory “ludwig is madly in love with feliciano who is oblivious because he’s so into kiku”. i think my favorite one ive done with that is this horror au i have. it’s set in the 80s as all good horror movies are.

kiku and feliciano are long-time friends, kiku is a writer who is having a hard time finding inspiration. feli has just inherited his grandfathers estate in the country, so he invites kiku to spend the summer with him. kiku agrees since he thinks the country will help his imagination (and he’s also never one to miss out on spending time with his dear friend). ludwig is the handyman who lives on the estate. he’s new so he hasn’t met feliciano yet. once feli and kiku arrive they all become fast friends, but ludwig is drawn to feliciano.

unbeknownst to kiku, for the last few months feliciano has been having very disturbing dreams and experiencing what he thinks are wild hallucinations. he keeps seeing his childhood friend, Franz, in his dreams and behind him in windows and mirrors (classic horror movie things). He and Franz played together near his grandfathers estate when they were children, until one day feli went to their meeting place, a small pond, and found franz dead in the water. he was rightfully traumatized but he thinks the hallucinations are just that. feli hopes that some time in the country with his best friend will clear his head and get rid of his weird dreams. however, once he arrives, his situation only gets worse.

firstly, ludwig bears a striking resemblance to franz, and it freaks feliciano out. he tries to be cordial and friendly, but he can’t get the resemblance out of his mind. what makes it worse is that ludwig is captivated by him, and makes excuses to be near feliciano or follow him around. kiku doesn’t really notice ludwigs behavior, but he does recognize that there’s something wrong with his friend. there are several instances where feliciano gets startled and drops plates or cups. he’ll stand there shaking for a moment, before laughing off kiku’s concerns and cleaning up his mess.

one night feliciano awakens from a terrible dream, screaming. kiku is by his bedside because the screaming has been going on for a while, and when feliciano wakes up he practically collapses into his arms and starts crying. ludwig shows up because he heard commotion and feliciano screams at him to leave. he does, but kiku is concerned about this. feliciano won’t tell him why he yelled at ludwig, but he asks kiku to stay the night with him. of course kiku does, and the next day is awkward for everyone. feliciano feels bad for how he acted and so he takes initiative to be kinder to ludwig. this only makes ludwig fall more in love with him though and NOW feliciano starts to notice it. he plays oblivious though and hopes that he’ll get over it eventually.

later in the summer, after a particularly bad episode at night, feliciano wanders outside to get some fresh air. his grandfathers estate has a lake, so he goes to sit on the dock. ludwig appears (which is sus cause it’s like 4 am) and feliciano tries his best not to freak out on him, and remain calm. it’s hard to talk to someone who looks like your dead best friend that’s haunting your every waking moment, though. ludwig ends up confessing his feelings for feliciano and feli absolutely loses it. like “why do you think that i would ever love someone like you”. feliciano storms into the woods to get away from ludwig and he sits alone in a clearing. he starts to hallucinate, but is suddenly snapped out of it by kiku. kiku had dreamed that feliciano was in that spot calling for him, and when he woke up he followed his gut and walked into the woods to find him. feliciano is shaken but relieved, and he kisses kiku. ludwig sees this and is very upset…

and that’s all i wrote on that! i never figured out the ending and it all kinda ends there. if anyone has any ideas you’re free to hit me up. i know kiku is going to help feliciano figure out that he’s not hallucinating and his dreams and stuff are real, but idk after that. and idk how ludwig is gonna handle this rejection. probably well bc he’s a champ, but that’s also kinda boring

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Top five fanfics?

Oh fuck (gets shot)

Well, I shot myself in the foot with that one.

Keep in mind, these are in no particular order, and I'm a bit of a pleb when it comes to reading fanfic. I just tend to like what's popular or stuff written by my friends.

I need to give Height Treason by @wholesomeklei a huge shout-out.

I'm not sure if this fic will ever be continued or not. Last I heard of Klei, they had a cancer scare (it wasn't) updated a chapter about Sizz-lorr and then vanished from the internet entirely. I hope they're taking a much needed break from online stuff and nothing bad happened to them.

But anyways, I can not thank Height Treason enough for existing. It gells with the humor of canon so seemlessly it feels like I'm watching an "Invader Zim after dark" show. Yes, even despite the not safe for work canon.

I love the lore they weave and I'm always a fan of "zim finds out the truth of his mission and schmoops and gets revenge on the Irken empire" stories. Also Pining Zim has my whole heart.

And it even paints side characters with much love.

Membrane tries his best and sucks at parenting and it inspired me greatly for how I write and came to understand Membrane as a character.

Miss Bitters is a delight. Sargent Slabrankle gets a cameo. Tak's ship has an existential crisis. Gosshloog gets an entire chapter about a spicy love afair with his boss. Zim's Computer is his usual sassy self and has ackward conversations with a frustrated teenage Dib.

Like the love for the side characters is amazing.

Height Treason was the fanfic that inspired me to write an entire fanfiction based on Computer Brain lore.

The lore is amazing, it's in character and this fic inspired me SO MUCH and is the reason that Tech Support (and the Brainbrane fic by extension) even exists.

I've probably reread this fic over twenty times.

However, I can't link the fic here, since it's VERY nsfw. As in, explicit sex scenes later. (The chapter where zim learns sex education is great)

So I can't link it, but it's easily searchable on A03.

If you're of age, and don't mind nsfw I highly recommend it.

Honesty Hour by @patchworkpoltergeist is one of those new fandom classics.

Like I don't even know how describe this fic.

Honesty Hour chills me to the core and has me looking at my ceiling for hours on end questioning my own existence.

Like it's Zim gets therapy, but in a psychological horror way.

Patch is a master wordsmith and just has a way of describing things. Everything is in the details.

I just love how Zim thinks and that half the time I don't know what's going on as much as Zim does. Which is honestly more scary then I think.

There's lots of details that I miss and usually after talking about the chapter with Patch or the Moo-ping10 gang, I realize "oh fuck that's what happened?! The hell"

Anyways. I fear and look forward to every update.

But I honestly have to run a mental health check before I even attempt to read the chapters.

Emotions, Cryptids and the possible end of the world series by @bamsara

I feel Bamsara does onto theirself and I don't need to sing her fics praises but I will.

I am a bit behind on my reading, cause I haven't read the latest chapter of Galaxy Days yet.

But I love the casual yet feral friendship Dib and Zim have built throughout this series.

There's just a constant yearning throughout the whole thing, and the two boys are at the center of it all. Like the feeling of a real long road trip with no destination in mind. That's often what these series of fics feel like. There's an underlying tenderness and longing but also something dark and sinister. A lot of moments stay in my head for days after the fact. Not just the cryptids of the fic, but the smaller moments. Zim and Dib having breakfast in France as the sun rises, Dib crying his eyes out in a dingy motel room near the beach, Zim breaking into Dib's hospital room in the dark, Dib attacking Zim in a fit of insomnia hallucinations....

The list goes on.

There's plenty of good moments, and I've even drawn Zim giving Dib space (cause that's the fucking gayest romantic thing and I still lie in bed thinking about it)

Also Dib constantly running into Death's arms and Zim often doing fisticuffs with her and both getting stupid trauma over stupid decisions is very good.

I feel a lot of Sara's soul in these fics and it shows. Especially with how Dib is written and I can tell this is an extremely personal project with passion behind it and I can't help but admire that.

Every star another sun series by @dionysuscrysis

I really love this series. The end.

Okay, unfair.

But Dion's series really needs more views and appreciation.

I like how it just skips over the "zim and dib become friends somehow....realizes mission is fake..yadda yadda" part of the story and just jumps right into the thick of it.

Space Adventures! Wooooo!!!!

A giant sandworm, a Battle Zoo!!! An alien spa, badass good guy Skoodge, and mad max style sci-fi racing.

And I'm glad that Dib is already in his early twenties here. And Dib is just so smart with machines and not a complete lost duck in space. He's sharp as a tack and dumb as an ox this boy and I love him very much.

Lol I'm old. I'm sick of seeing teenage drama sometimes.

And I can also feel a lot of Dion's soul in their fics.

Lots of hurt comfort in here....

It's actually kinda like the Bamsara effect in reverse...

Instead of Dib throwing himself head first into danger...

Zim is the one doing it.

And Dib thinks an appropriate way to fix this is throw himself at the same danger.

Idiots.

Help them.

Parade of Indignities by @rissynicole

Finished recently and since then my heart has never known peace.

It's one of those fandom classics that I ended up reading due to Bamsara's fic recommendation list like roughly two years ago.

Rissy has a way with words and their strengths lend themselves to action scenes extremely well.

Zim finds himself critically ill and it's up to Dib to travel back to irken space to save him.

Thats the basic premise but there is so much more.

A conspiracy, involving the other Invaders, Zim's massive wall of denial, and how everything Zadf happens from Dib's perspective.

I remember reading all the available chapters (like 15 of them) all in one night until 5am the first time I read it.

It's a master suspense and thriller story and I enjoyed it very much.

I still have to leave a huge comment.

Also honorable recommendations:

@melodyofthevoid 's Royalty AU.

....just. it good. Save these kids.

And ofc me and @paketdimensioncomic 's collab fics:

"Jerking around the House" and "Membrane's guide to be a better parent, lose your fucking arms"

You're a delight to work with and I love how your writing style compliments my insane ramblings so they're less wordy.

Also gotta give a shout-out to my Baby Tech Support.

Is it vain to plug your own fics? Maybe.

Do I care.

Nah.

I love my stuff. And I'm glad others do too.

[scapegrace74-blog]

In Dreams

A/N  I don’t do Twitter, but roughly once a year I wish I did.  A few weeks back, some clever Outlander writers there came up with the idea of the Eye Sex Chronicles, in which various pre-relationship scenes between Jamie and Claire are re-imagined in a less PG way.  I asked Catrin Writes if I could join the party, and she kindly agreed.  And because I like nothing more than a challenge, the scene I chose is when Jamie comes for Claire after the Redcoat ambush in 1x01.  Rated mildly M, in case you care about that sort of thing.

Since he was a lad, Jamie had been visited by a recurring dream.  In it, he was chasing a figure through a forest.  His quarry materialized and dissolved like mist in the dappled light, with limbs as pale as bone and a thundercloud about its head.  A sidhe, perhaps, come to deceive him.

The details of the dream shifted, but the ending was always the same.  At the edge of a burn, he caught up with the apparition.  Staring into her peculiar golden eyes (for it was indeed a woman), the dirt beneath his feet gave way and he fell headlong into a bottomless unknown.  Then, he woke.

***

She had to be dreaming, Claire rationalized.  Or at least hallucinating.  It was the only explanation that fit the facts.  Redcoat soldiers wielding muskets.  Coarse ruffians speaking Gaelic and tossing her from horseback like a sack of laundry.  A Frank doppelganger trying to rape her.  Her subconscious must have muddled together her husband’s obsession with Scottish history and the emotional turmoil of their second honeymoon to produce this elaborate fantasy.  Sigmund Freud would rub his hands together with glee.

It didn’t explain, however, why she could feel every nettle and branch as they lashed against her limbs, or why the icy water of the stream she was following numbed her toes.  If she was only dreaming, she should stand still and wait for consciousness to return.  And if she were hallucinating, she doubted she’d be capable of analyzing her circumstances.  She ran because she was afraid to find out what might happen if she was wrong.   She ran because it was only a matter of time before her captors gave chase.

***

The ambush by a small patrol of Redcoats ended abruptly in the way of most skirmishes.  One minute he was fighting for his life, and the next he was leaning on his sword, sharing a flask of whisky with his brothers in arms.

Dougal had a ribald glint in his eye as he ordered Jamie to round up the Sassenach lass.  He thought he’d kept his reaction to her lovely face and near-nakedness well hidden in the dim firelight of the croft, but his uncle’s smirk said otherwise.  The men hooted as though it was a great joke - sending the virgin after the mettlesome wench.

It was only as he was retracing his steps to the strath where he’d thrown their captive from Donas’ back that he realized he was injured.  The muscles of his shoulder joint were still tender, just as she’d predicted after she’d manipulated the bones back into place.  This new pain was sharper and accompanied by the coppery tang of blood.  Compounded by the fact that he hadn’t slept or eaten more than a crust of bread in nigh on a day, it was no surprise that his head was feeling light and empty as a cloud, with a persistent buzzing sound filling his ears.  He continued his search, determined to find the lass before continuing on their way.  She’d mended him.  He at least owed her that much.

An ivory figure dashed between the trees, bringing to mind his dream.  Deja vu, the French called it.  The sense that he had lived this moment before, perhaps countless times.  Reality tilted sideways, and he could no longer discern what was true and what was illusion.  The memory of both his dream and his objective compelled him to give chase. He spurred his horse forward.

***

Damn it!  For a figment of her imagination, the tall red-headed Scot was annoyingly persistent.  Seumas.  Jamie.  Mowgli.  She’d heard the other men call him by many names, further evidence that this illogical adventure was just an inventive delusion.  She’d certainly conjured an attractive antagonist, with his raw potency and soulful blue eyes.  He was a bit too chiseled for her taste, and good lord he was gigantesque, but somehow he pulled it off without seeming a brute.  Despite the driving rain, the night spent on horseback wrapped together in his plaid hadn’t been unpleasant.  Unlike every other character in this illusion, he didn’t feel threatening.

He leapt from his horse and was approaching with his arms spread wide, a bloodied sword dangling from one hand in an offhand way.  She’d seen men approach unbroken horses in much the same manner.  Well, she was no docile mare, willing to accept the bit.  If he thought he could subdue her with sonorous words from his pretty lips, he had another thing coming.  She lifted her chin defiantly.  Maybe the way out of this nightmare was to refuse to play along.  She spat defiance in his direction, daring him to accost her.

***

Christ, she was beautiful.  It hadn’t escaped his notice when they’d first met, despite his dislocated shoulder.  But out here in the forest, with smudges of dirt marring her luminous skin and cockleburs matting her hair, she was every cautionary tale he’d learned at his father’s knee.  A bewitching siren come to lure his soul to sin.

If her foreign ways and total lack of meekness wasn’t evidence enough that she was the otherworldly creature from his dream, the violent mystery of her agate eyes confirmed it.  They were unforgettable, calling to him from across the ages.

Despite his better judgment, he stepped closer, saying something daft about throwing her over his shoulder, as though he’d ever demean her in that way.  Her breath came into short pants that caused her unbound breasts to rise and fall beneath her thin shift.  His fingers twitched, aching to touch her, to confirm that she was real.  Some lucid corner of his brain that wasn’t starved of blood and delirious with bloodlust argued that he’d spent many hours pressed up against her very mortal and lovely arse.  He ignored it in favour of another step in her direction.  Like a mindless beast, he sniffed the air.  She smelled like his mate.

***

She’d spent enough time around soldiers returning from the front to recognize the half-crazed look, the dilated pupils, the waves of sexual energy wafting off his skin.  The male animal confronted death and procreation with much the same physical response, opposite sides of the same coin.

She should have been frightened by his proximity, but instead she drew back her shoulders and stared directly into his marine gaze, daring him to take another step.  Delirious with disorientation and lack of sleep, she flirted with the combustible element that arced between them from the first.  She’d never behave so wantonly if she thought for a moment this was real. It was a harmless fantasy, made all the more appealing by the combination of artlessness and virility exuded by the man in question.

***

He dropped his sword, a useless defence against temptation.  His feet carried him forward of their own volition, answering the urgent summons in her eyes.  So close now, skirting the very edge of a precipice.  Surely his dream had been a prophecy, a foretelling of a critical juncture in his life.  Temptress or Sassenach healer, their paths were fated to cross.  There was nothing he could do to deny the hand of fate.

She’d backed against a tree and his palms came to rest on the ample swell of her hips.  He’d never touched a woman so close to her skin.  It was intoxicating, warm and supple.  She was no longer speaking, watching him instead with those predator’s eyes, wary but not afraid.  Her lips were pressed together, and he longed to pry them apart with his tongue, to taste her soul and share his own.  Bending slowly forward, the muscle in his beleaguered shoulder seized in sudden pain.  Bubbles of dizziness flooded his vision and he slumped forward, momentarily boneless, landing against her lush curves.

***

Christ, he was heavy.  One moment she had been certain he was about to kiss her senseless, and then he sagged forward, pinning her between his bloodstained torso and a tree.  Her nursing instincts sprang to life as she attempted to soothe him.  She ran her fingers through his tangled curls and over the abutments of his face, searching for a contusion and finding only tacky blood and prickly stubble.  She could feel his deep breaths echoing against her breastbone.  He groaned a word in Gaelic that made her wish she understood the tongue.

***

Pressed against her as he was, he marveled at the brilliance of God’s design.  She was soft where he was hard, a perfect counterpoint that answered the question his body had been asking since adolescence.   He wasn’t ignorant of carnal matters, but nor had he imagined that he could derive such pleasure merely from cleaving his body to hers.  In his previous trysts with with the young maids of his youth, it had never been so.

Her hands were surprisingly strong as they prodded his skin, seemingly drawn to the places that called out for her touch.   They skimmed gently over his shoulders.  The lancing pangs had faded like the morning mist, leaving him conscious only of the pulsing ache radiating from his groin.  He’d been hard beneath his plaid since fighting the Redcoats, but it had progressed to the brink of pain.   Certainly she could feel it, barely clad as she was, but he felt no shame in the knowledge.  There was a deeper magic at work here, far outside the laws of propriety.

***

Her fingertips touched the bands of muscle along his flank, having snuck unawares beneath his filthy shirt.  Her arms opened to span his torso, no longer pretending to minister to his wounds and instead holding him tight, in case he was considering retreat.  It helped that she couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was beyond her hair, but she could read the impulse on his dewy skin and through the vibration of his every sinew.  He wanted her.  Not only because she was a female body close at hand, but on some more fundamental level.  She wanted him as well, but that was the dream talking.

***

The thinnest filament held back the raging storm inside of him.  What few thoughts he could maintain circled around the inscrutable riddle of her identity.  If she truly was the vision from his dream, then what was her purpose?  And if she was flesh and blood, then why did she tolerate his trespass?  His answer came in the form of a whimper, sneaking from her lips to his ear and straight to his cock.  The cord snapped, and he began to rut against her in earnest, the coarse wool of his plaid scratching his swollen flesh.  

Dhia, it was a thousand times greater than any pleasure his own hand could inflict, and yet it was woefully deficient. His hips pressed forward with more force, grinding their bones together, seeking a home inside her warmth.  Rather than retreat, she answered with advances of her own.  She shuddered and moaned, her nails biting into the scars across his back.  He had no language to describe what her body was demanding.  He hurtled towards an unknowable point, both hunter and prey in a breathless pursuit.  It was bottomless and inescapable, just as in his dream.

***

She’d lost all sense of herself.  There was no Claire.  No Frank.  No everlasting dream about Scottish outlaws.  Even the rough bark of the tree against which she was pinned was gone.  All that remained was the bitter agony of incompletion and the solid male form that could deliver her from it.  She whimpered, tears of frustration leaking from her eyes.  She wanted... no, she needed more.  More contact.  More friction.  More of his sublime body that answered every question she asked it wordlessly.

Broad palms slipped down to cup her ass, then lifted her as though she was made of feathers.  At that first perfect moment of connection, she cried out.  The depths opened up beneath them and her only fear was that she would fall alone.  Clamping her thighs around his hips, she circled and writhed directly over the defined prominence of his cock.  They both groaned as twin spasms spun outward from where they were fused together.  The hot rush of his eruption warmed her belly, shaking from the force of her own contractions.

The fever crept away as inexplicably as it came, leaving her stippled in gooseflesh and drowning in turmoil.  What had just happened?  Had she really allowed this stranger, this walking paradox, to bring her to gratification, fully clothed, against the trunk of some bloody Scottish tree?  And oh, when would she wake up and return to the mundane struggles of her real life? This, whatever it was, was too much to endure.

***

At the first twitch of her body after endless moments of utter stillness, he lowered her gently to her feet.  He could feel his release trickling down his thigh.  Rather than address him, if only to slap him as he deserved, she turned towards the burn.  She knelt for a long time, drinking from her cupped palm and splashing water over her face.  Doubtless, she was also rinsing his seed from her skin.  He burned with remorse.  Sidhe or not, he’d treated her contemptibly.  

The rush of blood between his ears was slowing, leaving him shaky and weak.  He bent to retrieve his sword and the ground tilted aslant beneath him.  By the time she returned from the burn, her eyes demurely focused downwards, he had mounted Donas and was able to lift her over the withers with his good arm.  He tried in vain to keep from pressing up against her, trying to atone for his previous behaviour.  They set off in search of Dougal and the others without another word.

***

The further they rode, the more Claire became convinced she had hallucinated the entire thing.  The young Scot named Jamie was still kind and solicitous, offering her a slug of whisky and sharing his plaid as the night air grew cold, but he betrayed no proof of their intimate encounter.  Along with everything else that was happening, it was too much to contemplate, so she pushed it to the back of her mind.

Well past midnight, she felt his bulk behind her slide sideways as he started to topple to the ground.

“Stop!  Help, he’s going over!”

Leaping to the ground and ordering the other men about like a petty general, she poured whisky into the newly discovered wound that pierced the trapezius muscle.  Yet more evidence, if she was looking for it, that their union in the forest had all been in her head.  Who could please a lover while bleeding out from a gunshot?

Jamie sputtered back to consciousness beneath her hands.

“Welcome back,” she commented pertly.

***

The blank screen in front of his eyes reassembled around the familiar faces of Murtagh, Dougal, Angus and the others, peering down at him in the gloom.  He must have fallen deep asleep while they fled to Leoch.  His memories were foggy, but he recalled a dream of chasing a mysterious woman through a wooded strath, catching her by the edge of a burn, and then...  well, it wouldn’t be the first time his sleeping mind brought him gratification, although generally not on horseback.

“I’m all right.  Just a wee bit dizzy,” he tried to convince the assemblage, eager to get back on his horse.  They couldn’t afford a delay.

“You're not all right,” an oddly familiar English voice pronounced.   Without waiting for him to respond, she launched into a tirade.

“Couldn’t you tell how badly you were bleeding? You're lucky you're not dead, brawling and fighting and throwing yourself off horses.”

He stared up in disbelief at her fiercely beautiful face, the one he recognized from his dreams.

She was here.

[rjhpandapaws]

(Not) What I Want in a Second Chance

Ch 1: The Devil is in the Details

//Tw: Emotional manipulation. Death, grieving, alcohol abuse, suicidal ideation; anti-android sentiments, and anti-android language. CyberLife is an unsettling mix of FB, Amazon and Google. Be prepared

Hank had his fair share of regrets, it came with the amount of time he had been on the force. His family fell apart. There were lives he could have saved if he had only been faster. The consequences that came with hitting a patch of ice; just to name a few. There were days he debated putting in for retirement, but he knew where that would lead. One more added to a growing statistic. Another retired detective that chose to suck on a bullet; and that was assuming anyone cared enough to come check on him. So he drank instead. On the days he woke up in time, he went to work. On the days he didn’t he woke up only to start drinking again. Another hopeless, tired man on the fast track to a whiskey filled grave. He wasn’t as bothered by that as he probably should have been. He wasn’t bothered by much anymore. If he could think clearly that meant he needed a drink. There was one thing that always bothered him though, and that was androids. He found them creepy over all, they had no reason to look that human. Then one had killed Cole; or rather, stood there and did nothing while he died. That had been when Hank had drawn the line. In that moment they had gone from something mildly off putting to something he actively despised.

That was why he liked places like Jimmy’s. It was one of the few places left that wasn’t overrun by androids, and the other patrons left him alone. Everyone was nursing a different sorrow so conversation wasn’t a priority. He could treat his grief with whiskey until he was face down against the bar and no one would judge him for it. Tonight was shaping up to be one of the rougher ones. He couldn’t drown his regrets no matter how much he drank. The thoughts refused to blur. It wasn’t Cole tonight. For a change, he was thinking about someone else he had lost. Connor Paldeki was one of his earlier partners, and his favorite even still. He had belonged to the Deerborn Police Department originally and they had met on a particularly bad homicide case. They worked well enough that they were paired for joint cases pretty often after that. So when Connor was transferred to Detroit it only seemed natural that they were made partners since they had previous work history. Even as a rookie Connor had been bright. He could pick a scene a part and put it back together with ease and accuracy that was almost scary. Hank had been certain that he was on the fast track to making rank. Then the Red Ice bust had happened and Connor’s glowing career came to a sudden and bloody end. Hank had wound up promoted, but it felt hollow somehow. Like it was a consolation of sorts.

He felt like it was written in Connor’s blood. Hank had been told that he hadn’t felt it, that he had been dead before he hit the ground. They hadn’t seen him though with the fear of death frozen on his face. None of the them had the haloing pool of blood seared into their memory. For all the consolation they tried to give him, they hadn’t been so powerless as to see the life leave the eyes of a dear friend. The papers had praised the whole raiding group as heroes, painted the thing like it had been a success. In a way it had been; they’d gotten what they were after, but they had lost three officers in the process. Connor, and two officers he hadn’t known from the SWAT team that had accompanied them. No one talked about it, and Hank wanted to scream. He went through the motions; his mandatory grief counseling, being a pall bearer for Connor’s casket; and then he took some time off to try and process all of it. When he got back he took the small bonsai tree from Connor’s desk and pretended things were alright. He had to be. He was Lieutenant now, he couldn’t just break. He took care of the tree like Connor was coming back and would be upset to find it dead. He continued to try and love Ezra even though things were falling apart slowly, and he did his job. If he just kept going something would have to got right eventually. He hoped so anyway; because if it didn’t then what the fuck was all of this for. When Cole was born Hank had thought that was the start of his better days, and it had been for a while.

It was some level of pathetic that the most put together his life had ever seemed to be was when he was drinking himself into an early grave. He was pulled away from that train of thought by the feeling of being watched. That sense of awareness wasn’t something he could turn off even when he was drinking away what was left of his coherency. He looked up from the bar, and there was Connor, but something was off. Aside from the fact that he was dead, had been for over ten years at this point. He was here in the flesh, and Hank was almost willing to write it off as a drunken hallucination. There was just something about this Not-Connor that was bothering him. It took longer than it should of for his eyes to land on the blue LED at his temple. He’d had to tear his eyes away from the face that had haunted more than it’s fair share of his nightmares for the better part of a decade. CyberLife had accounted for every little detail. Down to that stupid curl that had always refused to stay put no matter how much gel Connor put in his hair. He could hazard a guess at how they had gotten that information. They had files on everyone it seemed, whether or not someone owned an android didn’t seem to matter. Or, since it had been over a decade they could have pulled it through FOI, but Hank sincerely doubted that.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” He - It asked. Hank couldn’t place it, but there was something wrong about the voice. It was almost exactly Connor’s, but there was something wrong about it. He was tempted not to respond, but he had the feeling this Not - Connor would wait there all night even if Hank ignored it. “Yeah,” He huffed, “What do you want?” “My name is Connor.” It started, and Hank wanted to scream, this was not his Connor. Not the right one, “I am the android sent by CyberLife. There has been a homicide and I was told to find you; which I was lucky enough to do after the fifth bar.” “Fuck off.” Hank groused. “My instructions were -” It started, but Hank cut it off. “I’ll show you where you can stick your instructions.” He muttered. That seemed to give it pause. Where is Connor would have laughed and made a remark of his own, this convincing fake just looked pathetically confused. Hank almost pitied the thing, but it wore the face of a dead friend and that wasn’t something he could forgive. “What if I buy you a drink?” It pressed, “Would you come with me then?” Hank gave an annoyed sigh of defeat and relented. The sooner he got this over with, the less time he would have to spend facing this walking lie, “Fine.”

In the most put upon way the thing that was not Connor flagged for another whiskey and even paid for it. As annoyed as he was, Hank had to admit he was almost impressed. The real Connor would have never set foot in a bar unless it was for a case. It made it easier to distance one from the other. He nursed his new whiskey for longer than was strictly necessary. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it his way. He drove to the scene with his music loud enough that talking would be a pain in the ass, and the thing had still tried to make conversation. Hank would have turned into oncoming traffic if he was certain this thing wouldn’t have tried to stop him. It certainly seemed to have a purpose other than torturing him. “Stay in the car.” He said firmly when they arrived at the scene. “Got it.” It said in a way not too unlike the actual Connor and it made Hank’s stomach twist in disgust. It didn’t actually stay in the car of course, and Hank hadn’t really expected it to. It had it’s orders after all, and so did Hank unfortunately.

Hank took a bitter sort of satisfaction in Ben’s obvious discomfort when he saw it. Whatever comment he had been about to make died and he let them by with a tense nod. Every person on scene that had known the real Connor looked distinctly troubled by the fake; and that had been before it had licked any evidence. Hank passively observed the scene, he wanted to see what this thing was made of.  Was his computer brain anything like how the real Connor’s had been? Better? As much as he hated the thing, he was curious how it would stack up against the real thing. The other android self destructed in the end, even with Not-Connor’s unsettling attempt at compassion. Or perhaps because of it. It was something Hank hoped he would never have to see again. By the time they were done for the night, Hank had one question that was weighing on him. “Why do you look this way?” He asked as he gathered his things. “To ensure your cooperation.” Came the flat reply. That was when Hank realized what was wrong; the voice held no emotion to it. The next thing it said was what chilled Hank to the bone, “They figured you wouldn’t want to the cause of your partner’s death for a second time, and it was too soon to use the image of your son.”

Hank wasn’t sure what hurt him more; the blatant manipulation, or that fact that if seeing his dead friend again didn’t hurt him enough CyberLife wouldn’t be above using his son against him. When he made it the parking lot he threw up in a near by trash been. He didn’t remember the drive home, but when he got to the house he made sure to feed Sumo before he grabbed the Black Lamb and his revolver. When darkness finally came for him he didn’t know if it was because he had drank himself into unconsciousness again, or if he had finally won at Russian Roulette. He just hoped he never came out of it. He couldn’t do this.

[hellfirexandxashes]

Ashes to Dust (Hellfire Entity) A Junji Ito inspired Verse

(Because damnit I want to write a verse depicting Dabi being a malevolent entity causing chaos)

Dabi is another unexplainable entity that pervades the world of the living, appearing at random locations across Japan for short periods of time, where eventually multitudes of charred bodies are left behind shortly after his arrival.

He seems to frequent places with extremely high crime rates and places where criminals gather to hide, although his victims are never strictly criminals, but many a times people who have something dark hidden in their lives: A truth to never be unearthed or a deed done in such vile manner.

He appears as a thin, malnourished figure covered in burns and staples, always heavily obscured with jackets and hoodies, although the stench of burnt flesh practically emanates from him. He never speaks much aside from taunting those who have something to hide, hinting that he knows that something about them before seemingly vanishing, only to appear at random throughout his victim’s lives, taunting...waiting...knowing. His presence can cause hallucinations to fester, or even sensations of people being burned before reality seeps back in for his victims. 

He seems particularly drawn to people who refuse to acknowledge guilt for their past actions or those who wish to cover a heinous truth, a countdown for his victims starting to admit to their guilt/confess before he comes for them.

Many times, his victims seem to be found burned alive in their own homes, sometimes with evidence that the victims burned themselves after mutilating their own bodies or that of their loved ones/friends/family.

Some other details

If his victim has family, namely children, he can sometimes be found manifesting near them and playing along with their games (like dollhouse or kicking around a ball) while making sure his victim notices.

If the victim’s ‘crime’ is abuse of their family, very few cases allow for the family to be found surviving while their abuser is burnt alive in front of them

Usually his hair appears black, but on his victim’s final days it turns white as blue hellfire engulfs them.

Everywhere/everything he touches has soot/charred fingertips burned into it (Like doorknobs)

[mell-bell]

Fight so dirty (but your love so sweet) - Part II

The Mandalorian x Reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

Words: 4773                       

Series Summary: You are sent to hunt down a Mandalorian, the odds aren’t exactly in your favor

Chapter: 2/8

Author’s notes: I did NOT expect the love that I received from the first part of this so I just want to say thank you for all of your messages and responses you have made my week! Literally cried reading all of them. I wanted to have this up sooner but it became long as shiiiit so lots of editing and there may still be mistakes so apologies because it’s late and I’m tired haha. But worth it for you guys. Pretty sure I tagged everyone that asked, it not please just let me know! Anyways I hope you enjoy!!!!!!

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

You had prayed for darkness. But it didn’t come.

As you laid motionless on the ground, you knew the end was near. And there was nothing you could do about it. No one could save you now. Not even your Mandalorian.

You weren’t sure how long you had been there, but soon after the fire died out you felt your limp body being dragged against the ground, the rocks buried in the sand beating into you, birthing more bruises.

When the ground beneath you became smooth and solid, you knew you had made it back inside. And although it was a welcome relief to your body, you could only imagine what awaited you.

The men dragging you stopped abruptly, your body jerking in their hold, a groan escaping your throat.

Loud footsteps echoed across the empty walls in the hall, until two boots stopped in front of you. You swallowed hard before looking up and meeting an unknown man’s eyes. They were dark and sunken.

On either side of him stood Stormtroopers. It was then that you knew your initial suspicions had been correct. These were the men hunting down your Mandalorian and your little green friend. You could only hope that they were far away.

The older man stepped up to you and you flinched as his arm moved forward, his gloved hand slapping across your face. With a stinging cheek, you turned your gaze back toward him, meeting his eyes. His own widened minutely as if he was surprised you dared to look at him.

“Seems we have a fighter.”

He waved his arm, motioning for the troopers and men to follow as he turned on his heel.

The bare halls passed you by as you were dragged along, your gaze searching for any means of escape. But you found nothing. Just one door at the end of the hall that was quickly coming into view.

The door opened and a cold jolting gust of air settled deep into your bones as you descended the stairs.

When you reached the bottom, the contrast to the world above was disturbing. The cold stone walls seemed to be caving in toward you, the unlevel stone floor cracked, fresh blood still evident on the ground. You began to struggle against the men holding you, but their grips just tightened.

Rather unceremoniously, you were thrown into a cold and damp cell. You turned just quick enough to watch the door slam shut behind you.

And then you were alone.  

You pulled yourself across the filthy ground until you propped in a seated position against the wall.

Carefully you began to move your limbs one by one testing for broken bones or dislocations. When you thankfully found none you moved to push yourself to your feet when a twinge shot through your side and you fell with a yelp.

Tears streaked down your face as you clenched your hands tight, nails biting into your skin. You took a deep breath before pushing yourself up, your head rising, almost thinking for a second that a familiar gloved hand would be there to help you.

But it wasn’t.

You managed to make it to your feet, and as you swayed unsteadily, you took in your surroundings. Stumbling to the corner, you tried to dig at the walls in desperation, your hands turning bloody as fear settled into your bones. There was no way out of here.

With a scream of defeat, you fell to the ground in a slump.

A part of you waited for your Mandalorian to come bursting through the door. But logically you knew he wouldn’t come for you. Why would he? He had to protect the child.

You tried to rest. Tried to prepare for what was coming. You had been kidnapped before. Been tortured before. But not by members of the Empire. Commander Trax was right, you were as good as dead.

You closed your eyes but sleep wouldn’t come.

Haunting wails echoed through the stone walls and you wrapped your arms more securely around you trying to ward off the cold.

Hours passed by... And when they finally came for you, you were ready. You knocked three of them out before they were finally able to take you down.

And then you were taken to their leader.

This man. The Client as he called himself, was determined to make you talk.

He threatened. Had you beaten so frequently you were becoming numb to the pain. 

He had become so furious one day that he had a trooper stab you so deep in your side you had lost your breath. But even after that you still remained silent. He just sighed and had the troopers take you away.

It must’ve been at least a day later when you snapped and stabbed one of the troopers with a rock you had sharpened in the dead of night.

And from that moment on you, your arms and legs were shackled at all times.

He never let you have a moment of peace.

He would continue to call for you again and again. Threaten you. Beat you. Ask you the same questions over and over about the asset.

But all you did was lie on the ground, silently taking it.

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

It could’ve been days later when the door finally opened again. Expecting it to be the Stormtroopers again, you just laid there on the ground, defeated.

But when you felt someone pulling at your chains, you looked up. It was a different man. He was much younger than the man in charge, donning a white coat, and wearing some strange type of eyewear. You had seen him lurking in the back of the room while they interrogated you.

“Who are you?” You said squinting at him, trying to steady your blurry vision, your head throbbing from the bright light in the room.

The man was twitching, wringing his hands together as he threw rapid glances at the door to your cell, “Is the asset safe?”

Your head swam and you mumbled something incoherent.

The man reached out shaking you hard and you flinched at the pain it caused.

“Is it safe?” He said louder.

You nodded.

The man visibly relaxed and your brows furrowed.

“Why do you care?” You mumbled.

Startled, the man stood abruptly.

“No, wait!” You reached out toward him, falling from where you had been propped against the wall, “Where are you going?”

“Keep him safe.”

And then he was gone.

The next time you woke, you felt a familiar gloved hand brush across your face and you almost wept in relief.

It was him. He had found you.

Something soft and warm wrapped around you, and you pulled it closer, trying to breathe in the scent you had become so used to.

Through the dark, you tried to reach out to him.

Arms wrapped around you, carrying you down the hall. And as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you tried to catch sight of his helmet. Just to know for certain that he was actually there.

But then you were dropped to the ground.

Your eyes opened.

And the man before you sighed.

“I knew I should’ve just killed you.”

“So, why haven’t you.” You croaked. You had been certain he was real this time. That he had actually come for you. But he hadn’t. This reoccurring hallucination had been haunting you for a while now. Thinking you were saved when in reality you were still a prisoner.

The Client began to pace, but your eyes were drawn to the strange man in the white coat standing behind him, wringing his hands. You met his eyes for a minute, before he looked away, scurrying from the room.

“Because I’m curious.”

Your brows furrowed, turning your attention back towards the older man.

“About the Mandalorian.”

Your heart was pounding as you tried to furtively glance around the room. This was the first time he had mentioned the bounty hunter.

“Ah, so you do know him. He’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“That’s what I would like to know. You must have been to his hideout. His ship.” He questioned, stepping up close to you.

“No.” You lied.

The man huffed before reaching out threading his fingers through your hair, roughly pulling your head back.

“No more lies. You have wasted too many of my days.”

You spit in his face, but he didn’t even flinch. He pulled back slowly and wiped off his face with a handkerchief. Not pulling his gaze from you, he raised his hand and the door opened, a group of Stormtroopers storming into the room.

“You won’t find him.”

He let out a noise of realization, “You care for him.”

“No.” You swallowed hard, looking away from him.

He tsked, reaching out once more grabbing your chin and raising your gaze to his, “You do know that the Mandalorians are a complex people. He will never let you see his true face, his true self. Why protect him so?”

You bit your lip hard, remaining silent.

“We’re done for today.” He sighed in exasperation.

The Stormtroopers grabbed onto your arms, hoisting you up onto your feet. But as they went to turn you around, you ripped from their grasp and ran up to the man. You got within five feet of him before you felt a blaster aimed at your back.

The man in front of you seemed unconcerned as he looked down at you.

“You’re going to die.” You said.

His eyes flashed and a sinister smile crossed his face before he turned and swept out of the room.

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

You had only just been returned to your prison when the door to your cell slammed open, the Stormtrooper who had been guarding the door falling to the floor, blaster burns smoking from his chest.  

Your eyes were wide as you looked out the open door. Before you could even blink a heavily armored man flew past, his arms locked in combat with a Stormtrooper. And your heart skipped a beat as you recognized him.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to smile but then you froze unsure if this was another hallucination or if he was actually here.

You moved slowly, peeking out into the hall watching as he fought, shooting Stormtroopers left and right, knocking them down with his staff, and disintegrating them before they could fall to the ground.

You were in no shape to fight, but when you saw five troopers round the corner at his back, you swung into action, grabbing a blaster off the ground and shooting each of them point-blank.

The bounty hunter must have sensed your presence because when he finished off the last trooper in front of him, he turned slowly, his gaze landing on you.

And you could see the tension pour out of his shoulders.

This was real.

He was here.

You threw him a wicked smile.

Just as you took a step out of your cell toward him, you felt a blaster press against the back of your head. Raising your arms immediately, you dropped the gun in your hand onto the stone floor.

You both watched the Mandalorian shoot a twitching Stormtrooper on the ground before he turned his gaze to you and began walking slowly up to you.

He raised his blaster at the man behind you.

“Ah, my good friend. Come to return the asset? I’ll give you this one in return.” The Client said shoving you forward a little.

The Mandalorian stepped closer, his armor glinting under the harsh lights overhead.

“Though I wouldn’t trust this one.” He chuckled, one arm wrapping around you pulling you tighter toward him so that you covered the majority of his body.

You stiffened in his arms at that comment but refused to pull your gaze from the Mandalorian in front of you.

When he made a slight motion with his hand, you instantly knew what he planned and dropped to the ground while he shot at the man behind you.

Turning around, you prayed to see the man dead on the ground, but he was gone and before you could move to go after him, the Mandalorian threw you over his shoulder as he took off.

You bounced painfully against his armor as he sprinted to his ship. When he made it to the pit, he all but dropped you into the seat beside his before he took off fast as possible, setting course to his nearest safehouse.

You sank into the soft seat and breathed a sigh of relief. You were alive. And safe.  

A small green hand came into view as it reached out toward you and you smiled, reaching over toward him, the child cooing at you.

When you began to feel a tingle in your arm you looked down and watched as the wound begin to knit itself back together.

“What?” You whispered.

An arm pulled you back as the little green child fell back, falling into a deep sleep.

“He does that.” The Mandalorian’s voice was gruff as he pushed the child’s orb into a darker part of the ship.  

“I see. I-”

“Are you alright?” He cut you off.

You offered him a small smile, “I am now.”

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

You must’ve fallen asleep because a while later you were shaken awake. You raised your head off of the Mandalorian’s shoulder where it must’ve fallen.

Standing, your Mandalorian offered you his hand, but with a quick look at your bloody hands, you instead grabbed onto his forearms and pulled yourself up on to shaky legs.

“When did we land?”

“An hour ago.”

You tsked in annoyed, “You should have woken me up.”

“You need to rest.” He argued.

You rolled your eyes as you slowly followed him out the back of his ship, watching as he lowered the ramp.

But when it lowered you were met with a line of Stormtroopers.

The Mandalorian shoved you back, raising the ramp back up, the sounds of blaster shots hitting outside echoing through the ship.

“How did they find us?” You gasped.

“It was you.”

“What?” Your heart was beating painfully as he turned toward you.

“You. You led them here. They couldn’t have known where I was going.”

“No, I....” Your hand involuntarily reached down to the cut on your side.

Stepping forward, his gloved hand ripped your shirt up, showing the small incision almost invisible above where you had been stabbed.

“A tracker.”

You took a step back and when you looked back up his blaster was aimed at you.

“No.”

It was if your voice had brought him to life, because he shot forward, pushing you back against the wall. His hand wrapped around your throat, his blaster resting against your side.

You had never been scared of him. Never had a reason to be. But standing there as his supposed enemy, you were terrified.  

“I didn’t know. You have to believe me. What would I gain out of being a spy?” You pleaded.

“You’re a bounty hunter, you work for money. We all do.” His flat voice struck hard as if he had stabbed you straight through the heart.  “You’ve been working for them since the beginning. The Empire.”

You could feel him shaking against you, and you reached up grabbing onto his arm wishing he wasn’t wearing that god-forsaken helmet so you could see his eyes.

“Please, you know me.”

He looked at your hand and for a second you thought he believed you.

But he just shook his head.

“No.”

You growled, “You were the one who invited me along! I was more than fine being left behind but you ‘needed a crew member’ don’t put this on me.” You shoved at his armor, but he didn’t move an inch. 

You took a step toward him, he took one back.

“Tell me the truth.” His voice was low, but you could hear the slight waver.

But you just shrugged tired, “I did.”

He holstered his blaster.

“What did I do to lose your trust? Not turn you in when I found you? Save you from getting shot all those weeks ago? Help clean you up after all your fights. All those talks we had. Do you really think I faked all of that?” Your voice cracking.

When he didn’t reply, you continued motioning to your body, “Did I beat myself up for fun? Broken ribs, a black eye? Do you think I stabbed myself just to keep my cover so I could turn you in?” 

His hands tightened into fists and you took another hesitant step forward.

But before you could speak, the ramp to his ship burst open and Stormtroopers began to pour in.

You flinched as the crate next to you shattered into a million pieces.

The man before you had turned away from you, running down the ramp throwing a glance back at you and his ship before diving into the fight.

You followed, jumping on a Stormtrooper, taking him to the ground before rolling off him and grabbing his weapon. You shot him before turning blasting another trooper who had just rounded the corner.

“Give me my blaster!” You yelled at him.

Everything was exploding around you but the two of you just stared at each other, the sounds fading away. As he reached down toward the blaster he had shoved in his holster, the world blew up around you. Your body flying back to slam into the wall behind you.

You blinked your eyes wildly trying to get them to focus through the dust. Your eyes were burning and you frantically rubbed your hand across your face, wincing as the dirt from your hands fell into your eyes.

Pulling at your shirt, you scrubbed it aggressively across your face until you were about to make out your surroundings.

Everything was destroyed.

Rubble was falling from buildings and smoke was rising from fires that littered the ground. The combination of dust and smoke made it hard to breathe and you couldn’t see far in front of you. As you tried to call out you choked on the dust and coughed.

You rolled over on your side trying to pull yourself up onto your feet when you caught sight of the Mandalorian lying a few feet from you. Finally stumbling to your feet, you took off towards him. You tripped over some debris, falling to your hands and knees and all but crawled over to his motionless body.

Your hands fluttered over him, hesitant to touch him.

Was he breathing?

As more Stormtroopers exited the building before you, you hauled him up and began to drag him back up the ramp to his ship. A blaster shot landed right by your head and you dropped to the ground, pulling the blaster out of the unconscious Mandalorian’s holster before taking down the offending trooper.

You kneeled over the man beneath you, shooting Stormtroopers left and right. When you finally felt him stir beneath you, you pressed his blaster into his hand before giving him a slight smile.

“I hope you won’t forget me.”

You took a step back and as he reached for you, you threw yourself from the ship, taking the hail of bullets from the Stormtroopers.

You turned, “Go!” You screamed.

And he did.

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

He had left.

And you were alone.

A loud explosion sounded nearby and you dove for cover, your heart racing. You reached for your blaster, finding your holster empty. He had taken your weapon....when he thought you had betrayed him.

You couldn’t blame him. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Another explosion sounded and you threw yourself to the ground once more, covering your head as stones rained down around you.

Using your shaking hands, you quickly shoved yourself up and stumbled to your feet, your legs weak from being shackled for so long. You clambered through the rubble, the stones cutting into your already battered hands as you tried to steady yourself. As you slipped into the building the Stormtroopers had been pouring out of, all you found was chaos.

The Stormtroopers had already torn this place apart.

And it was all your fault. You had led them here.

As you ran down the hall, you stopped picking up what looked like a metal bar, which you hoped would pass as a makeshift weapon.

Room after room was empty and you began to give out hope that the Client was still here.

As you continued running, you passed dead bodies, mutilated bodies, people crying, people fighting. The citizens were fighting back against the Stormtroopers and it looked as if they were winning. All you wanted was to stop and help them but you needed to take care of the Client first. With him dead, this whole thing would finally be over.  

When you finally reached the last room, you paused, clutching the bar tighter in your hand before pushing open the door.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

You twisted the bar in your hands and took a step forward. You could see the fear in his eyes.

“Let’s make a deal.”

You shook your head as you grew closer to him, “There’s no deal I would ever want to make with you. You tried to kidnap a child. An innocent child.”

“For the greater good.” He stood up, his eyes mad.

“If this is your greater good I want no part of it.”

“With that creature, we can do such great things. Bring back the peace to this universe that we had under the Empire.” He implored.

“I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t stop me.” He said, but you could hear the fear in his voice.

“You’re wrong about that.” You smirked, raising the metal bar out like a sword.

The man reached down grabbing a blaster from a fallen Stormtrooper and brought it up aiming at you. He shot at you wildly, the shot going wide hitting a beam in the ceiling. You circled around him and he quickly moved trying to follow you, still shooting erratically, the shots splintering into the walls around you.

A loud cracking sound sounded through the room and you looked up watching a wide crack form in the foundation of the ceiling. As pieces of stone began to fall, you shot forward, grabbing the Client’s wrist twisting it around. You pulled the blaster from his grasp before slamming the bar of metal in your hand straight up through his stomach.

He collapsed to the ground.

And the last thing you saw was your Mandalorian standing in the doorway, right before the ceiling caved in on you.

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

An alarm echoed loudly, the abrupt sound ripping you from unconsciousness.

A coolness spread across your brow and you squinted your eyes as they strained against the bright light in the room.

“Sorry.” A soft voice mumbled above you, turning off the offending noise and dimming down the lights.

“Where am I? What time is it?” You mumbled, pushing the hand away from your face as you tried to push yourself up.

“It’s five in the morning.” The deep voice rumbled before you, gently pushing you back down onto the bed.

Your eyes focused. It was him. He had come back for you.

“Am I in your bed?”

“Yes.”

“This isn’t exactly how I imagined it would happen.”

You heard him snort, and you chuckled lightly, pain shooting through you. He froze, his hands hovering above you, as you caught your breath. Once you settled down, he continued gently cleaning the blood and soot off your face.

He worked in silence.

You wanted so badly to ask him what had changed his mind. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

When he was finally finished he stood to leave, but you grabbed his arm before he could move out of reach.

“I.... would you stay?”

You wanted to tell him that you didn’t blame him. How his training had kicked in. How if you had been given time to talk to him he would’ve seen reason.

He stood motionless for a second, you and him just staring at each other. You were sure you looked worse, but the man himself looked exhausted even through all the layers of his armor.  

He gave a barely perceptible nod and for a second you thought you had imagined it. But then he moved. And settled into the chair beside the bed.

You turned on your side facing him.

You weren’t sure if his eyes were open or not, but you stared steadily at his helmeted face.

Reaching out, you touched his hand that rested on the bed and when he didn’t move it away you threaded your fingers through his and closed your eyes.

Even after everything, you realized the place you felt safest in the whole world was next to him.

“We’re going to talk in the morning.” You murmured.

“It is morning.”

You grumbled quietly before falling asleep, missing the soft caress of his hand over your hair and the quiet, “I’m sorry” that fell from his lips.

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

It was a week later.

You were healing slowly but steadily. The worst of the pain coming from your cracked ribs and battered hands. You tried to move around more, but your masked savior had all but forbidden you from leaving the bed for more than a few minutes.

And you were going stir crazy.

He wouldn’t talk to you and he wouldn’t even allow you to see the little green child, because he kept trying to overexert himself and heal you.

However, one morning, he went into town to grab some supplies. And not five minutes after he left, you snuck out of the ship into the forest where he had landed.

It was peaceful. Far from any civilization.

Wrapping a stolen cape around your stiff body, you made your way over to the brook, sitting on a rock by the water’s edge.

Closing your eyes, you took in a deep breath, enjoying the cool air and calming sound of running water.

That’s how he found you a few hours later.

You were surprised when he settled down onto the rocks next to you, instead of reprimanding you.

You ignored him, continuing to play with the tiny child who had joined you outside about an hour before. You threw a pebble into the air smiling softly when he froze it in the air and then shot it across the brook.

When he caught sight of the Mandalorian, his soft coos toward the man who had saved him made you laugh.

After a moment, you broke the silence.

“That man.... was powerful.” You paused, “How did you get away with the child in the first place?”

“I gave it to him.”

Your head snapped to look at him, “You?...”

“And then I went back and killed everyone I could.”

“Good. They deserved it.” You looked down at your hands, still wrapped tightly with bandages, the seemingly never-ending shaking that hadn’t gone away since you had gotten back.

The man reached out, grabbing one of your shaking hands and placing it between his own.

You hummed quietly, as he sat there silently. Out of nowhere, he whispered, “I almost killed you.”

You froze. Neither of you had so much as mentioned it.

But you knew he felt guilty about it. A few days ago, you had gone to hand him his morning drink like normal, but when he had reached for it you had flinched away from him. He had immediately stood and left the room. And you didn’t see him for two days after that.  

You weren’t sure if it was for your benefit or if it was his own guilt. Either way, it had been a tense week for the both of you.

“But you didn’t.” You stated.

“But I could have. I would have.” He whispered. The tremor in his voice made your heart clench.

Turning toward him, you hesitated before you reached out, placing your hands on either side of his helmet. You leaned forward, your forehead meeting the cold of his beskar helmet.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You said.

He turned away, pulling away from you, your hands dropping in defeat.

You shivered, and he reached over pulling the cape that had fallen to the ground around your shoulders.

“What do you think they want with it?” Both of you looked at the little green creature playing in the brook, chasing after a toad jumping on the rocks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do we do now?”

“Fight back.”

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

Tagged: @sargesbestgirl @abysswhiskey11  @yourfavoritearchangel @pedro-pascal-online @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8 @damnittjim @trickei @countessren @fun-sized-widow-bites @thefandomzoneisdangerous @ichigomiluku @bakerstreethound @clonesdeservelovetoo @bananyaaa @loveleah @javert-delacour @zoogrl05 @live-the-beautiful-game @maryan028 @ignimbritetcax @kaidad @kaimoar @yana-versio @peitromoximaff @alittleraincloud @fuckhead-writer @dottie-witch @nowheredreamer @pandalandalopalis @loveharrington @sw0rd-girlfriend @lex0h @piquantbarnes @go-commander-kim @finefangirl​

[cordonian-literature]

Lythikosian Nightmare

This is my submission for the Creepy Campfire Tales :) I had this idea and couldn’t really get it out of my head, so I hope it's creepy enough & I hope you all enjoy it!!

*Takes place in between chapters 11 & 12 of book 3

Summary: Liam has a nightmare

Word Count: (+/-) 920

Warnings: blood, mention of character death

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The icy temperature that slipped into the rooms of the Nevrakis Chateau kept Liam from sleep. Any warmth he collects under the blanket dissolves once he shifts a mere centimeter. He wanted to get up, maybe grab another blanket from the closet, but purposefully losing any drops of heat felt foolish.

There was no moon in the sky nor light through the window. Liam thinks he saw something flicker under his door, but decides it must have been nothing. He’s tired and stressed, perhaps having slight hallucinations. Though his eyes burn when he closes them, Liam still tries to force himself towards slumber.

He wakes at intervals, the room’s darkness intensifying whenever he opened his eyes. Momentarily he can’t remember where he is, but as the hours go by and night suggests day, the silhouette of the curtains remind him of his location.

Reluctantly, Liam peels his eyes open as the morning light blares down at him. Dust floats in the air, tickling his nose and causing him to blink rapidly. The walls are no longer the purple ones of the Nevrakis Chateau, but are more neutral. He’s no longer in a bed, but looks at one.

A quick glance confirms to Liam that he isn’t in Lythikos, but back at the palace and in the Queen’s Chambers. He lies on a couch on the side of the room and sees that there is someone under the covers of the bed.

He stands, trying to remember when he left Lythikos. His bare feet freeze against the cold floor. Liam gets closer to the body and sees that the person has the sheets drawn over their face. He thinks it’s Riley, so he grabs the edge of the sheet and lifts it away to see her features. But it’s not Riley.

Mother.

Her thin hair is tied back from her blue and pale face. Her lips were cracked, swollen. They were white and a faded shade of pink. When she had died he hadn’t been allowed to see her body before it was laid to rest. As a child, the fact saddened him. Now he understood why this sight was restricted.

He feels lightheaded. Why was her body here? Who had placed it here? Anton? There is no way for him to save her. He lifts the sheet again, pulling it off the bed completely, and notices that it wasn’t a bed after all. The “bed” is a row of three coffins. The one closest to him held his mother. The one in the middle held his father, spots of dried blood on his chin and creeping up from his suit. But the third one, the one farthest from him, is empty.

Liam rushes to the other side. He leans over the edge of the wooden coffin. Who is it for? Carved into the bottom is his own name.

He looks back at his mother, then his father. Both once epitomes of strong leaders. Both their bodies lifeless.

His bare arms are freezing. Liam reaches for the sheet that was once over his dead parents’ bodies and wraps it around himself. He tries to turn back toward the bodies, but he slips on the edge of the sheet and falls back.

Liam lands with a thud, the back of his head sore. He blinks. He’s in the coffin.

What have I done wrong? Which of my actions disappointed my people?

“Liam?” a voice calls. It’s Riley. “Liam, what are you doing in there?” Her face comes into view, glowing. She holds out her hand. But before he can take it, the coffin snaps shut.

Darkness spreads around him again. Liam looks around rapidly. Something scratches against his chest. Riley’s hand. Dripping blood. She punches the coffin. He can hear her screaming. Crying out in pain. 

He pushes and punches along with her to no avail. Riley’s hand goes limp. He hears her weak whimpers slow to nothing. There is no way for him to save her.

Sweat lingers over his brow and drips into his eyes as he punches. He takes a moment, puts his arms to his sides and breathes deeply.

But his heart is jittery. He can't make himself stay still for long. Liam draws his arm back, and when he punches, it lifts him out of bed and onto the floor. He looks around frantically. Purple wallpaper. Blue carpet. Snow outside. A bed. A real one. He’s in Lythikos again. Thank God.

Riley.

Liam tumbles over his own feet as he throws the door open. He sprints down the halls until he knows her room is near. Mara comes into view, standing guard outside Riley’s door.

“Your Majesty,” she begins to say, but Liam doesn’t let her finish. He pulls the door open. Riley lay in bed, peacefully snoring away.

“She’s alright,” Mara states. “She’s been asleep this whole time.”

He wanted to go closer to her. Make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. Make sure that Mara had done her job correctly. But he remembers that he’s in his underwear. He nods his head towards Mara, then walks back to his rooms.

Liam is still sweating. His ears are ringing. His hands feel hot. His breathing is loud, as if there isn’t enough oxygen around him. The sun had barely risen, and the shadows along every corner did nothing to ease Liam’s dread. He rushes to put his clothes on, checking every drawer and small space to make sure that his imagination isn’t still playing tricks on him.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Creepy Campfire Tales Tags:

Writers: @speedyoperarascalparty @walkerswhiskeygirl @kat-tia801 @riseandshinelittleblossom @cordonianroyalty @katedrakeohd @texaskitten30 @burnsoslow @twinkleallnight @queenrileyrose @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @cordonian-literature @leelee10898

Readers: @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @drakexwillow @liamxs-world @tinkie1973 @yourmajesty09​

[iron--spider]

you are my sunshine

“Pete, where are you?” Tony asks, pressing the phone to his ear as he walks down the sidewalk. “Are you sure this isn’t a go in guns blazing situation?”

 “No, no, no, absolutely not,” Peter says. There’s a lot going on in the background of wherever he is, supposedly the Hi-Collar on 10th street, and usually when Tony gets calls this late, it’s Spider-Man shit. But Peter said for Tony not to suit up and to come as fast as he could, and for some reason, Tony listened.

 Why is he listening to a teenager? Why is he letting a teenager dictate his actions? Peter literally has him at his beck and call, and this whole thing could literally be him tricking Tony into hanging out because I’m bored and I stopped all the crime.

 An actual thing he said out loud, once. Tony was mad that he laughed.

 “Pete, I’m gonna need some more information,” Tony says, feeling like an imbecile for taking so long to insist. “I’m walking all around out here all over God’s green earth—”

 “I’m in the restaurant! In the back most booth. Hurry, because it’s gonna close soon, they close at one!”

 Tony lets out a very measured, very irritated sigh, and finally he sees the place coming around the corner. “Alright, alright, I see it. What are you doing over here? Info. Stat.”

 “Uh, you’re gonna see.”

 “Peter, I swear to God, if I come in there and find—”

 “I don’t know how that sentence is gonna end but there’s no way you can guess this.”

 “Guess,” Tony says, marching inside and waving at the lady at the front. This place is way too hopping for almost one in the morning. Tony likes to avoid his sleeping in the comfort of his own home. “I didn’t know we were playing a—”

 He stops. He sees him. Both of them hang up.

 Tony gets closer. He feels like he might just be hallucinating. There’s no way he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. He rubs at his eyes, but no, it doesn’t change. He’s seeing exactly what he’s seeing.

 “Who is that?” Tony asks, pointing, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears.

 “Uh, I don’t know her name,” Peter says. He’s bouncing a beautiful baby girl on his knee, arms wrapped protectively around her. She can’t be any more than a year old. “I was out, doing my thing, you know, when I found her—”

 “Stop,” Tony says. He holds up his hands and sits down in the booth across from him. The baby looks serene and happy, in her little pink outfit, and she pats her hands on the table, leaning forward. Tony just keeps staring. “Stop.”

 “I stopped.”

 “How do you just—how do you just find a baby?” Tony asks, incredulous. “I don’t understand.”

 “Because you’re not letting me explain,” Peter says. The baby babbles a little bit and looks back at him, and Peter smiles at her. “It’s okay, pretty girl, don’t worry.”

 “Peter.”

 “Okay, uh,” Peter says, holding one of the baby’s hands. He’s got an array of Japanese food sitting on the table, like he was trying to see if the baby could eat any of it. “Well, it’s not really a long story. I had just stopped a mugging and I was gonna go see if I could go get a hot chocolate and then I found this baby. Just. Crawling in the alleyway by herself.”

 “Were there any screaming mothers present?” Tony asks, leaning forward, feeling like he’s going half insane. “Anyone yelling hey, spandex boy, don’t take my baby!”

 Peter glares at him, and the baby laughs, leaning back against his chest.

 “I’m sorry,” Tony says, his heart going half wild in his ears. This was not what he expected at all. A dead body would have made more sense. He braces his hand over his eyes and tries to think like a rational person. “I just didn’t think I’d be becoming a grandfather so soon.”

 Peter snorts and laughs and Tony looks back up. 

 “I wasn’t sure what to do,” Peter says. “I mean, I can’t keep her.”

 Tony scoffs. “Uh, yeah, that’s a given, and also, not how this works.” He sighs again, drawing in a breath. Rational. Rational. “Okay, you stayed in the same area, right? Where you found her?”

 “Literally one alleyway away, I stayed close,” Peter says. “But it’s late and I had to, you know, change—”

 “You could have stayed Spi—” Tony looks over his shoulder, to make sure nobody’s listening. “Well. You could have stayed as you were.”

 Peter sighs and lifts the baby’s hand up and down, glancing off towards the front door. “I don’t know. I was worried it would attract too much attention. Like maybe if someone had like, kidnapped her or something, they’d see me and try to fight me and I couldn’t protect her.”

 The baby yells and dances around, clapping her hands together. She doesn’t seem too distressed, but Tony doesn’t know how babies work. He knows they’re definitely not happy all the time, so they’re lucky she’s not crying. 

 “Alright, uh, well, let’s go to the police,” Tony says. “I’ll pay your bill, the precinct is close—”

 “That’s what we’re gonna do?” Peter asks, holding the baby tighter, like Tony is trying to yank her away from him. “That’s what I called you for? Cause I coulda just done that.”

 Tony narrows his eyes. “What did you want me to do? Magic? Because I think there’s another guy for that—”

 “You’re basically the police!” Peter says, eyes wide.

 “I’m not, I’m just a rich person,” Tony says, taking out his wallet.

 “You’re a superhero,” Peter says.

 “So are you,” Tony whispers, taking out a hundred dollar bill. “But we can’t go dragging a baby a million miles away from where you found it, this isn’t wartime or something like Sokovia where people were separated from their children—”

 “But shouldn’t we, in particular, be able to do something?” Peter whispers. “Like maybe I, you know, become the other guy again, and you hold onto the baby and I go swinging around knocking on doors and stuff?”

 “Police have better options for all that,” Tony says. “Cut down on all the—swinging time.”

 Peter sighs, and he’s never looked more disappointed in him. “Fine, but if we’re going to the police station, we’re staying with the baby.” 

 “Fine,” Tony says, pulling himself out of the booth. “I’m parked on the street a little ways away.”

 Peter stares up at him. “We’re as in, me and you both staying with the baby.”

 The baby gurgles and blows bubbles and sucks them back into her mouth.

 “Yes. I understand English, unlike our little powder puff friend here.”

 Peter sighs again and gets up, awkwardly putting his backpack on, one-handed, and adjusting the baby in his arms. She’s chunky and she kicks her little legs out and keeps reaching up, pawing at Peter’s chin. She looks at Tony and yelps, reaching out for him. Peter gasps, grinning, and Tony starts heading for the exit.

 “She wants you to hold her!”

 “She just likes my facial hair,” Tony says, walking ahead and holding the door open for the kid and the...other kid. “Dad must have some.”

 They get outside and Peter shoves up close to Tony, standing on his tip-toes and knocking their shoulders together. Tony narrows his eyes down at him and sees the baby reaching up, making little curious noises until her small hand comes in contact with his chin now, too.

 “Yup, you’re right,” Peter says, stepping back a little bit after a moment. “Can you communicate telepathically with babies? Can you ask her where her parents are?”

 “Yep, they live in that apartment building right over there,” Tony says, pointing. 

 Peter glares at him.

 “What? Don’t ask questions you don’t want fake answers for.”

 The baby laughs at him, making little stilted movements back and forth in Peter’s arms. She’s got a few curls of blonde hair, and her little headband squashes them down. 

 “See, she thinks I’m funny,” Tony says, knocking Peter on the shoulder. “Lighten up, webs.”

 Peter sighs. “I’m just worried. I really hope she wasn’t taken or something. By some stupid guys that lost her and now they’re running around looking.” He cracks his jaw. “Maybe I should have stayed as—you know who. I just don’t know if it would have drawn too much attention, or if I’m more of a target like this—”

 “I’m here now,” Tony says, patting him more gently on the shoulder. “So nobody’s gonna try shit. C’mon. Car’s this way.”

 ~

 Tony feels strangely like he’s letting the kid down by not immediately being able to solve this, and he does send up some flares with his contacts in the city, hoping something hits before the police can do their thing. But meanwhile, he sits in the back room of the police station with Peter, and the little girl Peter is having a hard time not having a name for, while the cops call people and search and put out APBs.

 “I just think it’s stupid that we—I mean, like, you and the others, can’t instantly solve something like this,” Peter says, glancing around like he’s checking for security cameras.

 “I can already see the words ‘Stark Kidnaps Baby’ scrawled across the front page of the New York Times if that kid got anywhere near a building that I own,” Tony says. 

 Peter’s holding the baby up on the table, and she keeps clapping her hands together, but more and more slowly as time goes on, like she’s getting closer to sleep. Tony had a blanket in his car, for some reason he figures was probably related to Peter, and Peter’s got her sitting on it, ready to wrap her up once she starts to fade. 

 “People should trust you more,” Peter says, already taking her off the table and bundling her up against him. “I mean. I did. I do. And May did too. Does.”

 Tony smiles warmly at him. “Your aunt doesn’t trust me at all, kid.”

 “That’s not true,” Peter insists. “She does. She always has. Trust me, Iron Man was always my favorite growing up and May, uh—would not have encouraged that if she didn’t like you or trust you. She’s just—she’s got a hard exterior. But she’s gooey on the inside.”

 Tony snorts. “Well, there are some things I can’t do, I guess. I have ways to track people and find things but babies are harder. They can’t tell us anything. So we’ve just gotta go the tried and true route and let the cops figure things out. That’s what you would have done if you didn’t know me, right? And this happened? Call the cops?”

 “Yeah,” Peter says, tentatively, but Tony is almost positive he might have tried to figure shit out himself, if he was still Spider-Man in this scenario. Peter sighs, and rocks the baby a bit, awkwardly but gently at the same time. “I guess a lot of people just like superheroes when they need them,” he says. “Which sucks.”

 “Yep,” Tony says. “But it’s fine, you know? We do what we can.”

 “I’m glad you’re here,” Peter says. The baby still stares up at him, her small hands squeezing the blanket, but she looks close to falling asleep.

 “Even if I couldn’t do much?” Tony asks, leaning on the table.

 “You just make me feel safer,” Peter says, chewing on his lower lip and not looking at him. “You always have, so. You probably always will.”

 It’s just about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him, and Tony clears his throat, wishing and wishing and wishing he could be anything like the man this kid thinks he is. He wishes he could move buildings for him, and read babies’ minds. Maybe then he’d be worth something.

 Before Tony can let out a very-choked up snarky remark, the baby’s face crumbles and she starts crying. 

 “Oh no,” Peter says. “Uh oh.” He adjusts the baby a little bit and looks up at Tony with wild eyes, in a panic. “Uh, uh, she hasn’t cried yet. I don’t know what to do with the crying.”

 Tony clears his throat and scoots closer, and it sounds like her wails are bouncing off the walls, getting louder and louder. 

 He flashes back to times past. To a gentle hand running through his hair, and her smile hovering above him as she sang. She did it for as long as he can remember, even when he didn’t want her to anymore because he was too old. Now he misses it. And he misses her. His heart aches for when she was here, and for all the love she gave him. With every look and every word.

 Tony wants to be just like his mother.

 He leans in close and nearly bumps heads with Peter as they both look down at the baby. Then he starts to sing. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you, oh please don’t take my sunshine away.”

 She quiets down and Tony goes through it one more time, and when he finishes she’s quiet again, cooing, reaching up and grabbing at his goatee. 

 “Well, that was nice,” Peter says, grinning.

 Then the door slams open.

 “Oh my God!” a woman says, rushing into the room with two officers. “Oh my God, that’s my Angelica, yes, that’s her.”

 Peter immediately gets protective, like he isn’t sure she’s telling the truth, and Tony stands up, his hand on the back of the kid’s chair. He looks at the cops. “Uh—”

 “We confirmed everything,” Officer Ryan says. 

 Then the baby sees her and perks up, reaching her hands out, writhing in Peter’s arms. “Mama! Mama!” 

 “Oh, okay,” Peter says. “Well, that’s what I really needed.”

 “My father was watching her but he fell asleep, and when he woke up she was gone, she was gone by the time I got home,” she says, shaking. “I have no idea. I have no idea, but God, thank you, both of you—oh my God, wait, you’re—you’re Tony Stark—”

 Peter hands the baby over to her, and he looks down at his feet. 

 “It was Spider-Man, that found her,” Tony says, nodding. “Handed her over to us, had to go—stop a mugging he heard a couple streets down.”

 “That’s amazing,” the mother says, already pressing kisses to her baby’s cheeks. “Tell him thank you, too. I owe him. I do, I’ll track him down, pay him back somehow.”

 “He doesn’t need that,” Peter says, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s—I’m sure he’s just happy that the baby—that Angelica is safe.”

 “Well, I’ll track him down anyway,” the mother says. Her hair is the exact same color as the baby’s, and he can see their resemblance in their faces, too. “And buy him a pizza. Two pizzas! Three or four!”

 “He’ll like that,” Tony says, grinning, trying not to look at Peter.

 The baby twists around in her mother’s arms, and beams at Peter, smiling wide. Peter smiles back, and waves, and looks a bit like he’s sad to see her go.

 ~

 The kid starts to fall asleep in the car on the way back to his apartment, and Tony sighs to himself, catching sight of the time. Almost four in the morning.

 “Sorry I kept you out so late,” Peter says, curling up with the blanket they were using for the baby. “I just…you know.”

 “It’s fine,” Tony says, wiping at his eyes. “I’ve got a couple meetings tomorrow I didn’t want to attend, and now I have a real excuse.”

 Peter yawns big, his eyes getting droopy. 

 “Go to bed, sunshine,” Tony laughs. “So I don’t have to carry you upstairs when we get there. You’re too heavy.”

 Peter hums. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine—”

 Tony shakes his head, smiling a little bit. “—you make me happy, when skies are grey—”

 “—you’ll never know, dear—”

 “—how much I love you—”

 “Oh please don’t take my sunshine away…I love that song…” Peter practically falls into a snore, and Tony reaches over, making sure his seatbelt is buckled tight. 

 “Night, night, Spidey,” Tony says, ruffling Peter’s hair as he drives off through the green light.

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 16

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 3,431 Characters: Ikkaku, Jean Bart, Clione, Monkey D. Luffy, Nico Robin, Straw Hats, Violet, Trafalgar Law, Bepo, Doflamingo Notes: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

For a moment, Ikkaku’s brain struggled to process exactly what she was seeing. Why was Straw Hat Luffy on the Polar Tang? No one had heard from him or his crew in two years—since her own captain had saved his life. Was she hallucinating? Had she hit her head? Had she fallen asleep? Her brain couldn’t find a logical reason for what she was seeing.

“Eh?” Luffy said, tilting his head at Ikkaku. “You’re not Sanji. Who are you?”

“Who am I?” Ikkaku echoed in disbelief. “Why are you on my ship?” she demanded, hands going to her hips.

Luffy frowned at her for a long moment before his expression lit up. “Your ship? You must be one of Torao’s nakama!”

“Torao?” Ikkaku repeated in confusion.

Luffy nodded. “Mhm. Your captain!”

Ikkaku’s eyes narrowed. “My captain is Corazon.”

“That’s what I said. Torao.”

Irritation washing over her, Ikkaku pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, it’s not. I work for Corazon, second in command of the Donquixote Family, not whatever you just said,” she said. (Though whether Law still held that title seemed to be a question up in the air, considering the crew had been attacked, but that wasn’t Straw Hat Luffy’s business.)

“Torao is Corazon,” Luffy said. “He’s Law.”

Ikkaku stiffened. “How do you know that name?”  

“Eh? He told me!” Luffy replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

That she did not believe. Law wouldn’t just tell anyone his name—especially a rival captain. But Luffy didn’t seem inclined to expand on his explanation.

“You still haven’t answered why you’re on our ship,” Ikkaku ground out, deciding to change approaches since she wasn’t getting anywhere.

“Oh, it was Torao’s idea,” Luffy said, scratching his nose absently. “He was supposed to call hours ago, though, so I’m getting worried about him.” His vision narrowed in on her, and Ikkaku had to fight the urge to step back with the sudden intensity of his gaze. “Do you know where Torao is?”

Ikkaku frowned at that. Not only did she have a hard time believing Law had invited a rival pirate crew onto the Tang—never mind the pirate in question was one he’d gone out of his way to save for a reason he hadn’t been able to explain—but she was also struck by the statement that Law seemed to be missing. That wasn’t good.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

The atmosphere around them lightened as Luffy crossed his arms and made a thoughtful noise. Ikkaku watched him, unsure of what to do, but she was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of doors busting open behind Luffy in the mess and yelling. Oh boy. She’d completely forgotten about Jean Bart and Clione. Luffy spun around, eyes going wide, and dashed back into the room he’d just come from.

With a sigh, Ikkaku followed a moment later and entered a chaotic scene. Pirate Hunter Zoro had his blades drawn as he stared down Jean Bart, who had… were those hands spouting out of his shoulders? He’d frozen as he eyed the limbs perilously close to his thick neck. Demon Child Nico Robin had her arms crossed in front of her as she stood to the side of Zoro. The long-nosed sniper had a slingshot drawn and pointed in his direction as well.

Meanwhile, Clione was facing off against Black Leg Sanji and a skeleton? Wielding a sword? And a cyborg? What the—?

Ikkaku rubbed her eyes. She’d seen a lot of strange things in the New World, but this was definitely near the top of the list. There was just something about seeing the crazy happening on her own ship, which was supposed to be a safe haven, that caused her brain to short circuit.

“Stop!” Luffy yelled as he barreled into the center of the mess hall.

“Luffy?” Zoro asked, glancing at his captain.

“These guys just burst in and attacked us!” the sniper added.

“Because you’re on our ship,” Jean Bart growled.

“Your ship?” Cat Burglar Nami asked, loosening her grip on the strange baton in her grasp. “Are you—”

“Torao’s nakama!” Luffy interrupted. He turned and pointed at Ikkaku. “Her too.”

The other Straw Hats turned to look at her, and her face warmed at the attention. She awkwardly raised a hand in greeting. After a moment, the Straw Hats stood down. Once the weapons had been lowered, Ikkaku wound her way through the mess to stand next to Jean Bart and Clione.

“Who’s Torao?” Clione asked, confused.

“Not this again,” Luffy grumbled.

“Our captain is referring to Corazon,” Nico Robin jumped in immediately, a spare hand appearing to pat Luffy on the shoulder comfortingly before disappearing in a flurry of petals.

“Straw Hat knew his real name,” Ikkaku murmured to her friends. They gaped back at her, just as surprised as she had been. The only ones to still refer to Law by his given name were the Hearts, and they were careful only to do it when they were safely outside the hearing of any outsiders.

“How do you know our captain?” Jean Bart demanded.

“We… ran into him on Punk Hazard,” Nami said, sliding her baton into a holster at her hip.

“Punk Hazard?” Clione asked, glancing at Jean Bart and Ikkaku. “Was that where he went on his mission?”

“Must be,” Ikkaku agreed. It made sense since Law’s mission had to have been nearby, and Punk Hazard housed a sensitive project, though they didn’t know the details of it.

“Some jerk named Verto showed up and attacked all of us,” Luffy said. Well, that seemed to confirm the story; the only thing the Hearts knew about the trouble Law was in was that it involved Vergo in some way. “He called Torao a traitor and threatened Torao’s nakama.”

Ikkaku traded glances with Jean Bart and Clione.

“What happened?” Clione finally asked.

“We said we’d help,” Luffy said. “Torao saved me two years ago. He’s a good guy. And if you’re his nakama, you must’ve helped me too, so you’re good, too!”

Ikkaku gaped at Luffy. Was he serious? This was not how a pirate was supposed to act.

“Vergo’s dead,” Robin added. “Corazon killed him.”

“Good,” Ikkaku said without thinking. The thought that Law had gotten revenge on that bastard was a good one. They’d all seen how Vergo and Law interacted when Vergo came to the palace, and the malice that existed on both sides had been blistering.

“Good riddance,” Clione added.

“Not a popular guy, I take it,” Nami said, eyebrow raised.

“He hurt our captain,” Clione said. “What’s there to like?”

Zoro hummed in approval as he dropped into a chair and threw his hands behind his head in a more relaxed posture.

“That still doesn’t answer why you’re on the Tang. Our ship,” Jean Bart clarified at some confused glances.

“Torao told us to wait here until he called,” Luffy said. “But it’s boring when you can’t explore a new place.”

“So, you’re here to help us?” Ikkaku asked skeptically. Even if Luffy thought of himself as repaying his debt to Law for Marineford, it was crazy to take on a Warlord in the country he ruled as king. There was no way he had any idea what he was getting himself and his crew into.

“That’s what I said,” Luffy huffed. “Why does no one ever listen to me? That Mingo is a bad guy, so we’re going to help Torao take him down and save his nakama.”

“You didn’t know about this?” the sniper asked, absently fiddling with the handle on the slingshot he’d rested on the table.

“We haven’t seen the captain since he returned,” Jean Bart said. “We were supposed to meet after dinner—”

“But we were attacked by two executives and had to flee the palace before we could see the captain,” Ikkaku said. “We came to the ship, hoping some of the others made it here as well.”

The Straw Hats exchanged concerned looks. “Corazon called us not long after he reached the palace this afternoon,” Robin said. “He’d met with Doflamingo and intended to check in again when he met with you all, but we never got that call.”

“Do you think he’s been captured?” the little tanuki in the corner, Chopper, piped up, concerned.

“Or killed,” Sanji said with a frown.

The Hearts exchanged a look. Years ago, Law had revealed to them the ultimate ability of his Devil Fruit—the true reason Doflamingo had kept him at his side all these years. The true reason he held the Hearts as collateral for Law’s continued cooperation. (“You deserve to know why you’re being held hostage,” he’d told them when they’d asked why he was telling them this.) Doflamingo would not kill Law before he had the chance to perform that operation, but Doflamingo could make even the strongest men beg for death. And he would have no qualms killing some of the collateral if he believed Law was a traitor.

“If Doflamingo found out about Vergo,” Ikkaku began slowly, “he’d be furious.” Furious might be an understatement.

“And if he knew the captain did it…” Clione added, trailing off.

“That would explain why we were attacked,” Jean Bart said, crossing his arms.

“We need to find out what happened to L-er, Corazon,” Ikkaku said, cutting herself off. Luffy might have used Law’s name, but she didn’t know what the others knew. And she would never go behind Law’s back to reveal something like that.

Robin smiled. “Trafalgar Law, right?”

Ikkaku tensed. It was strange hearing her captain’s name out of the mouths of those who were not her nakama. Something about it felt wrong, like they were taking liberties they had not earned. And yet—

It was also a reminder that her captain was his own man, one whose identity did not revolve solely around the man he was forced to serve. Sometimes even he seemed to forget that, and maybe it was time his crew—and, apparently, their allies—helped him remember.

“Torao,” Luffy added with a nod.

So Luffy’s nickname was a butchering of Law’s surname. That made more sense than Ikkaku thought it would when she’d first heard the name.

“So, how do we find out what happened to Law?” Clione asked, looking between his nakama and the Straw Hats.

Ikkaku glanced around the mess. “I have a really bad idea.”

-----

This was definitely a bad idea, Ikkaku thought as the small group approached the palace. If anyone saw them… She shook her head; there was no real way to avoid this if they wanted information.

She and Clione had taken point, Robin and Luffy behind them. Ikkaku thought even four people was too large a group for this task, but she’d been outvoted. Ikkaku was small, stealthy, and knew the city and palace layouts so was a natural choice. Robin had operated as a spy for many years, plus had a handy—no pun intended—Devil Fruit ability. Luffy, while hardly a sneaky presence, had been adamant that he be part of the group that entered the city in search of news of the missing Heart captain. Neither Clione nor Jean Bart wanted Ikkaku to be outnumbered by the Straw Hats, even if they were apparently allied for the moment, and Clione, as the smaller of the two, had won out. Ikkaku led the small group through darkened back streets and alleyways to reach the palace.

Ikkaku turned back to the others. “We have to be very careful from here,” she whispered. “The executives have their rooms in the same wing; they’re not particularly close to each other, but if we make too much noise, any of the other three could still hear us.”

“We know,” Luffy grumbled, and Ikkaku found herself suppressing the urge to stick her tongue out at the other pirate—how childish. They’d gone over this when they’d made their hasty plan on the ship, but Ikkaku wasn’t taking any chances.

Robin nodded for Ikkaku to lead on, and she headed for the mostly darkened grounds. There should be guards patrolling, though by this late (or early) hour, they were likely to be tired and less attentive. However, with the Hearts loose, it was entirely possible that the guard numbers had been increased.

At one point, Ikkaku looked back to see Robin lagging slightly behind, her arms crossed in front of her and her eyes closed. A moment later, her eyes opened, and she dropped her arms. She met Ikkaku’s gaze.

“There was a guard approaching,” she explained as she caught up. “He’s no longer a problem.”

Ikkaku nodded and continued toward the wing that housed Law’s chambers. The group hid behind bushes or ducked behind retaining walls to avoid a few guard patrols, but eventually Ikkaku came to a halt. She pointed up to the second story to a dimly lit window overlooking a small balcony.

“That’s Law’s room.”

There was no telling what they’d find in there, if anything. But it was the best place to start.

“It’s empty,” Robin said, eyes shut. She opened them again and nodded to her captain.

Luffy nodded back and wrapped an arm around Ikkaku’s waist. Her demand of what the fuck he thought he was doing died in her throat as she was pulled upwards alongside the Straw Hat captain. She stumbled as her feet hit the tile of the balcony and threw a hand to her mouth as her stomach protested violently.

“Shishishi,” Luffy chuckled as he turned around and shot his arms over the railing and, moments later, pulled Clione over. He dropped to his knees, face green, as he sought to catch his breath.

“What the fuck,” he hissed. Ikkaku agreed whole-heartedly.

Robin appeared then, calmly pulling herself over the balcony. Ikkaku peered over the railing again, and her eyes widened at the sight of arms sprouting out of the side of the building to make stairs. Creepy as it was, Ikkaku would have preferred Robin’s method of reaching the balcony. She shook her head before turning back to the room.

Clione stepped forward, slid the balcony door open, and stepped inside the room. Ikkaku followed him, peering around for anything out of sight. She inhaled sharply as something immediately caught her attention. Clione followed her gaze and cursed quietly.

“What?” Luffy asked, coming up behind her.

“Kikoku,” Ikkaku said, pointing to the sword partially obscured by the coat on Law’s made bed. “If there was trouble, Law wouldn’t be without his sword.”

“Luffy,” Robin called quietly, standing next to the desk.

Luffy looked up, and Robin nodded to the straw hat sitting on the desk next to Law’s Den Den Mushi. Luffy frowned as he made his way over to the desk and picked the hat up. Ikkaku couldn’t read the expression on his face as he looked at the hat for a long moment before putting it back on his head.

“There are blueprints of the castle here,” Robin added, fingers running over a sheet of paper on the desk. “Was he looking for a way out?”

“Shit. There’s blood over here.”

Ikkaku, Luffy, and Robin turned at Clione’s words.  He stood by the far wall, and his gaze was on the carpet. The first thing Ikkaku noticed was Law’s hat, haphazardly discarded on the floor. Law might not be so attached to his hat as to earn an epithet named after it, but he would never just throw it on the floor. Near it, there was a small, dark stain. Ikkaku’s stomach sank.

“Look at the wall,” Robin said, tracing a cut in the brick. There was blood smeared across the gash.

Violence had been done here.

“Ew, what’s this?” Luffy said, nudging a snot-colored streak next to the blood.

“Trebol,” Ikkaku realized, recognizing the executive’s mucus. The scene she was starting to piece together that had happened in this room was not a pretty one. “He’s an executive.”

“And his Devil Fruit controls mucus,” Clione added.

Luffy pulled a face at the thought. “Gross.”

Ikkaku nodded in fully agreement. “It’s really sticky and strong.”

“Strong enough to hold an adult male to a wall?” Robin asked, still eyeing the bricks.

“Yes,” Ikkaku breathed, realizing what she was implying.

“What are you saying, Robin?” Luffy asked. “What happened to Torao?”

Robin pursed her lips for a moment before speaking. “It seems likely Torao-kun was planning to meet with his crew but first was looking for a way to get you all out,” she added, glancing at Ikkaku and Clione, “and was ambushed.”

“Trebol’s mucus must have trapped him against the wall,” Ikkaku said, eyeing the blood-streaked gash in the brick. “Trebol doesn’t use a blade, though. If Law was stabbed…”

“Diamante,” Clione supplied.

“Another executive,” Ikkaku told Luffy and Robin. “Uses a sword.” She shook her head. “Could have been Doflamingo’s strings, too.” The Warlord was infinitely, after all, creative and cruel with his Devil Fruit abilities.

“But then where is he now?” Luffy asked, looking between the other three.

“Dungeon, probably,” Ikkaku said after exchanging a grim look with Clione. The palace dungeon was rarely used for prisoners, as criminals were typically sentenced to either jail or the colosseum. Prisoners who had earned Doflamingo’s special attention were the ones to be placed in the dungeon.

Law would definitely fit that criteria.

“So, we go to the dungeon,” Luffy said, pounding a fist into his palm decisively. “Get him out.”

“No way,” Ikkaku said, shaking her head.

“Why not?”

“First, we don’t even know if he’s there,” she said, issue after issue running through her mind. “And even if he were, we’d have to sneak through the entire palace to get there without being seen.”

“There are no external doors to the dungeon,” Clione added. “Or windows.”

“To prevent escape attempts,” Robin mused.

“And even if we got to the dungeon and got Law out without being seen—which is unlikely—he’s wounded,” Ikkaku added, gesturing at the blood on the floor. “He won’t be moving well, and we’d need speed to get out.”

“Plus, the rest of our nakama are spread out over the city,” Clione said. “If we got the captain out and back to the Tang, we’d still need to find the others.”

“The sun will be coming up soon,” Robin added, nodding toward the window. Outside, the dark of night was beginning to turn gray in the pre-dawn hours. “We’ll no longer have the cover of darkness.”

Luffy stuck his bottom lip out in a pout but nodded his understanding. “Fine. But we have to do something.”

“What are you doing in here?” a new voice demanded from the doorway.

Ikkaku’s breath caught in her throat—they’d been here too long, they’d been too loud, fuck—as she slowly turned to the door. She hadn’t heard it open.

“Who’re you?” Luffy demanded.

Ikkaku’s eyes widened as she recognized the figure in the doorway. “Violet?”

-----

The sound of multiple sets of footsteps approaching pulled Law into full wakefulness. He’d only managed a light doze since Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin had run out of questions for him, considering the uncomfortable position he found himself in. Not only was his strength being leeched from his body by the Seastone shackles, but his shoulders were also starting to ache from the strain of being chained above his head, his head throbbed, and his hand…

Law swallowed and shoved that thought aside. He couldn’t think about that right now.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since there were no windows to let light in. It felt like ages and no time at all at the same time.

“Captain?” Bepo murmured worriedly. With his mink ears, he’d probably heard their guests approaching long before Law had.

Law grunted in acknowledgement of his first mate but didn’t have time to reply. His eyes narrowed as his cell door opened. The guard stepped aside with a bowed head to reveal Doflamingo.

Fear from his vulnerable position warred with rage in Law’s chest as he looked at the taller man. The man who had killed Cora-san, had stolen his freedom, and held his nakama’s lives in the palm of his hand out of a selfish, egomaniacal desire for power. Law clenched his jaw but said nothing, not trusting his voice, as the Warlord regarded him from behind his sunglasses, expression unreadable in the dim light.

Finally, he spoke. “Get him cleaned up then bring him to my office.”

Next chapter