#honestly sick of looking at this smug bastard though

[mono-doc]

He's late, for a very important date (Easter was 5 days ago)

I laid on some extra wool to make his tail fluffy

[no-144444]

the grid: No Nut November!

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Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Arthur LeClerc.

thank you to the person that requested this!!!

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Oscar Piastri: wouldn’t do it. 

Even if every driver on the grid was offering 1,000€ each as a prize, he was not giving up fucking you for an entire month. 

Even though he looks like a sweetie pie he would absolutely be a freak in the sheets and he was not about to give up the only way he actually gets his frustration out (aka fucking you). 

Everyone kind of boos him for it but then half way through the month he gets to be smug while they’re all miserable and complaining, because he can fuck his girlfriend whenever he wants. 

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Lando Norris: would try, but definitely fail. 

He wouldn’t care about the prize, he’d just have such a ‘how hard can it be?’ attitude. 

Newsflash: extremely. 

You would not make it easy for him either; wearing the sluttiest clothes, basically giving him fuck me eyes all the time, enjoying it when you see him get hot and bothered. 

He snaps on his birthday, and fucks you for hours straight. You can barely walk the next day. 

He decides to own up and pay his part of the bet with no shame, he has a hot girlfriend and he likes fucking her, sue him! 

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Lewis Hamilton: wouldn’t even try

He’s uninterested in the things most of the grid do in their spare time, and he knows they’re uninterested in him too. They don't need to know about his sex life, but what people can guess is that it is very much alive. 

I mean… you two had a baby literally 8 months after your wedding, to the day. 

The other 3 kids don't exactly help his case… 

He’d say yes, just so he could be added to the group chat and he would tell you who is winning and losing.

He’d lose on the first day with no shame. Everyone knows he's just here for the public shaming of others. 

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George Russell: would win

Not saying he’s not a freak in the sheets, but he would set up the entire thing (group chat, the money pool, etc.) and he cannot be seen lacking. 

Even if it wasn’t his idea, he still needed to win. 

You do make the entire month absolute torture though. 

Matching sets, showing as much skin as possible, everything. 

Even walking around the apartment naked. 

But somehow, he doesn’t budge. 

At the end of the month he does fuck you for ages, and you literally cant get out of bed, let alone follow him to a race. He tells the media you’re sick and all of the drivers have the dirtiest laughs as he explains. Despite every question, they keep their mouths shut. 

George did announce that he won at the end, much to your chagrin. 

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Alex Albon: he’d last a while

 He would honestly be pretty good. 

He kind of breaks the rules, he constantly gives you oral and jerking himself off, but it wasn’t specifically stated in the rules (apart from the name… but whatever)

He makes it like halfway through the month until a particularly bad race result. 

He fucks you all night. 

When you both get to the paddock in the morning, George pays him a visit to collect the money like the smug bastard he is. 

He heard you two last night. 

He was 4 doors down. 

Oops. 

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Franco Colapinto: he’s the one who accidentally tells the press. 

We all know Franco is awful at keeping his mouth shut, and in an interview he somehow lets it slip that he needed to find George to give him money. 

They ask him what for. 

He says ‘the bet’ and explains that they’re doing NNN this year and that he lost. 

It was worth it though, you two hadn’t seen each other in months (you were busy in uni, he was busy at races) and he just had to have you. 

He made it like a quarter of the way into the month. 

He didn't really care. 

The drivers honestly just found it funny that he told the media. 

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Logan Sargeant: would make it most of the way, but just fall short by like 4 days.

He had done so well, ignoring all of your sexual advances for the majority of the month…

Then he got drunk. 

Drunk Logan and drunk you? Yeah, you’re fucking. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, and he paid the price. 

He paid up sheepishly the next day, George looked at him with the smuggest smile ever. 

Logan didn’t even care. He fucked you twice as much as before. 

He has to make up for lost time, right? 

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Daniel Riccardo: he would lose immediately.

This man is a 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀 

He would kind of do the same thing as Lewis, pay to just watch the rest of them loose. 

He does last a little bit longer though (in their eyes).

 He doesn’t pay up until the second week even though he’s been fucking you the entire time. 

He has absolutely no shame about it either. 

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Liam Lawson: he would almost win.

He's such a cutie. I think he’d somehow abstain for a while. 

He’d get to around the 26th, and then give up. 

The month was torture though. 

You literally would beg him every night, and he would just have to say no. 

You were impressed at how long he lasted. 

But then he gave in after he scored points in mexico...

Yuki ratted him out to George, he was very embarrassed.

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Charles LeClerc: he would lose immediately.

Charles is an idiot. 

He would lose the first day by accident, and then try to pretend that it doesn't count until George actually comes knocking on his drivers room door looking for the money. 

He heard you, of course. 

Charles reluctantly watches the rest of the month play out, bitter that his own forgetfulness took him out so early. 

He vows to win next year. 

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Carlos Sainz: wouldn’t do it. 

He’s not giving up fucking you for a month. No way. 

He also wouldn’t be interested in the sex lives of others enough to even pay into it like Lewis. 

His sex life is his own, and as much as he loves healthy competition, this is a race he’s happy to lose. 

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Max Verstappen: would be a huge bitch all month.

Dude is like a moody teenager when he’s not getting it. 

Daniel persuades him to do it and he makes it a few days in.

Literally turns into the biggest moody bitch ever.

By the 8th day everyone is begging you to just fuck him so he’ll stop being such a cunt to them.

You do. 

He pays up and spends the rest of the month fucking you. 

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Paul Aron: he would almost win.

He would last pretty long. Like maybe more than half the month

Despite his playboy facade, he’s actually more into cuddles and shit like that. 

 But after a bad race…

Yeah, he pays up with zero shame. 

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Arthur LeClerc: he would lose, in two ways. 

Y’know how quickly Charles lost, yeah he’d be worse.

He wouldn’t forget, he’d just think that he can get away with fucking you all month but of course, that doesn’t happen.

George comes knocking after Charles tells him he can hear you two.

You are deeply embarrassed that your boyfriend's brother heard you two having sex, and you impose a ban for the rest of the month. 

You say it’ll help you both be more aware of when and where you’re doing it, and how to not get caught by his brother again. 

He curses out his brother the next time he sees him.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[bubbleteaimagines]

Hello! Can you do an angst Warhammer/Tybur Reader x Porco? Maybe they met once during Titan training before and became close, to eventually lovers, and then the declaration of war happens and- well- you know- Thank you! Your writings are always so good so i cant help but keep requesting! ♡

Declaration of War

Porco Galliard Oneshot

Summary: You never wanted a war. You only wanted a happyily ever after. But what choice did you have when the universe was against you?

Pairings: Porco Galliard x Warhammer!Reader

Warnings: Just pure angst, mentions of blood drinking (You know, that scene)

Authors Note: Wow I- you woke up and chose violence with this one nonnie 😭 But anyways thank you for requesting! You’re so sweet 💞

You don’t remember much of your childhood, but you do remember the exact day your were adopted into the Tybur family. It was when you were around three, living half a world away when all of sudden, you were swept into the royal lifestyle.

Honestly, you’re still not sure what made them pick you. I mean, according to your father you weren’t even from Marley. But you were an Eldian, so when the time came it was you that was chosen to inherit the warhammer titan.

When your father first announced this, a lot of criticism was thrown your way. After all, you, someone who wasn’t even apart of the bloodline, inheriting possibly the strongest titan there was? Impossible.

There was an outrage, people came banging on your father’s door demanding why this decision had been made. Why not Laura? Why not someone that was his actual offspring?

Why you?

That question had been bottled up in your ever since you found out. Why did it have to be you, someone that was simply given the Tybur name? Why was it you that had to shoulder this? Why was it your burden to carry.

You didn’t ask for this. But yet- everyone acted like it was a great honor to receive a titan. The people of Marley even rewarded those who sacrificed themselves to become warriors.

Honestly, when you first heard about that, it took all you had not to gasp in horror.

Growing up as royalty, you had been somewhat shielded from the cruelty of how others treated Eldians. No one ever dared to speak against you, never dared to spit at you or curse you out, but you could still see the disgust in their eyes that they tried so hard to mask.

You were different. And now you were powerful. People didn’t like that.

On your first ever visit to Marley, the beginning of the end, you could sense the hostility from outsiders, and even from your own kind.

It was sickening really, how people bowed to your feet yet tormented so many people like were just like you. You didn’t understand at first- you knew the history of Eldian suppression, but why, why were all of you dragged into this? What had you ever done to deserve the harassment, the isolation, the punishment?

It was sick how people looked down on Eldians like you were the scum of the earth. Even other Eldians talked about this Island filled with their kin in disgust, claiming that they were devils.

It was sick how people were fed lies and forced to suppress themselves and the people like them. It was sick, and it made you even angerier that you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

No, the only thing you could do was smile and occasionally talk with officials when they asked you something, faking a laugh at whatever they said and then going back to being in your fathers shadow.

You hated it, honestly, and you hated everything about Marley until you met him.

Meeting Porco Galliard had not been an accident, but it took you by surpise nevertheless. While stationed in Marley to discuss the War, he was assigned as your official bodyguard.

Inheriter of the Jaw Titan, as you had learned. Cocky, arrogant, and a smug bastard as you had learned.

Truthfully, you both hated each other when you first met. Or more like you couldn’t stand him, but he was forced to endure your hostility and only respond with equal coldness.

Being together almost 24/7 had been an absolute nightmare. He was like a shadow, always lingering in the background, telling you how you could do this or that. He made sure to irk your nerves in every way possible.

A small smirk could always be seen whenever you were frustrated, letting out groans everytime you forced to let him accompany you with something.

You wanted to go the shore and relax alone while watching the sunset? Too bad- you were instead forced to scowl at Porco’s back as he lead you there. You wanted to take a peaceful bath and unwind after a long day of talking politics? Porco would be right outside your door, interrupting every five seconds and asking when you were gonna be finished.

It was terrible. He was terrible. Which was why you were so shocked when you found yourself falling in love with him.

Honestly- you’re not sure how or when. When did you start to look at him differently? When did you start to recognize the man under that annoying mask, the one that was hidden from the rest of the world? When did you start to notice the cracks in his facade?

Truthfully, it came gradually. A civil conversation here, another conversation there, and suddenly, you were telling your bodyguard all about yourself and your home, discussing your titans in the late hours when neither of you could sleep, and arguing about who was stronger.

The cracks appeared slowly. And so did the cracks in your mask. You don’t know when it started, but you did know that it was destined to end.

The minute you began to feel butterflies whenever you were around Porco - taking late night trips to the shore and talking about your pasta or dragging him out to the market to find your favorite flowers - you knew that you were destined for doom.

He knew it, too. Whatever blossomed betweened you two during the months of stay in Marley was sure to never last, but you both kept clinging anyways.

You clinged to the moments you got alone, free to lay in Porco’s arms while he whispered stories of his childhood. You clinged to the memories of your first kiss, the first time you ever snuck out together, and mischief you two would reek during the daytime when he’d chase you through the streets.

You cherished it all. Every moment, every memory. And you had a good reason to- because you knew it wouldn’t last.

Life had a funny way of separating what wasn’t meant to be.

First, it was having to finally leave Marley and go back home- Without Porco.

You were heartbroken when you heard the news- your father no longer had business there and so it was time to leave. Time to leave behind Porco and your fantasy of love.

When you came to him one night, crying and breaking the news, Porco had held you and promised that you’d survive this. No matter the distance, he promised that he’d write as much as he could so long as you promised the same.

You both were determined to keep your love afloat. But it was all futile, in the end.

After the separation came responsibilities, duties that both you and Porco had to uphold. For him, it was his duty as a warrior. For you, it was your duty as a royal.

The letters you exchanged were frequent in the beginning. You’d hear from him every week, reading his words in the candlelight once everyone else was asleep. Smiling as you scribbled one back, reminding him of your love and your promise to return to him one day.

It was always so easy in the beginning.

But slowly, life took over. The letters between you two began to expand to two weeks, then three, and then- you’d both be lucky if you heard from the other in a month.

You hadn’t it to be this way. But after the responsibilities, came the war.

Dread filled your every fiber as you were told that Marley had declared war on a neighboring nation. All soldiers were required to fight- all warriors had no choice but to be on the front lines.

This included Porco, and you and fell to you knees sobbing when you had received what very well could have been your last letter from him.

In it, he informed you of the dreadful news and told you that the Jaw Titan’s abilities were required. He didn’t have a choice, but he was glad that at least you hadn’t been called fight. He then went on to make his promises- the first that he’d stay safe and the second that he’d return to you.

He promised that the two of you would be reunited again- but little did either of you know, he’d be right.

Your time in Marley wouldn’t be last time you’d see Porco again. Unfortunately though, when you met again, it would be his.

-

After three years you would think something would change. Maybe your feelings towards him, but you found that it was quite the opposite.

The longer that he was gone, the more you yearned for him. You did everything you could to keep yourself from going insane, reminding yourself constantly that he was alive and doing great.

You purchased every newspaper you could as soon as they came out, if only the read about him. The Jaw Titan has been nothing short of a war hero during battles. You could see his pictures, read the words that were praising him but none of that ever mattered.

Everytime you picked up a paper, the only thing your eyes cared about was seeing him alive. And so long as he was, you could breath until the next issue came out.

With you keeping up with Porco constantly, it was no surprise that you were one of the first to hear that the war was ending.

Marley had won, and the warrior casualties were at zero. Porco had made it out alive. Just like he promised.

The minute you had found out you weeped harder than you ever had before. Even more so than when you found out he was going to war.

You couldn’t help it- you were eso relived. And when that first letter came to you after three years, asking if you stilled carried love for him or if you had forgotten him, Porco got a response the next day that made him smile wider than he had in three years.

You were coming back to Marley. Your entire family- but mainly because of your father. Whatever the circumstances, neither of you cared. All that mattered was the moment you were reunited again, sneaking back to your spot on the shore where you spotted him already waiting for you.

“Porco!”

You voice was loud, but at the moment you didn’t care who heard you. All you cared about was running to be in arms again, and when he stood up, a welcoming smile on his face as he caught you, you felt like you were home once again.

“Y/N...” Porco buried himself in the crook of your neck and gave you a watery grin, holding you tight. “You...you made it. Y-You’re here.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” You chuckled tearfully, before leaning in and giving him the kiss you had been waiting three years for.

That night, you felt invincible as you laid with Porco, wrapped up in his arms as you laid by the ocean. The peace you felt was unlike anything you had felt in years. And when you heard him confess that night, after making love to you by the water, you thought that nothing could ever get better than this.

And you were right.

If you had known, if he had known that in a few short hours that everything would change, then maybe, just maybe, you would have done something different.

Maybe Porco would have held you a little longer before breaking away that morning. Maybe you would have begged him to stay, knowing it would be your last night together. Maybe...you both would have run away together, to a world that was more peaceful than your own.

If only you had known.

But instead, you bid goodbye to each other like it wasn’t going to be your last. Instead you carried on your day like nothing could go wrong, getting ready for the ceremony that night.

Your father had told you he was doing it to expose the truth about Eldians. He said he would unite the world against Paradis. Whatever that meant, you could tell that there was something lingering in his eyes as he kissed you goodbye that night.

There was something...somber about the atmosphere. Despite your cheerful younger siblings, the warm smile of your sister and she embraced and promised that your father would return shortly.

Something was wrong. You saw it in his eyes. But as the story goes, you recognized what it was too little, too late. By the time the ceremony began to evening, you were as ignorant as the rest of them.

Standing back stage, naively thinking your father would come back and hug you shortly, exclaiming about how well it went.

Thinking that you’d get one last chance to be in Porco’s arms again that night.

You were naive. Not prepared for anything. Never have being trained to the use titan you possessed. Always sitting back, always being cautious. You were never once allowed to use your powers. Not in the war, to sharpen them, not to train you. If was dormant inside of you, so much so that you might as well hadn’t had it at all.

And it costed you your life.

The rumbling, you noted, was when it first started. The ground beneath you was shaking like there an earthquake. And then, there was a flash of yellow light and everything you had ever know was gone.

You screamed as the floor beneath your feet was ripped up, a roar of anger coming from the very person your father had started talking about.

Eren Jaeger.

He appeared like it was magic, his ginormous titan emerging from underground. He let out a scream as he dove right for his target - or was that you? - your father.

The man that had given you everything was devoured right in front of you. A titan- no why was there a titan here? They didn’t exist in these parts. You had never seen- oh god. Why couldn’t you get your thoughts together?

“Y/N?” A panicked cry from your mother snapped you out of your shock, a feeling of terror beginning to sink in as you realized what had just happened. “You need to- you need to transform, sweetheart!”

“But-!” You wanted to say you didn’t know how. But you did. It was the one thing you were taught. The one thing you were prepared for. You thought it had been odd, three days ago, when your father suddenly told you. When he explained that a drop of blood was all that was needed to activate the warhammer.

You thought it was strange. But now...now you realized what he was preparing you for. His death.

“Go!” Your mother screamed as she held your crying siblings, trying to protect them from the chaos that had already occurred. “Protect us well! Avenge your father!”

“I will,” You don’t even remember hearing the words, as everything after that pretty much went black.

The only thing you were thinking of as you harshly bit your hand, your heart pounding in your chest, was eliminating the enemy that had killed your father.

Eren Jaeger stood before you, no less shocked than everybody else was. He stilled from his position, lips curling into a snarl as he stared at your white, armored body.

So it was you.

He had been aiming for you father, your sister Laura next. But really, the warhammer titan had been passed down to you, someone not even part of the bloodline.

What a twist in fate.

Eren angled his body towards you and you feel the heat of his breath as he roared. He was prepared for this. He had planned this attack. He had planned to kill you.

The minute that Porco realized this, he was panicking. He and Pieck had been trapped for a reason. They must have known- the enemy wanted to eliminate any possible threats.

“Pieck! We have to get out of here!” He yelled fiercely, banging on the Well walls.

“Porco- relax. Someone’s coming for us,” She reassured him, but Porco wasn’t calming down.

His first thought when he was pulled out was to go straight to you. You were the only thing on his mind. He had to get to you, but somehow Pieck convinced him to wait.

You would handle this on your own, she told him. You had this.

Porco wished he hadn’t believed her. He wished that he just scoffed and ran off away, instead of listening and waiting for a miracle.

You weren’t trained for this. While powerful, you had no idea how to do much beyond what your instincts told you. Maybe if he would have realized that, maybe if he had just listened to his gut, he wouldn’t have been watching the love of his life about to be devoured.

“No!” Porco roared as he saw Eren holding your Crystal, your terrified face peaking out from the cracks. You were powerful, but you had been no match for Eren Jaeger. He was strong, and he figured out your weakness before you did.

Now, all that was left was to defend yourself. To preserve your body and hope that someone else could finish what you started.

A million thoughts were racing through your mind. A million different emotions, but most prominent was horror as you saw Porco leap to your rescue.

“No!” Is what you wanted to scream out as you saw him fighting the Attack Titan. ‘Turn around, get away’ is what you wanted to say when he made a grab for you, only to miss and instead punctured the crystal.

You could see it as clear as day. Eren saw the way he managed to break through, too. And that was the moment- the moment you knew you were doomed.

A silent tear ran down your face as Porco went to attack again, only to be ambushed by one of the Eren’s allies and disabled.

He couldn’t move his legs, but he still made one last attempt for you- once last Hail Mary.

He extended his jaws, trying to at least capture your Crystal. But all that he was met with was Eren shoving it into his mouth, using his jaws to break open your crystal.

“No!” Porco yelled out in his head, pure agony seeping through his veins as he realized what was about to happen. As he realized that Eren Jaeger was using him to kill the one he loved.

He tried to get away. He tried to will his body to stop working.

He tried everything he could- but it wasn’t enough.

The crystal broke before either of you ever had time to say goodbye. There was a deafening noise, a flash a of pain, and then the last thing you ever saw in that world was the look on Porco’s face as Eren tossed him away, successfully drinking your blood.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Okay for supernatural/demon lads and ghosthunting MC though.... imagine one of their haunted house sleepovers. The guys torn between scaring off the actual hauntings and *also* liking the way MC snuggles up close when spooky sounds and blips on her camera/sound equipment/etc happen.... Maybe a ouija board session at the witching hour where some narc ghost tries to warn her about three demons clinging to her >:Dc

WAAA omg. omg. omg this gave me an idea i had to-

“... The collapse of the roof in 1755 crushed 4 residents of the asylum.” You were deliberately using your spookiest voice, drained of all but the bare essentials of emotion to get the point across, flashlight in hand. “Since the accident they’ve cleared the damage and fixed the ceiling... but some say the spirits of those killed still wander the halls today, trapped not by rubble... but by the pain that binds their energy to this location.” 

You were still amazed at how steadily Skull could hold a camera. Whenever you looked through footage, even the stuff taken when he was walking, it was as if you had it on a professional electronic rig... you honestly had no idea what you’d do without him. It was pretty damn cold in the building, as it was completely derelict and abandoned, with no windows to furnishings to retain heat- only the concrete foundations remained.

“Visitors to the site have reported tapping on the walls, footsteps, shadows in the corridors, and the smell of brick dus-”

At the sound of tapping very nearby on the old plaster asylum wall, you spun around in shock, shining your flashlight...

... On Red, who was grinning like a bastard, rapping his phalanges on the wall.

“... s’pretty sturdy for an old ass wall.” He purred, pulling an ‘innocent’ face and putting his hand back in his pocket.

“hearing creaks and smelling dust in an old building.” Sans said, with his usual unbothered smile, like all this was just a bad haunted house attraction. “shocking. must be ghosts.”

“Oh, sure, act smug now, you’ll be apologising later when I get paranormal activity on camera.” You mumbled, deliberately shining the light into his face for a moment. You removed your spirit box from your pocket, ignoring the little joking vampire-like hissing sound he made.

The spirit box was your prized possession, your favourite method of communicating with spirits. It was a small black device that somewhat resembled an old walkie talkie; its purpose was to rapidly cycle between radio stations, producing static noise that ghosts could communicate directly with you through. It sounded sharp and horrible and always made the ugliest jittering sound, but even just holding it in your hands made you feel more and more excited.

“... I’ve got a device in my hand.” You said, addressing the room, the building... this was the part you never got over. The part where you spoke directly into the darkness that somehow seemed both smoggy and veil-thin, the part where you could almost feel the unseen eyes in the area turn to you. A shiver ran up your spine... you were certain that if you weren’t flanked by the comforting presences of Sans, Red and Skull, you’d chicken out before you could capture any video. “It’s going to play static that’ll allow you to communicate with us. If you want to, please speak, tell us what happened here.”

“geez. i hate this thing...

... You turned it on. Sans pulled a face, but didn’t make any of his usual complaints, which you appreciated. You stood there, waiting, all four of you staring at the device in your hand... it usually took a little while for something to come through so you weren’t expecting-

“ - - D E M O - N S -”

It blurted out of the box, clear as day, the clearest voice you’d ever heard coming from the box with only a slight jitter from the skipping. It sounded like a man. You jumped, your chest and your eyes widening- “Oh my God... I- what did it say? Did you say demons?”

“- E M O N S - - - I - N - -”

Your hands were shaking- he repeated it. Your full attention was on the box now, your heart was starting to pound. “There are demons here? In the building?”

“- YES-”

It was the same voice, giving you clear replies! This was huge! You couldn’t believe it! You were holding the box like it was a winning lottery ticket, just about losing your mind. “What’s your name? Tell me your name.”

“- -  PLE A S E -” 

You didn’t see the expressions on the guys’ faces. You didn’t notice Red and Sans slip away into the dark, too exhilarated to be expecting their usual cutthroat humour and cynicism.

"Where are the demons? Are they in the building? Can you tell me where they are?”

Something came through the box, but it was too mangled by the static, too impossible to make out. “What did you say? Say that again!”

“- W - - TH -” It was like something was interfering with the transmission. “W I T H - Y O U.”

... What?

“... With me?”

“ T H E - S K E L E T - ”

... It turned off.

...

Everything turned off. Your fully charged torch went dead, Skull’s torch went dead, the camera's lights blinked out. Suddenly, all the noise in the world had vanished... it was so, so deafeningly quiet...

... and the only light was Skull’s blood red iris, staring at you.

...

“... All the stuff just...” 

... You looked around the room, trying to see something in the murky darkness, as if searching the shadows for a reason for the sudden powercut to all your individual devices at once.

“... something wrong?” Skull asked. 

His voice was incredibly gentle.

... It was as if a cloud descended over your mind. Suddenly, just like that, you felt like you’d been plunged into a dream. Nothing seemed... real. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t process... a horrible wave of dizziness accompanied the cloud, creeping over you, prickling at your temples and muddying everything that was going in and out of your brain.

“I-I...” You stopped being able to feel your hands or your death grip on the useless flashlight. The pitch black room was beginning to spin, slowly... “I don’t...”

“hm?” 

“Where’s...” Your eyes were darting about. Pounding head, like it’d been stuffed full of cotton... your lips weighed too much, it was hard to speak. “Where... Sans... Red...?”

“... shh... it’s okay.” 

A big hand softly closed over yours. You knew Skull had big hands, that was something you loved about him... but the one that held you was huge. Your tiny appendage was swallowed whole by thick bones with long, cruel claws... it felt like him, but it didn’t... feel like him...

... What’s going on? Where am I?

... The hand gently led you closer, easily moving you like you were little more than a confused child. His eyelight was in view... his huge, red eyelight... your own eyes were stinging, strained, wide and afraid. The other hand moved close to you but you didn’t even have the presence of mind to flinch as it gently brushed hair out of your face... you just stared up into the eyelight.

He had horns. Skull’s silhouette had huge, curved horns.

“it’s alright.” He murmured, cupping you like a precious baby bird. His voice had become distorted, warped... and even in your state of delirium, you were certain it wasn’t from the headache. “you’re with me. you can let go.” 

The dizziness was becoming too much to bear. You couldn’t even focus on his iris anymore, you couldn’t see, you were either going to pass out or be sick. The distant sound of your flashlight hitting the floor... You pressed your eyes shut to relieve the aching, and tried to say something, but it was just a bleary mumble...

“that’s it.” He purred, the hand holding yours instead moving to your back to support your swaying body. You couldn’t open your eyes again... you didn’t want to. It felt so much nicer closed, the discomfort was muffled. “don’t need fight. none of this... ever happened.”

... You were vaguely aware of him catching your tipping body and scooping you up into his arms before everything went completely dark.

[fma03envy]

Fma rewatch thoughts for episodes 9&10

9:

Ed's mission here is to inspect the coal mines, but he isn't told anything specific to actually look for/what standard the mine is to be measured against. In retrospect I should've guessed that Mustang knew about Yoki's corruption from the start

It's really sad here how Ed is trying to push away both Winry and Al (it's obvious he blames himself for Winry being in danger :/ )

Al always has such great expressions for someone who can't move his face

Obviously the citizens of Youswell hate the military bc Yoki is fucking them over. But I do wonder if another reason for it might be that their Eastern location makes them know a little more about Ishbal than the rest of the country, given that they're closer to it

Iirc this is actually the first time I'm watching it subbed. In the dub Lyra's name is pronounced lee-ra but apparently in the og it's lie-ra (like in HDM) and it's kind of throwing me for a loop

Ed is such a bastard (affectionate) in this episode. Like he makes such a show of messing with the villagers before actually helping them and is sooo smug about tricking Yoki. Local child is committed to justice but also to The Bit

On that note though, I feel like emotional repression is a theme throughout this episode. We start off with Winry giddily trying to lose herself in her passion for automail to avoid thinking about how she and Ed were almost murdered the episode before. With Ed it's more subtle, but the way he's so spirited in the second half of this ep despite having just gone through the stuff with Barry and Nina definitely doesn't feel entirely genuine

10:

The card scene at the beginning is definitely the high point of this ep, I love it

With this talk of Ed and Al's travels still getting them nothing, I do wonder what material Ed produces at his assessments to keep his certification. I forget if the state alchemist assessments get brought up in 03 after Tucker (I think they do once in the manga but not in BH?) EDIT: Forgot about episode 13 nvm

I can't find that "This poor boy is afraid of needles [insert picture of Ed being stabbed by Envy]" post but I am Thinking About It

The way Al uses alchemy to put the apple that had fallen on the ground back in one piece makes me wonder about alchemy's sanitary uses. Can you just transmute the germs away from the rest of an object? Do people in the fma universe know germs exist

The whole Psiren thing sucks and I hate it. Stop being weird to Ed he's 15 and you're an adult I'll kill you (also I feel like she's even worse about it in this translation vs the dub one)

It's especially annoying because otherwise the premise of "phantom thief who preforms elaborate magic tricks with alchemy by night and has an impractical number of secret identities by day" sounds like it would rule but here we are. First Cornello then Psiren, why do alchemists who use their powers to do sick magic tricks keep being shit people

The site I'm watching this on classifies episodes 4, 10, and 37 as the only filler episodes in fma03 and honestly I think that's fair

[harrysgloves]

Here Comes The Sun

word count: 3.3k

story summary: After dating for 2 years, Harry finally convinces you to move in with him. Only to find out the person he loves most in this world suffers from depression.

warnings: Language // Mentions of depression, anxiety, insomnia, and everything else that goes along with that fucking terrible disease. // Fluff because I really needed it.

a/n: 100% needed this pick me up short story right now. The depression is real. Always remember to reach out for help if the load of your own depression/ anxiety/ insomnia/ mental illness gets too heavy for you to carry on your own. We all need help some times.

>>><<<

Things in your life had been going so well. Everything seemed to be fitting together so nicely like it was meant to be this way. That, honestly, should have been your first sign that a storm was just around the corner.

You'd finally agreed to move in with your boyfriend of two years after months of him begging and pleading with you.

"Come on, love. It'll save money." He said trying to be all sneaky, saying that was the only reason why he wanted you to move it.

"It jus' makes sense. Y'know ecologically. Less travelin' back and forth. Really, do it fo' the trees, love." He tried another time.

"Harry, if you care about saving trees buy a Kindle." You said as you laid down your own eReader to gestured to the book laying on his chest.

"Y'know how I feel 'bout those… things." He said with a wave of his hand before picking up his apparently superior "real" book. The sour look on his face made the side of your lip curl upwards letting out a hum as you picked up your tablet again.

"Well, when you get a tablet we'll talk about it." You said, smiling as you picked up where you left off in your book. Thinking you'd won the fight, there was no way he'd ever give up his love for turning pages for a digital reader.

You were very, very, wrong.

The next week you two hung out at his flat, cuddled up on the couch as usual. Your head laying in his lap as you tuned out whatever nonsense was on tv and scrolled mindlessly through news articles on your phone.

You only looked up when Harry moved his hand off your arm. Your eyes peered up at the smug bastard casually pulling out his new Kindle. The color draining from your face as he sat there with that infuriating cheeky grin.

"Anything we need to talk about, sweetheart?" He asked, eyes still on the screen of his tablet, that dimple popping out as he grinned.

"Oh, don't you sweetheart me!" You sat up abruptly beside him. The smile never leaving his face as he laid down his tablet on the coffee table.

"Why not, lovie? Something wrong?" He cooed, moving closer to you on the couch as you rolled your eyes at him.

"When did you get that?" You asked, gesturing to the piece of technology you swore he'd never EVER own.

"Two hours after y'left last week." His arms wrapped around you pulling you into his chest as you stared at him.

The cheeky jerk always tried to get what he wanted.

"H." You said, shaking your head at him.

"Jus' move in with me! Promise I'll pick up my socks and everythin'." He pouted his head laying on your shoulder until you pulled back slightly from him.

"Okay, I know that's a lie." You rolled your eyes, laying your head on his chest.

It wasn't that you didn't want to move in with him. You really did. You loved the guy. Even if he told the world's worst jokes and he hated your intense love of bad, corny, movies.

You considered him not just your boyfriend but one of your best friends. Not your absolute best friend because that bitch would murder Harry if he ever took her spot but he was close.

The only problem?

You'd managed to hide the fact you were diagnosed with depression for years. Any time any of your bouts of sadness seemed to hit he was conveniently out of town. By the time he came back they were close enough to being over that you could push through it. Pretend to be happy.

That's what you did best. Almost all the people in your life had no idea you struggled with a mental illness. That you had depression that fueled your anxiety which made your insomnia unbearable… which only made the depression worse.

It was a constant vicious cycle of depression, anxiety, and insomnia that you didn't want him to see. You liked being the person who made everyone laugh and have a great time.

You liked being the life of the party. Liked having fun and being adventurous but something in you would flip like a switch and suddenly you wouldn't be the same person anymore.

You'd spend days in bed, hardly moving, finding reasons to do your office job that you loved at home. You didn't see many people, blowing off your friends with excuses of being busy with work when really you were curled up in a ball in your bed staring at your bedroom wall, overthinking everything.

"Come on, what's t'big deal? I love ya and obviously y'not waitin' fo' marriage or anythin'." He said, laughing when you hit the jerk in the shoulder with the closest couch pillow.

"'M sorry but it was funny." He said with that annoying but oh so adorable sparkle in his eyes as he leaned his head back on your shoulder, sticking out his bottom lip to pout at you.

"Please move in? Pleeease?" He begged, pleading up to you with those bright green eyes you couldn't say no to.

"Fine but if you stop loving me that's your own fault." You sighed, settling on the fact that you didn't want your depression to hold you back.

If he loved you he would understand.

"Never gonna happen, love." He said leaning over to give you a kiss. Lips intertwining together causing the thoughts of worry to drift slowly from your mind.

>>>

It was only the first week of you two being moved in together when you felt that overwhelming sense of gray starting to edge its way into your mind. It was simple things at first, oversleeping, not feeling hungry, and not feeling up to doing much.

You easily chopped it up to the stress of moving and the adjustment period of getting used to living with someone else other than yourself. Telling yourself that there was no way you could be getting down when you had so much to be happy about.

Your nights after work were filled with nothing but cuddles on your couch. Pressed against Harry's chest as he read you the book you'd both settled on. Your fingers combing through his hair as you listened to every word pouring out of his mouth. Smiling softly as you nuzzled into his neck.

No, there was no way you could feel depressed when you had this to look forward to every night after a long day.

But you were wrong.

>>>

"Sunflower! 'M home!" Harry called out for you when he got back from the studio. A box of donuts in his hands as he shut the door behind him with his foot.

He could tell that you'd been feeling a bit off lately. You'd been sleeping more than you usually did. Complaining about your stomach being sick when he tried to get you to eat. Which never happened because you loved food.

When he rolled out of bed that morning to head to the studio you told him you were doing your office work from home. He thought it was odd since you usually loved going into your office. You'd been there so long that you considered almost everyone your close friend. Of course, you also didn't meet many people who weren't your friend which was one of the reasons Harry loved you in the first place.

You were always so sweet and kind. Going out of your way for people was something you didn't even bat an eye at. Your heart was made of pure gold and he loved seeing your smile light up a room anytime he took you out.

Lately though you'd been refusing to go with him to do things. Saying you had too much work to do. Something he tried to get you to stop doing to yourself. You had a bad habit of doing people's work for them when they gave you a half-assed reason why they couldn't do it.

He couldn't stand to see you work yourself to the point of stressing yourself out. Which is what he figured you were going through right now.

"Love?" He called for you again when you didn't respond. Throwing his keys and bag on the table haphazardly like he knew you hated but was slowly trying to break the habit of doing every day.

His eyebrows furrowed as he toed off his shoes. You usually came bolting down the hallway the second you heard his keys hit the kitchen table, telling him off for not putting them in the key bowl sitting by the front door. Something he didn't quite understand since you two usually ate in the living room and didn't even use the kitchen table unless people were over.

He walked through the quiet and dark house straight to the study. The door to the room jammed packed with his books creaked open revealing no one in there. Not even your laptop was in the room and nothing was out of place. It didn't even look like you'd been in there that day.

He closed the door behind him as he headed for the bedroom. He wasn't sure why you'd been in there since you said you had so much work to do and you were very adamant on no work being done in the bedroom. Saying it was only a place for sleep and sex.

When he finally got to your two's bedroom though he was surprised to find you curled up in a ball, buried under the thick comforter, asleep. Your hands gripping on the blankets as you huddled for warmth. Your easy breathing rising your chest gently up and down as you snoozed away peacefully.

A small smile formed on Harry's lips as he watched you for a second. This was exactly why he wanted you to move in, he loved seeing you already there when he got home. Even if you were asleep.

He placed the box of donuts on the bedside table before crawling into bed with you. The decompression of the mattress caused your eyes to flicker open as he laid behind you. His arm draped over your side as he pulled you closer to him.

"Mornin', love." He kissed your temple as you groaned in protest, not wanting to wake up since day time seemed to be the only time you could sleep anymore.

"Five more minutes." You mumbled, glaring at Harry when you heard him let out a small laugh.

"It's six in the evenin'. Y'won't sleep tonight if y'don't get up, baby." He said while his hand rubbed gently up and down your arm. The calluses on his fingertips scratched you slightly as you pulled away from him burying your face in the pillow.

"I'm sleepy." You complained, the pillow in your face muffling your voice.

"Y'never this sleepy." He said, pulling back from you slightly, brows furrowed in concern.

"I know. Just don't feel good." You shrugged as you rolled off the pillow to face him. You really should have told him then but the thought of him seeing you in a different light was terrifying. Logically, you knew he wouldn't judge you but the thought still loomed in your mind.

"Y'fevered?" He asked, touching your forehead with the back of his hand.

"No, nothing like that. Just tired." You sighed, wishing you weren't so much of a coward. Your teeth biting your bottom lip as your eyes darted away from his stare.

"Brought y'donuts. Those are always y'favorite." He said, hoping that would get you out of bed.

"Not hungry H. Wanna go back to sleep." You said, turning away from him again. You were so tired, your nights filled with nothing but restlessness and racing thoughts that somehow only subsided during the day.

"Y'stomach sick?" He asked, as he laid back down beside you. He wasn't sure what was going on with you but he could tell something was definitely wrong.

"Kind of." You said, Harry's mind racing with all the possibilities of what was going on with you.

Did anyone you know have the stomach flu? He didn't think so or at least you hadn't mentioned anything about it. Maybe it was the real flu he though but it wasn't the season for the flu and you'd be burning up if you had that. It could have been a common cold but you weren't sneezing or coughing.

His mind slowly started to piece things together for him. His eyes widening in realization before a small smile curled on his lips. He hugged you before pressing a kiss on your forehead.

You'd definitely needed all the sleep you could get if he was right.

"Alright, get some rest, darlin'. I'll come to get y'later." He smiled, turning to look at you with a weird glint in his eyes. "Love you."

"Love you too." You said, not sure what the hell had just happened but was glad he decided to leave you to your much-needed nap.

>>>

"I'll carry that." Harry said as he ripped the box from your hands. It had been the third time that day that he took boxes out of your hands that he deemed too heavy for you to carry out of your car from your storage building.

"H, why are you being so weird?" You sighed, rubbing your forehead, he'd been like this for weeks. His constant hovering was starting to become unbearably draining.

"'M not, don't want y'carryin' heavy stuff, that's all." He shrugged as he carried your box of photos to the attic as you plopped down on the couch.

It wasn't like he was going to let you unload your car yourself. He was already worked up about you clearing out your storage building yourself but it wasn't like you could keep things in there anymore. The rent had recently raised and really it was ridiculous for you to pay for a storage building when yours and Harry's place had an attic for storage.

"You should eat." Harry said sometime later in the evening when he had finished unloading your car for you.

"Not hungry." You replied, sitting up from the couch to stretch, your back cracking from how long you'd been sitting there not moving.

"Flower, please eat." He begged, his voice pleading with you as he sat down on the couch next to you.

"Harry, why is it a big deal?" You asked, turning to face him but you could tell he had suddenly gotten uncomfortable. You sighed, hands covering your face as you rubbed your eyes.

"You've been hovering over me for the past two weeks. What's going on with you?" You finally asked, hoping whatever it was could end quickly. You didn't have the energy to deal with everyday stuff let alone anything else.

"It's jus' y'know…" he mumbled, ears tinting pink as his eyes darted away from you. His hands fiddling with his rings as you raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know. Can you please tell me and start acting normal again?"

"'Ave you had your period this month?" He asked quickly, completely catching you off guard.

"What?" You had no idea what the hell that had to do with anything or why the heck he'd be worried about it.

"Y'know, y'period, 'ave y'had it?" He asked again, your forehead crinkling as you thought about it.

You hadn't had it yet but it was only one day late, which is completely normal for you when your stressed out from depression and not sleeping much. Your body liked to freak out on you when your emotional state wasn't the best.

"No?"

"And y'not eatin' and sick to y'stomach. Right?" He still looked anxious as he continued to question you. While you grew more and more confused by the second.

"Uhm, yes?"

At this point, you felt whatever his train of thought had been at the start of this conversation had completely gone off the rails. He wasn't making any sense whatsoever to you anymore. He might as well start speaking to you in a different language if he wanted to be this confusing.

"And y'tired and sleepin' all the time."

"Okay, what does that have to do with you acting funny?" You asked when you had finally had enough of his crazy questions.

"Y'pregnant." He said with a bright smile on his face that quickly faltered the second you busted out laughing at him. Your hand quickly covering your mouth when you realized he was now the confused one.

"Harry. I'm not pregnant." You said once you had finally calmed down enough to talk to him again.

"Y'are! That's why y'been so different lately." He said so passionately you almost felt bad for not being pregnant. The poor guy looked like you'd kicked his dog.

"H, I have depression." You said, finally telling him the truth about why you'd been acting so different.

His eyes flickered around your face then towards your stomach. The wheels in his mind turning as he realized all the signs he had misread.

"Why didn't y'tell me?" He asked quietly. The look on his face filling you with guilt.

"'Cause I don't like talking about it." You said, wanting to leave it there but you knew you owed him more of an explanation than that. Sighing as you reached out to hold his hand, your fingers absent-mindedly running across his rings as you tried to build the courage to talk about it so more.

"I get all weird and down. I don't like being like that so I don't bring it up a lot." You said finally breaking the silence he was giving you to talk freely about what was going on.

"We've been together fo' two years." He said, his fingers lacing through yours to stop your fidgeting.

"Yes, Harry, I'm very aware of how long we've been together." You rolled your eyes at him, a smile on your face until you saw the hurt look on his own.

"Why haven't I seen it before?" He asked, staring away from you and at the living room floor. Your heart sinking as you realized he was starting to blame himself for not seeing the signs.

"They always seemed to hit when you were out of town and before, when I wasn't living with you, it was easy to not show it. Like, I could be okay for a few hours when we hung out and I could go back home and it wasn't a big deal." You explained, pulling his attention back on you as you tried to casually brush off the fact you'd go through hard periods of time completely alone.

"'S a big deal. I wanna be there fo' yeh." He said tongue wetting his lips as you pouted at him. Your head resting on his shoulder, trying your best to be honest.

"That's why I'm telling you now. Sorry, it took me so long to say it. I didn't want you to look at me differently." You sighed, his hand tightening slightly, enough to make you raise your head up to look at him.

"I wouldn't ever look at y'differently, sunflower. I love you." He said, a smile on your face as you leaned forward and kissed him.

Even though you knew deep down that he'd always accept you and not judge you for your depression. Hearing him say the words made everything better.

"I love you too, H." You said when you pulled away from him. Your eyes were unable to stop watering as you looked at him.

"Don't cry, puppy." He said as his thumb brushed away your tears.

"Happy tears." You said through a laugh as you tried to wipe your open face dry of the water. A weight felt lifted off your shoulders knowing he'd always be there for you. Knowing you wouldn't have to carry the burden of depression alone anymore.

[the-void-writes]

Bloodless Heir X For All Eternity

Part 2 😁 @bloodlessheirbyjacques​ I feel like this one is more self-indulgent, but I hope you still like it 😅

“Are you enjoying your stay, your highness?”

Astrea smiled up at Will. “Yes, thank you… but you don’t have to call me that. My kingdom doesn’t even exist in your world.”

Will took a seat in one of the overly-plush chairs and joined Astrea for people watching. Elijah was at the bar, currently fascinated by Roxie and Proteus dancing on stage. Dante was in his office, last Will had seen, writing stern emails to people who kept disrespecting his androids. Honestly, Astrea was surprised that Will had joined her instead of retreating to his room. He caught her puzzled stare and smiled slightly.

“Is it my face?” He chuckled. “I’m trying to keep it from sinking, but—”

Astrea waved her hands. “It’s not that, at all! I just didn’t think you’d want to be around me.”

Will blinked in surprise. “Oh… I’m sorry, I never meant to imply that.”

“It’s just what some of the patrons said. You wouldn’t like a girl with fire powers.”

Will gripped his knee, making the glasses on the table slide a little. Telekinesis, Astrea thought, what a gift. Antor could use him on the farm.

“Just ignore them. They don’t understand…” Will took a weak sip from his drink. “My sister, Lydia, she could make fire.”

“She could?”

“She wasn’t born with it, like most Freaks. Vesely gave her powers to her, but she actually loved it. She’d do tricks to impress the girls at school.”

He smiled, but it didn’t last. Astrea could read his forlorn expression like a book. 

“She isn’t here, is she? That’s why the patrons said what they did.”

Will wiped his eyes silently. Part of Astrea wanted to hug him, but she thought it would be rude. Then, after a deep breath, Will gave her a sad smile.

“I won’t trouble you with that. What matters is that I don’t hate you. Honestly, I think you’re cool.” He chuckled. “I’m sure your boyfriend is cool, too, when he isn’t trying to screw in the dining room.”

Astrea laughed and hid her cheeks. “I’m so sorry about that. He’s very kind and gentle when he isn’t aroused.”

Will laughed, even though it looked like it was hurting him. Astrea tapped her chin.

“If you’re sick, I can try to use some magic to heal you.”

He smiled. “That’s sweet, your highness, but my condition can’t be cured.”

Astrea shuddered. “What is it?”

“It’s like a parasite.” He lifted his shirt slightly, revealing the blue lines blooming under his skin like branches. “Dante has the same thing. It amplifies our powers, but it also gets aggravated when we use them. If you’re not careful, it’ll eat you alive. I did a little too much work for Gazali, so I’m just trying to recover.”

As he said that, he closed his eyes for a bit. Astrea was very familiar with corrupt magic, the kind that Elijah had used to save her life, a dark magic that slowly chipped away at a person’s soul. It was grotesque, and it left its user as an empty husk, but to be physically eaten alive by your own body… She couldn’t bear to think of Elijah suffering like that for her. Giving in to her compassionate nature, she patted Will’s shoulder.

“Dear gods, Will, you should go upstairs. Get some actual peace and quiet.”

A shadow fell over them as Elijah pulled up a seat.

“Azzy, are you flirting with him without me?”

“Hush, Elijah, he’s hurting.”

Elijah tilted his head with a smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, William—”

He flinched. “Will, please. My father called me William.”

That was all it took for Elijah’s mood to shift. No teasing, no smug smile, just a man who could sense when someone had been hurt by their family. He gently patted Will’s arm.

“Forgive me, please, it was a force of habit… I hope that bastard isn’t around anymore.”

Astrea glared at him, praying that he hadn’t just crossed the line. However, Will chuckled to himself.

“If he didn’t disintegrate in the radiation, he probably became one of Vesely’s Freak-mutations.” His smile faltered. “Cosmic justice, I guess, to become the thing that he’s punished me for since childhood.”

Elijah’s eyes lit up with fury. “Childhood?! For his sake, I hope he’s already dead, or I’d have his head by nightfall! I’d make him burn in the coldest flames of the furthest corner of the universe, left to grovel in the vacuum of eternal damnation!”

Will sat still, torn between letting himself cry and getting up to hug him. Elijah closed his eyes to stop his own tears. Astrea knew what he was thinking, and she squeezed her lover’s hand.

“It’s okay, my love. Your father is gone.”

Elijah closed his eyes. “After all his destruction, after killing your parents… His suffering will never be enough.”

Before he knew it, Will was holding both of their hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “You guys deserve better, truly. What he did is not your fault, Elijah, I promise.”

Those were words that had stuck with him all his life, from someone who was proud to be his father. Jason had helped him so much, and now Will could help Elijah the same way. Elijah smiled, mostly to keep himself from breaking down in public.

“You’re something else, aren’t you?”

Astrea smirked. “Don’t fall too hard for him, dear.”

She yelped as Elijah pulled her into his lap again.

“Oh, I’d never do that, darling, not when I have you. ”

As they continued to dote on each other, Will leaned back in his chair with a content smile. Only a handful of people understood his pain, but these two had lived it. Will wanted to protect them however he could, regardless of their dimensional separation, anything to spare them from the heartbreak he had suffered.

[the-horsemen-ride]

any general thoughts/opinions on the kids trapped down there? (sorry if this has been asked before)

((Probably redundant Mun’s note: this is about my own headcanons for the kids and not anyone else’s. This blog runs on weird interdimensional tomfoolery or whatever so these guys can all coexist with everything else going on. Also this took a while bc I had to brainstorm a bit, hope it’s worth the wait!!!)

Isaac

Famine: Isaac’s pretty nice. He can get pretty sad and scared, I kinda feel bad for him. He also knows a LOT of things he shouldn’t know. He’s kinda funny, too, but he doesn’t realize.

Death: Honestly, it is a little sad, but hey, a job’s a job. And his trials are his own to go through, this is a prison of his own design and he has to fight for his freedom, even if these circumstances are unfair. He’s alright to be around, he has quite a vivid imagination.

War: “Kinda” funny? Kid’s a fuckin’ comedian. He doesn’t really mean to be half the time, but damn. Uh, he can be annoyin’ but whatever. That an’ we need to take ‘im down, so... it’s nothin’ personal, jus’ business, an’ there’s no harm in havin’ fun with what you do.

Pestilence: He’s a little skittish, and uh, emotional. Not a lotta con- uhm, confidence. Isaac is... I uh - I think he’s sick of us, honestly.

Conquest: Isaac has lost his way. He has to turn away from all the sinful influences in his life if he wants to get out of here in one piece.

Maggie

Famine: She’s the friendliest of the bunch. It’s almost a little concerning. Like, we’re literally trying to kill these kids and vice versa but she’s always just been super nice to us. I don’t think she’s even scared of us. Except for Conquest, for good reason.

Conquest: She’s annoying, but she’s young and instead of just roping her in her Mom is trying to kill her. It’s a damn shame... and what the hell are you trying to imply?

Famine: Dude, you’re scary. 

War: And I’m not?

Famine: Well, not to me, you aren’t.

Death: Magdalene is very sweet. The younger kids look up to her, and she thinks all the older kids are brilliant. She’s gotten upset over a lot of the things that go down in the basement, she’s still squeamish and not at all used to the violence. Some people just can’t adjust... 

War: She’s too sweet for her own good. I don’t think she realizes half the bastards down here want her dead. Which includes me an’ maybe you guys too, but hey.

Cain

War: This lil’ fucker has so much energy. An’ sticky fingers, too. He’ll nab anythin’ that’s not glued down.

Famine: He’s either really amusing or really annoying. And he’s brave, stupidly so. 

Death: Cain sure is energetic.

Conquest: And annoying.

Death: And resourceful. He’s gotten himself out of a few predicaments with quick wit and... just, whatever he has around him. You’d never think so because of how young he is, but he’s not one to be underestimated.

Pestilence: Maybe he’s just lucky. Sure seems like every- everything uh, works out for him, awfully convenient. 

Death: Doesn’t seem like that’s all there is too it, though.

Judas

War: Stuck-up prick. He’s like Death but an edgy teen - tween? Whatever.

Famine: I don’t really like him either. He’s just super nasty. Certainly never heard of looking on the bright side, either

Conquest: God, he’s unbearable. Judas is vain, rude, pretentious, prideful, smug-

Famine: Don’t those all mean sort of the same thing?

Conquest: Doesn’t matter, because that’s all that comes to mind. He’s fucking insufferable. 

Pestilence: Not even Judas likes Judas...

Eve

Death: I pity her struggles, and she has such potential that she doesn’t realize... Eve is intelligent and creative, but she spends more time destroying herself than doing something with her skills.

Famine: Yeah, and I guess we’re not making it any better.

...

War: She whines too much. But yeah, uh, shame that she’s so sad. Aren’t we supposed to be tormenting the kids? We represent atrocities an’ you’re worried about one edgelord?

Famine: That’s… a bit harsh. I mean, yeah, we don’t have to worry about being nice-

War: Eve’s pretty damn mean anyways.

Famine: But we still have basic decency, right?

War: You eat bugs off the floor, you’re below decency. Y’know, when we first got started down here, you were hellbent on makin’ these kiss’s lives a living - well, hell. What happened?

Famine: I dunno, it’s just not the same anymore. It’s all gone on for too long, it just isn’t funny or anything anymore.

Pestilence: It wouldn’t hurt if she was nicer, but it’s- it’s uh, impossible not to feel bad for her. Or uh, or any of the kids for that matter.

Samson

Famine: Sometimes he... acts before he thinks and uh- he’s a bit... intense?

Pestilence: Typical uh, “dumb” strong guy. But he’s... he’s uh... the other kids rely on him and he’s pretty clever. I guess I’m okay with him.

War: If I had to choose a least-hated, it’d be this guy. Samson’s fuckin’ brutal when he wants to be. It’s actually pretty damn fun to see the extent of it.

Conquest: He should tone it down a little.

Death: Samson is sturdy and courageous, but he is prone to overdoing it. He’s rather temperamental, too.

Lazarus

Pestilence: As I said before, he hates my guts. He’s absolutely terrified of me. And- uh- just, just germs and sickness in general.

Famine: Yeah, he really needs to calm down, he’s probably died of a few heart attacks or aneurisms from stress alone.

Death: Five heart attacks, three aneurisms, numerous other panic-related deaths. 

Pestilence: ... what’s that mean?

Death: Usually just running into harm’s way while freaking out. 

???

War: Annoying and kinda creepy. 

Famine: And that’s all, really.

The Lost

War: He’s fuckin’ pathetic, it’d be sad if it wasn’t so funny.

Death: He’s surprisingly civil for someone who undergoes torment just for existing.

Famine: Not as bad as Goth-Beth’s Lost. Just as sad, just not weirdly clingy.

Pestilence: Isn’t Lost technically Isaac?

Famine: Yeah or uh, something like that.

Conquest: There’s not much to say about him. He’s level-headed at best and a pushover at worse. No self worth, self sabotaging to an extent.

Eden

Conquest: One of the few that I can stand. They’re very well spoken for a child… Eden is a child, right?

Death: Most likely? Eden is pleasant to be around, they’re smart and polite.

War: They’re a goody-two-shoes, that’s what they are. But as least they’re not totally pathetic or an absolute jackass.

Famine: Yeah, Eden can get a bit smug sometimes, and their standards are pretty damn high. But they’re pretty damn young, so hey. They’re very calm, too. And they have a nice sense of style.

Pestilence: They almost always have a new hairstyle… sometimes they even act a bit different.

Azazel

Conquest: Fucking hate that kid.

Death: Azazel takes a bit too much enjoyment in his trickery. Maybe if his dad payed some attention to him he wouldn’t be this way.

War: He’s annoyin’, but sometimes it’s a bit fun to see how he fucks shit up for people.

Famine: Sometimes he takes his jokes a bit too far. Otherwise, he’s... he’s like any other 12-13-14 year old, you know how they get... Could be worse, though. 

Pestilence: I don’t like dealing with brimstone... or Azazel in general. But you get used to it all pretty quick.

Lilith

Conquest: Lilith nice for a demon, but she’s still very- ... well, I fear she’ll go down the wrong path. I’d say her father’s ought to raise her better, but with Dark One’s influence she’d fare even worse.

Death: At least Adversary is there to look after her. She is kindhearted and looks after the other kids, but she puts her own wellbeing aside sometimes. That, and she’s got a few risky behaviors.

Famine: I... think I’m seeing a pattern here. So many shitty parents...

War: She’s... cool I guess. I don’t like any of the kids that much but she’s one of the most tolerable, an’ I’m not jus’ sayin’ that ‘cause we’re related. Her famiilars, though...they get pretty damn annoying.

And… sometimes the way she acts is… concerning.

Pestilence: Uh, ditto. I... don’t have a lot to say.

The Keeper

War: This guy. This fucking guy. God I hate him. All he does is pickpocket an’ scam people outta their hard earned money. Even worse when Cain gets involved in his schemes.

Famine: Very charismatic, but I don’t like the competition.

Pestilence: You’re still trying to sell stuff?

Famine: Uh, how else do I get money? I think Bossman’s cutting our pay.

Apollyon

Pestilence: Apollyon’s pretty quiet.

…

Famine: I don’t think they’ve ever spoken to anyone at all. They’re kinda creepy.

Death: That void of theirs seems useful.

Conquest: It’s frightening. But nothing we can’t handle.

War: You of all people? Afraid of Apollyon?

Death: Well, they could be a formidable enemy in the right circumstances. Some of the combinations the kids come up with sure are something…

The Forgotten (and The Soul)

Famine: There’s a lot of dead Isaacs here and I dunno what to think about that. Uh, the Soul is pretty nice.

Death: It’s definitely interesting to see someone who prefers melee to the typical long ranged attacks... Their teamwork is commendable as well.

Pestilence: The skelly dude’s kind of a, erm, blank slate.

Famine: Eh, he’s got a bit of an attitude.

War: The whole. Thing they’ve got goin’ on is cool but the ghost is just weird.

Conquest: How many more Isaacs are there?

Bethany

Death: She’s very studious… and judgmental. Thirteen year olds are the worst, honestly.

Conquest: She thinks she knows it all. But she’s one of the few trying to stay on the path of virtue, so at least that’s commendable.

Famine: And at least Goth-Beth’s kinda funny. Ours has no sense of humor...

War: Pretty ballsy of her to jump down here. But yeah, she’s prissy an’ fussy an’... ugh.

Jacob and Esau

Conquest: I... don’t know what curse has afflicted Esau with... whatever is going on with him but... he’s... alright, despite it all. He keeps to himself, Jacob speaks for both of them, usually. Somehow, they’re less annoying than the others even though they’re a two for one deal.

Famine: Jacob’s nice! But he’s a very... basic guy. There’s just, like, nothing to say about him. Esau? He’s... shy. Wouldn’t hurt if he was a bit more confident.

War: Okay, I’m going to be honest, I don’t pay attention to these fuckers. I don’t give a shit about them. Uh, Esau an’ Punchin’ Bag are alright.

Pestilence: Don’t you mean Jacob and Punching Bag?

War: Nah.

Death: They’re fairly new, same goes for Bethany. I have not seen them around as much, but they’re tolerable and... down to earth, I suppose, at least when compared to the other kids.

[blahkugo]

Congrats for the 1k!! Wdyt ab hawks in an underground scenario?

thanks anon baby!! i love writing for hawks in general and this au was soooooo much fun to explore!! ♡ i honestly went a little crazy with it & added too much rumi in there lmao

                                  -ˋˏ ༻ 光 ༺ ˎˊ-

「TAKAMI KEIGO / HAWKS」

— underground! au (feat. rumi)

— warnings: 18+, smut, drugs / alcohol mention, kind of scumbag hawks

⤏ keigo’s very devious, in the sense that he can be both the star of everyone’s show and a sneaky bastard. he’s a double agent in the truest definition of the word, and it’s no different in an underground au

⤏ ‘heaven’ is the place to get into; no, no, not god’s pearly white gates, but rather the giant underground nightclub teeming with bar hoppers and thrill seekers on a saturday night.

⤏ the highly illegal establishment is run by none other than keigo takami himself, the eccentric club owner that people only know by name

⤏ no one’s ever actually seen keigo at his own club, nobody even knows what he looks like

⤏ so, rumors fly amongst the regular patrons; some say he’s a cartel boss, others a crooked cop

⤏ a choice few believe that he’s the devil himself. and in his jealousy of god’s perfect eden, he crafted his own slice of heaven, where restraint and inhibition are words with absolutely no meaning

⤏ the reality isn’t far off, if we’re being honest

⤏ ‘heaven’ is keigo’s personal playground, a place where he can be anybody he wants to

⤏ typically, that anybody is pulling pretty little whores into the giant vip room, and pumping them chock full of his favorite pills: angel dust

⤏ when his own high kicks in, the fun begins. and at that point, even keigo thinks he may be the devil incarnate

“Tsk, tsk,” Keigo wags a slender finger in front of your face, snatching the pretty little capsule from your hand. 

Quick, pounding percussion still pulses at your ears, though the VIP room is much quieter than the club floor— cooler as well. Without the mass of compressed, sweaty bodies dancing and grinding, you feel a bit over exposed in your two piece set. For a second, you have the urge to cover your midriff, but the angel in front of you sweeps your attention yet again. 

“How do good girls ask for pills?” He’s teasing you, has been since the moment he approached you spouting some nonsense about being the club owner. While you were initially adamant in your disbelief, only agreeing to follow him for his tempting promise of ‘proper drugs,’ the extravagance of the VIP room sways your opinion now. 

Also, the man swims in luxury, seems to be bathed in an ethereal glow that screams money from the tips of his perfectly tousled hair down to the Givenchy trainers on his feet. The richest men always dress in subtleties; you just have to know where to look. 

Your assumptions were confirmed when he ordered top shelf booze. They were absolutely set in stone when Rumi, the Playboy Bunny turned supermodel, settled into the booth next to him and plopped a kiss on his cheek. 

“The sick bastard will really only give it to you if you say pretty please,” the gorgeous woman chuckles, looking every bit as intimidating as she does on the runways. “Like this,” she clasps her hands together— fingernails sporting a fierce, red manicure— and turns towards the smug blonde. “Please Keigo, a pill.” 

It’s unclear whether her tone is sincere, sickly sweet words dripping with mockery and faux praise. Either way, you refuse to be the butt of their jokes. Begging for drugs? Over your dead body. 

Keigo must feel your hesitation, must sense the subtle shift in your body language, because his eyebrows narrow for a fraction of a second before quickly regaining their place far atop his forehead— practiced nonchalance, seemingly perfected over years.  

He hands the pill to Rumi, and then another, pushing his slender fingers into hers without breaking your mutual gaze.

“Oops,” he feigns apology, “looks like I gave two pills to Rumi.” He slants a quick look at the platinum blonde. “You can just take one from her, sweetheart.” 

When you break your glare to peek at the beautiful woman next to him, she’s giggling. The sound is practically silent, a twinkly little thing that barely reaches your ears and doesn’t rumble through her entirety like laughter truly should. 

“Silly me,” she smirks, piercing eyes scanning over you now, “I didn’t realize.” Though you’re sure the night can’t get any stranger, she lets her tongue loll from between supple lips, painted bright red to match her nails. Low and behold, there are two pills, both dangling enticingly on her curved tongue.

“Aw,” Keigo coos, pout brimming with ridicule. Though you attempt to speak up, entirely fed up with this humiliating charade, he doesn’t miss a beat. “She can still have one though, can’t she Rumi?” 

She simply nods, swaying her tongue once more before curling it back into her mouth. He can’t mean— no, he wouldn’t. But the pair simply stares at you, famishment gleaming in their eyes like a pair of ravenous wolves. 

He wants you to kiss her. 

Every one of your nerves stands on end, willing you with a passion to reject his slimy offer. You’re not a Barbie doll for him to play with, to dress and undress and buy off with a bright pink mansion to boot. 

But then again, the pros do vastly outweigh the cons. When’s the next time you’re going to have the chance to kiss a supermodel? And with someone as beautiful as Keigo watching? You take a deep breath, standing up and bracing your arms against the table to lean over. 

And then, you are kissing her. 

Rumi’s lips taste like whiskey sour and a spice that you can’t quite place. She’s quick to take control, cupping your jaw with slender fingers and nipping at your lip. There’s a slight twinge of pain before each swipe of her tongue across your lip, and it’s a miracle that she keeps the pills nestled under her tongue; she kisses you with such passion, such dizzying ferocity, that you feel your head spin. It’s definitely not the alcohol. 

When her lips bite again, more aggressive this time, you part your own in a low, teasing groan. She swings a knee over the table— pushes closer, pulls you further into her. You’re losing your breath, unable to keep up, but she simply continues her onslaught, as though you’ve stolen her last breath and she’s aching to get it back. 

Only when her tongue slinks across the back of your teeth and makes its home between them, does she offer up the pill from under the wet muscle. 

With a parting smile against your mouth, she pulls away. 

“Hope you like that pill as much as you did the kiss,” she speaks, lips, puffy but still perfectly painted, inches from your own. She stays put, watching the strand of drool still connecting the two of you. 

You wish you could say something, anything, to the goddess of a woman, but you’re left in a haze. If it isn’t for the subtle tap against your throat, you’d forget to swallow the pill you worked so diligently for. As she finally recedes, you make a mental note for later: world-renowned supermodel Rumi smells like cinnamon. 

“Bunny got your tongue?” Keigo chuckles, now standing next to your side of the booth, and slithering a lithe hand across your lower back. You’d almost forgotten the smug bastard was there, but one glance his way and you remember where you are: a public space. 

Sure, the VIP lounge is practically empty, save for a few stragglers here and there, but those people are presumably A-listers. And they just watched you make out with a woman all for drugs and the entertainment of a very wealthy man. 

Still, it probably isn’t the worst image they’ve ever seen. 

Rumi gives you another once over, baring sharp canines that seem to sparkle beneath the low, purple lights. Even after your intimate moment, she somehow seems more intimidating— or perhaps, more ravenous. She makes some comment to Keigo about giving you her number, throws a wink your way, and ends the encounter with another quick peck on his cheek. 

Then, with hips swaying seductively to the beat, she makes her descent down the stairs to join the thrall of bodies as her high hits, leaving you and the blonde alone. Chancing a glance his way, you decide that’s not a terrible thing. 

That same pompous smirk is plastered across his face, that same insatiable look in his eyes. His blonde locks remain in a state of perfect dishevelment, and when he runs a hand through it, his jewelry— rings upon rings and a watch that probably costs more than your rent— catches the light, shimmering wildly. 

“We’re going to peak soon.”

It’s all he says, before leading you towards the stairs and down, down, down— straight into Heaven. 

-

Wisps of baby pink, streams of bright blue— cotton candy fills the air and washes the man in front of you in a delectable light. It begs you to take a bite, to do more than press your warm, wanton body against him. 

“How do you feel?” Keigo’s teeth graze the shell of your ear, hot breath tickling the side of your face. With his arms wrapped around your waist, he envelops you fully, allowing you to grind and move as you please. The heat radiating off your bodies could rival the sun. 

“Like I’m flying,” you throw your hands into the air; he grazes them with his own. Every touch sends a cacophony of sparks across your flesh, every murmur of praise a chilling tingle down your spine. And when he strains his hips against yours, it heats you further, all throughout your core. You need him— right here, right now, bathed in candied pinks and sugar-filled blues.  

As though he can hear your thoughts, or perhaps you’ve said them aloud, his slender fingers slither further down your body. Down, down, down— dashing under your tight skirt to rub across your soaked slit. When you cry out, a symphony of desire, he simply presses harder, rubs faster. 

Just as you’re about to see stars, to grab at the spun sugar surrounding you and take an overwhelming chomp, he removes his magic fingers. You’re aware you’re crying out, feel as though the entire world’s been ripped away from you, but he simply shushes you with a slick digit against your lips.

“Let’s take this back upstairs, yeah?” The devil pokes at your side. 

You’re already being whisked away, deeper into paradise. 

                          ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ 光 ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

[worldwidemochiguy]

expectation ≠ reality (18+)

When you first met Jungkook, he was so kind, with wide eyes and a sweet smile, but soon enough he dragged you into a tumultuous marriage where you were barely allowed to draw breath on your own. But, when you meet Taehyung, the cute delivery boy with blond hair and a penchant for flirting, you start to wonder if you’ve found your second chance.

Masterlist

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, slight dub-con, graphic penetrative sex, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE A MINOR pls im not tryna get arrested or anything

Word Count: 4K 

a/n: thanks to @gucieguciekook​ for requesting !! hope u enjoy lol <3

Expectation ≠ Reality

You have had enough.

From the moment you agreed to marry him, Jungkook had been getting steadily worse and worse. He had always been possessive to a fault, but you mistakenly saw it as a sign he truly cared and treasured you. You cooed over his obsession with littering hickeys all over your neck, blushed when he called you ‘Mine. Only mine.’ When he asked you to move in way too quickly, you thought it was a sign he was committed to your relationship.

How wrong you were.

Not that he isn’t committed, of course. God, if there was ever a word to describe Jeon Jungkook, it was committed. He is obsessed with you. He slowly started cutting you off from the outside world, persuading you to stay in when your friends invited you out, and convincing you they were terrible people when they inevitably stopped interacting with you. You had cut out everyone else in your life because of him. 

Your parents:

babe, they don’t approve of our relationship because they don’t want you to be happy with your own life, they want to control you and treat you like a kid. you don’t need them anyway, you have me. 

Your coworkers:

i called in sick for you today, babe. you don’t need to go there anymore, i have more than enough money for the both of us. 

Even your pet:

your cat? oh, i’m sorry baby, she got hit by a car. no, don’t cry, baby, now you can give all of your attention to me instead of that rancid furball. 

Jungkook had isolated you and exhausted you to the point where you agreed to marry him, convinced it could not make your life any worse. 

Again, you were wrong. 

With his ring on now your finger, Jungkook is even more assured of his ownership of you. You are no longer allowed to cook or go into the garden, both deemed as dangerous activities where you could somehow be harmed by a vegetable peeler, or maybe grass cuttings. You have no access to the internet, and the only books you are permitted to read are simple, dull books with no plot or dusty old historical text books, obviously the only things Jungkook is certain wouldn’t give you ‘silly ideas to confuse your pretty little head.’ 

~~~~

“Jungkook,” You murmur, voice muffled as he presses your face into the pillow.

“Yeah, baby, say my name just like that.” He grunts, attempting to tug off your skirt with one hand while the other is fisted in your hair. You roll your eyes and shift your weight so he can take it off properly. After he had separately ripped all your pants at some point in his haste to take them off you, you had realised it was simply easier to wear something less finicky.

As soon your lower half is bared for him, he starts running his large palms greedily over your skin, for his own benefit rather than yours.

“Fuck, look at you.” He mutters, before digging a thumb into a bruise he had left on your ass. You yelp and he chuckles lowly behind you. Just as you expect, he presses firmly on the bruise and you clench your teeth, burying your nails in your palms and refusing to make a noise. He waits for a second, but you remain stubbornly silent. 

“Huh,” he says, “I guess baby’s pain threshold has risen a bit, yeah?” He strokes a possessive hand between your shoulder blades and you repress a shiver, before he loops his arm around you and lifts you onto your hands and knees.

“I guess I’ll just have to fuck you harder then.” He resolves, before shoving himself into you roughly.

Jungkook is not small, putting it lightly, though you hate to afford any kind of praise to that bastard. He is long, and thick, and you really hadn’t been very turned on at all, just letting him do what he wanted so that he’d leave you alone, so you don’t blame yourself too much when a scream bursts out of your lips. You can barely hear his smug laugh behind you over the burning sensation in your core. He doesn’t give you any time at all to adjust, roughly pumping himself in and out as you try to hold in your whimpers.

“So fucking tight, baby.” He grunts in your ear, punctuating his words with harsh slaps against your thigh, “You sure you can handle my cock?” This is his offer: Admit that I’m hurting you, admit that you’re weak and at my mercy, and I’ll stop. That’s all you have to do.

You clench your teeth and press your face into the pillow again.

He sighs behind you, though you can tell he’s quietly pleased, before pulling out of you and walking away. Him yanking out and leaving you roughly stretched and exposed to the cold air is almost as painful as when he shoved into you in the first place, and when he returns you resent yourself for feeling the slightest hint of relief. 

He is carrying a bottle of lube, normally used for when he decides he wants to fuck your ass instead. You tense up, preparing to swallow your pride and beg him not to — it’s been a while and you’re not sure you can take the pain — but he senses your fear and smirks.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m just gonna make it a bit easier for you.” As he speaks, he’s slicking up his cock and soon enough he’s getting back up on his knees and taking ahold of your hips, pushing himself in slightly gentler this time. 

The coolness of the gel soothes — but doesn’t eradicate — the burn and Jungkook has started to move in long, rolling strokes inside you that are almost pleasant. 

“See, baby?” Jungkook coos as his hands move around to stroke your stomach, “I don’t want to hurt you, you have to know that. I hate hurting you, but you never tell me to stop. You have to know your limits, baby girl. You’re just not strong enough.”

His words — though patronising, and awful, and the kind of thing that make you want to whack him in the neck with one of those massive historical tomes he provides you — are spoken in that soft, Jungkook tone that he used to make you fall in love with him. It reminds you of those days when he was just Kookie, your cute study partner with a bunny smile and a pretty singing voice and broad muscly shoulders that flushed along with the rest of his body when you complimented him.

The Jungkook that you know him as now — the one swiftly bringing you to a reluctant and resentful orgasm — is the opposite of soft. He is rough and impulsive and controlling and you honestly fear what would happen if you tried to ask him for a divorce. He wouldn’t let you go, probably. He’d just laugh at you, and then shove you down and fuck you to make you remember who you really belonged to, like he is doing now.

You try to contain your pants as Jungkook starts a series of staccato thrusts. You are sure Jungkook would hear you, even over the obscene sound of his hips slapping into the back of your thighs, and would be obnoxiously proud about it for the next month. He would already be smug enough having made you come, which you have given up trying to stave off because Jungkook — damn him — is really good at fucking you until you can’t remember your own name. 

He reaches around to pinch your clit harshly and you decide that now is as good a time as any to give up your last remaining vestiges of pride. You come with a piercing whine, clenching around him rhythmically until his hips stutter and you feel the unpleasant sensation of warmth spilling into you. He doesn’t stop, pumping every last drop into you and then dropping on top of you, pinning your body to the mattress. 

After a while he rearranges himself so that he is spooning you, arms wrapped stiflingly tight around your waist, and his now-flaccid cock still tucked inside you. You grimace. Jungkook had always fallen fast asleep after sex, but now you are wide awake, hyperaware as he snores behind you. You don’t know what you’ve become. You hate him. But sometimes he says things that make you wish he wasn’t a monster, that make you wish he was the boy with soft smiles and expressive eyes that you had fallen in love with. You live for the resurgences of that humanity, because it is the only thing you have to look forward to, apart from the eventual day when Jungkook finally snaps and kills you.

~~~~

“Jungkook,” you say over breakfast, and he looks up with his cheeks full of pancake.

“Yes, my angel?” He asks, eyes twinkling — he loves when you say his name — and your breath catches, and for a second everything is perfect and you are having breakfast across from a boy who loves you more than anything. And then you see the annoyed glint in his eye — you hadn’t immediately answered his question — and you come crashing back to bitter reality. 

“I-” You start, then stop, unsure of how to phrase the question into a compliment, that way Jungkook is more likely to give you what you want.

“Say what you want to say, baby. You know how I hate to be kept waiting…” He gives you a shark’s smile. 

“I… I really loved all the books you gave me.” You tell him, making sure your voice is exactly the correct tone of gushing admiration.

“Really?” He replies, a pleased expression on his face as he strokes your hair back gently.

“Yes, and I- I was wondering if maybe… I could have some more?” 

His hand drifts down to rest at the hollow of your throat. It curls slightly.

“N-not that I’m not grateful-” You stammer, “B-But… I liked them all so much I read them too quickly, and now I have nothing else to do with you’re gone.” You end the statement with a playful pout, and you feel your self-loathing level up a notch. 

“Baby, you have to remember to take your time with things like that.” Jungkook grinned, standing up and getting his briefcase. You move to the door where you are supposed to administer a farewell kiss before he goes to work, just like always. 

He smiles, satisfied, before looking sideways slightly so you can get up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He reaches around to squeeze your ass quickly, smirking when you squeak in shock.

“Don’t be greedy baby, take what you’re given.” He tosses a ‘Love you!’ over his shoulder as he goes, and when you call it back the words taste sour on your tongue. You wonder if you had ever uttered those words sincerely. 

~~~~

You had been thinking Jungkook had forgotten about your request for books, so when the doorbell rings at six o clock and you answer it to see a cute delivery boy with a bundle of books tucked under his arm, you are surprised to say the least. 

“D-Delivery for Jeon Jungkook?” He stutters, and you had been expecting him to have a slightly high, nervous voice so the deep, thick drawl shocks you in more ways than one. You can feel yourself melt just looking at him. His eyes are so… innocent, just like Jungkook’s when you first saw him. His nose cutely scrunches as his blond hair — longer than Jungkook’s — falls in soft clumps over his eyes. He huffs a lopsided breath and the light strands flutter about momentarily, before settling back just where they were. You think you’ve fallen in love.

You realise you’ve been staring at him this entire time, but to be fair, he has been staring right back, and you feel yourself become flustered.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. That’s my package.”

“Sorry ma’am,” He starts in his honey voice, before grinning. He seems to gain confidence due to your flustered state. “-but this package is addressed to a Mr Jeon Jungkook, and you certainly don’t look like a ‘Mr’.” He mutters as his eyes drag up and down your form. You are only in your nightie — Jungkook always likes it when you wear pretty, flimsy things — and this stranger’s gaze is making you blush in a way you know Jungkook wouldn’t be happy about.

“Yeah, that’s… uh, that’s my husband. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Your husband, huh?” The delivery boy does not seem put off by the mention of a husband, in fact, he seems almost spurred on by it. “And where is Mr Jeon Jungkook right now?”

“He’s working late. He would normally be back by now but he called and said he’s spending the night at the office.”

“Working late, huh?” The delivery boy repeats in that cocky drawl, and oddly enough, it reminds you of Jungkook. “You know, if I had a wife like you waiting for me to come home, I don’t know if I’d even make it out of bed long enough to go to work in the morning, let alone stay there overnight.” 

Your eyes widen as your cheeks darken, and his open, bright laughter is the nicest thing you’ve heard in months.

“What happened to the nervous delivery boy?” You spluttered indignantly, and his laughing slowed down, though his eyes were still twinkling. Just like Jungkook’s used to do.

“He relaxed when he realised you were just as affected by him as he was by you.”

“Who says I’m affected by you?” You ask boldly, and then immediately retreat a step when he moves towards you. 

“You’re giving yourself away, sweetheart.” He smirks, before advancing another step into your home. “You know… empty house… husband at work… it seems a waste not to use this opportunity.” He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you scoff, forcing him back with both hands until he is outside the door again. He lets you push him with a brow raised lazily.

“That sounded like a line from a bad porno, and I’m pretty sure Jungkook would literally kill me if he found out.” You fake a laugh, covering up your very real and valid fear that Jungkook would actually kill you.

“Jungkook’s the possessive type, huh?” 

Yes, you scream internally.

“Well, I’m pretty sure no husband would like delivery boys sleeping with their wives.”

“What about delivery boys visiting their wives during the day?”

You pause, hands floating in midair, about to take the parcel out of the delivery boy’s hands.

“Huh?”

“I could come around in the day while your husband’s at work-” He sped up when you raised your brows, “-not to do anything, or at least, anything that you’re uncomfortable with, but just to talk. I can tell you’re lonely.” You scoff and roll your eyes, ignoring the fact that he’s absolutely correct. You turn back to him, ready to decline his offer, when you see his puppy eyes. Your resolve crumbles.

“I don’t know,” You had no way of telling what punishments Jungkook would submit you to if he found out. He didn’t even let you talk to your parents, so you could hardly imagine he’d be pleased with you chatting to young, attractive men while alone at your house.

“Come on!” The delivery boy wheedled. “He’d never know. He’s practically asking for it, he leaves you alone day after day, all you have for company are these stupid books!” A dismissive gesture to the collection of Austen, Dickens and Shakespeare you are carrying. “Aren’t you bored? Don’t you want a little excitement?”

You tiredly fumble around for an excuse.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“My name’s Taehyung.” He introduces himself promptly. “I’d like to visit you tomorrow at lunch time, if that’s alright.”

“You sure you don’t have a delivery then?” You ask hopefully.

“I don’t.”

You release a weary sigh.

“You’re going to come no matter what I say, aren’t you?” He responds with a blinding grin.

“I love that we’re learning things about each other! You can already anticipate my actions,” He starts listing off ‘facts’ on his fingers, “you know my name, I know you’re trapped in an unsatisfying marriage-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow Taehyung.” You shut the door firmly, cutting him off.

You hear a muffled ‘can’t wait!’ from the other side of the door and if you happen to blush and giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl it doesn’t matter because no one else is there and therefore it cannot be proved.

~~~~

Taehyung starts paying you regular visits. He keeps up his job obligations even when he’s off the clock, bringing you food that Jungkook wouldn’t let you eat, newspapers since Jungkook doesn’t let you know what was going on in the outside world, and even snapshots of his day. 

Taehyung is an aspiring photographer. He has a small apartment outside of the city and an obsession with strawberries and a dog called Yeontan. He has a life, a life that you are desperately beginning to yearn for. Taehyung tells you once that he wishes he could take a photo of you outside, because he knows this perfect spot — a field full of wildflowers and sunshine that would compliment your beauty perfectly — and you burst into tears. 

You tell him, as he rocks you gently in his arms, that you are trapped by Jungkook. That you hate your husband more than anything. That you can’t remember the last time you felt the sun on your skin. And so, quietly, carefully, the two of you begin to plot.

It is not as simple as calling the police. Jungkook has enough money that there is no crime he cannot buy his way out of, no officer he cannot bribe into submission. No, you have to disappear completely. You begin passing along your possessions to Taehyung so he can take them back to his place, gradually, so that Jungkook doesn’t notice you are withdrawing from his life one pair of shoes at a time. 

You daren’t risk taking any money of Jungkook, but Taehyung tells you it isn’t a problem, which is slightly strange since you know Taehyung must have quit his delivery boy job so that he could see you every day, and surely he could do with some extra cash. You tell yourself it’s sweet that he doesn’t care about material things, he just cares about you.

“What are these?” Jungkook asks one morning, when he is greeted not with eggs sunny side up and a kiss, but a stack of papers.

“A divorce contract.” You tell him, trying to ignore the waver in your voice. He only raises an eyebrow at you, and you blanch.

You had been expecting yelling, threats, maybe even violence. Taehyung had begged you to just leave without a trace, and abandon Jungkook to his own horrid life of loneliness, but you just can’t do that, even if it is the safer option. There is still a small, pathetic part of you that clings to the idea of Kookie, the boy with wire-rimmed glasses and carefree smiles who always accepted your help with questions he couldn’t answer. Even though you know that side of him is now long-dead, if it ever even existed in the first place.

However, Jungkook is currently subverting all of your expectations. He sits there calmly, leafing through the papers.

“These don’t make any sense.” He remarks. You attempt to snatch them back, but he holds them out of your reach.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t really expecting you to read them.” You reply, embarrassed. The fake contract had been your idea, a way of telling Jungkook you wanted a divorce without actually saying the words. Of course, you had expected him to fling them into the fire, or something equally as dramatic, not read through them carefully and snort at all the typos. 

“I understand.” He declares eventually. “You want my attention, so you’re pretending that you want to leave me. Very funny, baby.”

“That’s not true!” You burst out, cheeks burning. “I am leaving you, divorce contract or not.” 

“Hush, baby, you know I don’t like it when you lie.” Jungkook purrs, his eyes burning dangerously.

“I don’t care what you like anymore, Jungkook.” You respond, suddenly furious, “I’ve spent so many years as your wife, being terrified by you, being controlled and miserable. Now I’ve got Taehyung, and I’m finally happy! I love him, Jungkook, not you. I’m leaving.” 

You turn away and storm to the door, but hesitate when you hear Jungkook chuckle.

“If you think you are liberating yourself by going to Kim Taehyung… you are wrong, baby.” 

“H-How do you know his family name?” You ask, fear starting to invade your mind.

“I know a lot of things about Mr Kim,” Jungkook spits, and his anger starts to bleed through. “He is not who you think he is, baby. Are you sure you want to go?” His patronising tone is the last straw for you. 

“I’d rather die than stay here with you.”

“Who knows, baby, Mr Kim might just fulfil your wish.” You blanch again, hesitating with your hand on the lock, a breath away from freedom.

“Y-You’re just trying to scare me.” You stutter, and you hear him sigh behind you.

“No, baby, I’m trying to warn you, but you insist on being so, so dumb. I don’t like to see you hurt, remember? But, if this will teach you a lesson about how lucky you are to have me, I guess I’ll have to let you go. Just remember, baby, when you’re with him and it’s not all you expect it to be, I will be coming for you.” As he speaks, he rises from his seat and moves across the room until he is right behind you, his breath ghosting on the back of your neck as you stubbornly refuse to turn, hand still poised on the latch.

“I’m not coming back.” You whisper, and you feel a huff of laughter against your neck.

“No, baby, I’ll rescue you, and take you back. I promise, you’ll be counting the days until you’re in my arms again.”

~~~~

Jungkook watches from the window as your harried form disappears into the distance. Cursing softly to himself, he turns on his phone and pulls up a number he is loathe to possess. 

“So, she left you, huh?” A cocky voice drawls across the line.

“Shut it, Kim.” Jungkook snaps, “She’s still my wife, she still belongs to me.”

“Oh? You didn’t sign the divorce papers?”

“Yes, very funny by the way, Kim. ‘I hereby announce that Kim Taehyung has been our mother’s favourite from the moment of his conception.’ You should’ve become a comic instead of a criminal.” Jungkook reads a line from the fake files. 

“Well, I could say the same to you, baby brother, allowing your wife to leave you like this. It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years.”

“Half-brother.” Jungkook growls. “And she hasn’t left me.”

“The tracker I planted on her begs to differ.”

“She’s just…” Jungkook huffs, “Confused.”

“No, she’s just got good taste, obviously.”

“You really are pathetic, stealing your little brother’s toys like this, hyung.” Jungkook taunts. “Soon, very soon, I’m going to come and get her back. I better not find her too broken when I get there.” 

Jungkook hangs up, mutters a curse under his breath, and then starts planning the inevitable gang war he’s going to have to embroil himself in because his wife can’t keep her damn legs closed.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Swindle X Human Reader? Maybe Lockdown gets a bit jealous until he falls for Reader too?

Lockdown didn’t understand what Swindle saw in you. Honestly, a human? Now, Lockdown didn’t really have that big of a problem with this species of fleshbags, he couldn’t really care less to be honest, but conjuxing one? Had Swindle taken a cannonball to the helmet and lost his mind? Sure, he could understand being curious and all that but actually tying the knot? Humans were small, weak and short-lived. Getting attached to one was practically signing up for getting your spark broken and Lockdown didn’t want that to happen to Swindle.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Lockdown liked the sleazy bastard and didn’t particularly like the thought of some organic nobody swooping in like they owned the place and messed things up. Their relationship had been perfect before that fleshbag showed up but now Swindle just had to bring them along to every business transaction! If you just sat there quiet then Lockdown might not have felt as mad but of course you and Swindle just HAD to act all lovely dovely in front of him! Whenever you spoke it infuriated him. Lockdown had never actually talked to you but he could tell from your interactions with Swindle what kind of person you were. Naive, gullible and with an ever smaller brain than the rest of your species. Frag, you made Lugnut look like a damn genius in comparison! And Swindle loved it! Anyone could see that the merchant was head over heels in love with you! It made him feel sick to his tanks!

Tonight was not any different. Swindle had contacted him about a new weapon he had acquired and wondered if he’d like to come take a look. Of course Lockdown said yes, even if he wasn’t particularly interested in spending his hard earned shanix. Mostly he just went to see the greedy glitch himself.

The weapon itself was good and actually managed to pique Lockdown’s interest. Not to mention, the price wasn’t half bad. Still expensive but totally worth it. Usually, something like this would have him in high spirits but your presence on the counter had him forcing down a snarl in his throat. You looked so damn smug even though you hadn’t done anything but watch Swindle present the gun to him. You were wearing some expensive looking clothing, undoubtedly something Swindle had given you as a gift. He might be greedy but he liked having his stuff looking the best and this seemed to extend to his, ugh, conjux. Switching your attention from Swindle you happened to meet Lockdown’s optics. For a second you simply stared back at him but then the corners of your lips started to twitch and suddenly you were smiling at him, eyes dark and filled with what Lockdown could only assume was “look at me, getting the real goods while you have to resort to simply business”. Lockdown wanted to wipe that grin off your face with a blaster.

Swindle, who took his unusually quiet and brooding attitude for disinterest, started to try and sell and add other stuff that might interest the bounty hunter. When that garned no further reaction from the other mech he started to get nervous. That’s when you decided to chime in.

“Oh babe, didn’t you mention earlier that new stun-mod you just knew would make mister Lockdown so excited.” Immediately Swindle perked up, remembering that he did indeed say that, and hastily excused himself so he could go to the storage to get the mod. It would take couple of minutes to find it. This left you alone with Lockdown. You looked him up and down, eyes traveling over his body and your smile only grew bigger as you did. Lockdown wondered if he could break your neck before Swindle came back and blame it on you falling off the counter. He didn’t have much time to ponder this however as you started speaking again. “Wares not to your liking, honey?”

Lockdown finally let out that snarl he’d been holding in, baring his sharp denta. “Do not call me honey and the wares aren’t the problem.” He expected his aggression would frighten you as most people, cybertronians and human alike, found him to be quite frightening. But you didn’t so much as flinch under his heated glare. No, instead you seemed to grow bolder.

“I am happy to hear that’s the case” you responded, an easy-going smile revealing your white teeth. “You see, Swindle was so excited to do business with you and he prepared all this stuff to show you. He even practiced his sales pitch to me before you arrived! Oh you should have seen the smile on his face when you said you were interested in purchasing from him.” The tone of your voice turned dramatically melancholy at the end, as if you were disappointed. Lockdown narrowed him optics as he heard what you had to say. It... confused him, why you told him this. What was your goal? Before he could ask however, you continued to talk. This time, however, your smile was nowhere to be seen, instead you gazed upon him with cold eyes.

“I will be frank with you since you seem like the kind of mech to appreciate honesty. I know you’ve been wanting to turn me into a bloody smear on the floor ever since you met me. Now, I don’t need you to like me, fuck, I couldn’t care less that you hate me.” You sneered at him as if he was some shit that had gotten stuck to your shoes. “But your shitty attitude and bad acting skills are making Swindle feel bad and now I know from how you’ve been staring at him all lovestruck that you hate that as much as I do. So hate me as much as you fucking want but keep it to yourself and act natural or I’ll make sure this is the last business transaction you’ll ever have with him. Understood?”

Stunned, Lockdown didn’t have the chance to answer as Swindle appeared, business smile on his face and a mod in his hands. “Sorry for taking so long, I really need to upgrade my storage unit! Ah, but it seems the two of you had a conversation while I was gone. Did my dear conjux prove to be an entertaining conversationalist?”

For a fraction of a second Lockdown remained silent before slowly a big grin split his face open. “Oh yes Swindle, you can easily say that. In fact, we both came to an agreement while you were gone.” Lockdown looked upon you with new optics and you smiled back innocently. His spark felt oddly warm as he looked back at Swindle. “I’ll have the gun, it’s just what I need for my next hunt. Now about that mod, tell me about it.” Swindle lit up like a Christmas tree and immediately started to explain just how great this mod was and how Lockdown definitely needed it. The bounty hunter half listened, mind busy churning over this new revelation. Ah, it seems he made a mistake, thinking of you as prey. You were clearly a hunter, just like him. A feisty little thing. Well, he looked forward to learning more sides of you, definitely. Wasn’t Swindle a lucky one?

[mistersourwolf]

An Old Lovers Quarrel- Geralt x Reader

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: hints at nsfw but not really nsfw at all, angry reader?? I don’t really have many warnings for this actually

Summary: Y/N hunts monsters just like any witcher except she is human. She is directed to Blaviken, the town in which only bad memories are tied to her, but she is here to go against a mutant whom she was told was lurking in the shadows. While in Blaviken she comes across Geralt, an old lover, one she hadn’t seen since the accidental death of a friend. A death caused by Geralt. They reconnect towards the end of the story and honestly just read because I feel I went all sorts of directions with this one but it IS worth the read I promise.

A/N: This is so insanely long but please do give it a read and reblog if you can. It took me about a week to write this as I wasn’t sure which direction I wanted to go with this, just a heads up Josef is just a character I planted in there to help the story run a lot smoother. I hope you do like it though and any feedback is welcomes and I do apologize if the end seems a bit rushed I was just so eager to have a finished piece but yeah :))

It was only noon when you pushed through the doors of the tavern, eyeing the elves and humans who sat amongst each other. They were in peace living among each other and as you could see they each shared bits of their traditions and culture. Surely a lot had changed since you’d last been here. You waved your hand at Josef, the barkeep. His eyes lit up at the sight of you and he quickly brought you a tankard, froth trickling down the side.

“You’ve returned, I wonder after all these years,” Josef leaned over the counter, smiling nastily, “what sort of devilry lingers in Blaviken?”

Sitting on the barstool, you took a swig of your ale and a cough rose from your lungs. “What is this? Goat piss?” You griped, wiping droplets of ale from your chin.

“I do remember you a particular one,” the barkeep grinned, “but honorable y/n, ‘tis the best ale in all of Blaviken.”

“I don’t doubt it, not a bit.” You sneered, glancing once more around the pub. “I’m looking for a witcher, one who‘s fond of hide and seek and I’ve no time for the antics of children.”

The barkeeps eyes widened at the mention of the brutish creature, a witcher, possibly in Blaviken.

“A mutant?” Josef quieted, “what business do you have with a beast like that?”

Your eyes narrowed, slightly offended by the barkeeps judgement for though you spited the witcher, you felt you were kindred spirits by divine will. You bit your tongue, saying nothing at all and taking a mouthful of that atrocious ale, forcing it down.

“Very well,” the barkeep continued, “You enjoy the ale.”

You watched him as he walked away, overlooking the tavern. Josef was an honest man, always considerably kind but an unapologetic brazen half-wit. It took a while for Josef to realize you were neither an elf, sorceress, or peasant but a simply a well respected human. One who sought out imminent dangers; to be precise you were the non-mutant witcher that even Witcher’s feared. A human hunter of all monstrosities that littered the world. Witcher’s didn’t belong on that list of horror but Geralt of Rivia held the honor of writing himself onto the non existent draft.

You finished up your ale, struggling to stomach the thickness of it but you managed, standing from your stool.

“Running off so soon?” The barkeep called out as you headed for the door, “You’ll come back to criticize more of my famed ale, will you?”

You turned towards him nodding, “My greatest pleasure in this town is downing tankards of your disgusting ale, Josef, I will return.”

The barkeep opened his mouth to speak but you never did hear his words as you rushed into the streets of Blaviken. Carts flew by you and you watched as the children played in the town, giggling maniacally. They had not a sliver of care in the world and you felt in the pit of your stomach the nostalgic feeling of being a know-nothing happy brat. It was years ago but still the memories of Sunday porridge with your mother as a girl were vivid. You stared into the crowds of people watching them disperse as the clacking of a horses trot rippled through the street. You watched the familiar horse emerge from the crowd and atop was a hooded figure. Your insides churned as your instincts told you who stood in front of you. You hurried behind a bush, placed conveniently by the tavern. Peeping from behind it you noticed the man jump from his mare, whispering to the animal. An odd, yet again, familiar thing to see. He turned away from the horse, trusting her to remain outside the tavern without so much as securing her to a pole. His pride radiated through each step he took. You winced hearing the door to the pub creak as he slowly entered, leaving your sight. You crept from the bush, brushing off the spiderwebs that must’ve been etched on the shrub and headed back inside the Tavern. You watched from inside the door as the witcher sat on a stool, dramatically pulling down his hood. Josef immediately approached the man with a tankard, as always overflowing with foam. The witcher took a swig of the awful concoction and a brutal hacking followed. You grinned, mentally telling Josef to shove Blavikens best ale up his ass. At that moment, you moved in on him, sitting on the neighboring stool.

Josefs eyes lit up seeing you back in the pub so soon but you stared him down coldly, sending a clear message not to bother you. You glanced over at the white-haired man, his eyes staring down at the bar top.

“Do you think I couldn’t sense you?” The witcher grimaced, “The hate you have for Blaviken, even the dead can feel your dread.”

You were startled by his sudden words which conveyed he remembered you well.

He raised his head to look at you, startling you as you forgot what it was to look him in his eyes which took on the bright bursting color of sunflower petals, a kaleidoscope of yellow and orange. It sent chills to your bones as you had forgotten how they could so easily penetrate the soul. You resisted shifting to puddy and instead held a strong stance, trying to get a read on him.

“That’s true, witcher,” you smiled, “I do pity this place. It is, after all, the place my mother and father abandoned me, where I was forced to kill my first monster and of course my biggest misfortune of all, where I met you.”

A frown masked his face, “I never meant any harm to—“

“You need not worry, witcher, I’m not here to avenge him. As much as I rightfully should, my hands will not command my dagger to be held against you.” you explained.

“So why trouble yourself to travel all the way to Blaviken?” He sighed. “I’ve not known you to come in peace.”

“Actually you’ve not known me at all, witcher.” You smiled nastily, “But if you must know, I’ve come seeking another mutant like yourself,“

Geralt looked taken back, assuming you were suggesting another witcher.

“Well, not exactly like yourself since this one is cursed. Birthed by her mother on the eclipse.” You explained watching Geralt drink from his tankard once more. He must’ve forgotten the taste of it as you watched his face contorted in horrific disgust.

“So I’ve heard,” He slid his cup away from him. “She comes for Stregabor, by the name of Renfri and from what he tells me, I see why she would pursue his demise. The Bastard.” He sneered.

“Well, I’m inquiring your help, Geralt, help me kill the—“

Geralts lips slightly turned upwards almost as if he were trying to smile, “I have a code, you’re forgetting but I do remember you an eager one.”

“I’ve heard particular now eager, I guess I leave quite an impression.” you grinned but the sound of the tavern doors swinging open caused you to turn your head. In walked a thin, lenient woman, her hair cut in a shapely bob made her way to the bar top.

“Josef!” She called out, “Two tankards, extra froth how I like it.”

The barkeep fumbled for the tankards, nervous in her presence. You turned back around facing Geralt, “You and I must be the only ones with any good taste in ale.”

Geralt watched the girl as she walked over to the two of you.

The brunette spoke up, “Well isn’t this the most prime example of opposites attracting? You two are together I assume?”

You disagreed shaking your head and letting a laugh rip from your lungs, “Not in his wildest dreams.”

The witcher grunted, amused knowing he already had you, long ago before your quarrel sent you both on separate paths.

She chimed in again, “Then it won’t be any trouble to steal your seat, will it?”

You felt jealousy stir in the pit of your stomach but calmed it, standing from your seat. Usually you would have twisted her arm and made her regret ever asking such a thing—to give up your seat so her entitled, everyone-loves-me self could have a seat next to him..but you were so sick of the impressions you made. Geralt tried to hold back a smug grin but couldn’t, knowing you were resisting your rage. You sat down the line from the two as she began making conversation with Geralt.

You noticed his eyes meeting yours every so often as she talked his ear off. Eventually his looks became focused on only her as you pestered Josef for more tankards of his shitty ale.

“Who is that?” You asked him, taking the cup from his hand.

His eyes gleamed at the sight of her, entranced by her very existence, “That is our beloved Renfri,” Your eyes widened at the mention of her name, this was the girl you’d been looking for. “been coming here these past few weeks and business is thriving more than it has in the last decade.”

You nodded at Josef, sipping your ale as you watched Geralt listen fondly to the girl. What did she want from him? You watched as they stood up from their stools, placing their tips on the bar top. Geralt made eye contact with you as he followed her out of the bar, seemingly to magnify you jealousy. It worked and you were certainly angered but again so sick of the first impressions you made.

For the rest of the evening, unsure of where the witcher and the girl had run off to, you sat at Josef’s tavern. By six o clock you were on your seventh tankard and booze practically seeped from your pores. Seeing Geralt brought back memories, ones you tried desperately to shove in the back of your mind. He had brought up the boy, the boy whom was loved so dearly in the village, the boy whom you had grown close to after your family left you to the streets of Blaviken. But as soon as memories of him surfaced you drowned them in the sea of your trauma, or in booze. Right now it was booze. You stumbled to your feet, slamming your coins on the surface of the bar.

“I knew I should’ve stopped you at tankard number three, y/n.” The barkeep said causing you to laughed obnoxiously, your breath reeking of ale.

“Take your coin and go to hell, my old friend.” You slurred, a stupid grin on your face. Your legs felt like jell-o as you headed towards the tavern door. Multiple times, you leaned onto the bar top to ensure your balance. You cursed at Geralt, pissed he had left you all alone at the pub. He owed you nothing but your stomach turned as you thought of the looks Renfri gave Geralt. You pushed through the doors into the evening landscape, a hand over your stomach as you retched, all the contents emptying from your stomach. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you stood upright again. You looked along the path heading to a local inn, it was going to be a difficult walk being as drunk as you were. However you made your way down the path receiving multiple stares from peasants, workmen, even children were disgusted by your souring look. You were far too lost in your head to even hear the trotting of a horse behind you, but the rider caught your attention shortly.

“You,” He said annoyed, “are not sober in the slightest. What have you gotten yourself into?” It was Geralt, seemingly concerned.

“Well, well,” you stumbled against him, “if it isn’t the absentee witcher.”

“Seriously y/n? What the fucking hell?” He grumbled, wrapping an arm around you and leading you to his horse.

“Yep,” you grinned, “What the fucking hell Geralt, you murdered an innocent boy.”

Geralt paused, glancing over at you who giggled idiotically, clearly unaware of what you were saying.

“Come on,” he muttered, throwing you on top his horse and then joining you. “Don’t fall.”

As the horse began to trot along the path again, your body rattled against Geralts. Your arms gripped tightly around his torso, terrified of falling from the horse. You were extremely intoxicated and so the scent of picked berries from the local shops made you feel hunger at a peak. He glanced every so often to make sure you were still awake and able to maintain your grip. The ride wasn’t long, only a few minutes compared to what would’ve taken you hours. Geralt leaped from his horse, immediately pulling you off and hurrying towards the inn. You stumbled down the halls of the inn, walking to your room. Geralt sighed annoyed by you as you fumbled in your back pockets, searching for what seemed like eternity for your room key.

Once inside, you ran towards your bed, jumping backwards onto it. The witcher was not amused, slamming the door shut behind him.

“You should get some rest,” He suggested, his voice a mix of concern and frustration. “If you want to get to Renfri in the morning.”

You sat up, eyeing him as he walked across the room, looking at your things. “Now you want to kill her, why the sudden change of heart?”

“I will not touch her, but I cannot stop you from killing her and I won’t let her kill you.” He admitted, hinting you were of importance to him.

“That’s endearing,” you stuttered, “to know I have your permission, tell me Geralt, did you ask my permission when you slaughtered the—“

“I know what he meant to you!” Geralt yelled, throwing a piece of china across the room. It shattered against the wall, not even earning a flinch from you. “When will you see it was not my intention? You brought him there when you knew—“

“How was I to know she was a Bruxa?” You raised your voice at him, “how was I to know she forged a bond with him? That he would try to protect her?” Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision.

Geralt grew quiet, ashamed that he tried to blame what had happened on you. You blinked, staring up at the ceiling in attempt to resist gravity. But you failed and multiple tears slid down your cheeks, now flustered and taking on a pinkish-red tone. Geralt walked over to you, sitting beside you. Silence with Geralt always was the opposite—horrendously loud. You know how he was feeling without him having to say it, and you leaned into him. His arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder, giving a small squeeze as you wiped your tears.

“I thought it would be easier to hate you but instead I’ve only had to suffer this loss alone.” You sniffled, your head still spinning from the excess amount of ale you had consumed.

“It’s easier to shift blame where it doesn’t belong than to accept a fate that we hate.” He said, clearing his throat at the end. “Just sleep. We will ride back into town at dawn.” Geralt pulled away, letting you lay back into your bed.

Geralt hadn’t even left your bed before you were fast asleep. He chuckled to himself, knowing you were sure to have an awful headache in the morning. Grabbing a spare pillow from your bed, he threw it onto the floor and stretched out on the floorboards. That evening he couldn’t sleep, his mind occupied by the days events. By sunrise, he was laying beside you, watching you in your peaceful slumber before you’d have to face the pain of a hangover.

You stirred in your sleep, squinting your eyes tightly as the bright sun illuminated the room. You groaned rolling over and to your surprise onto Geralts chest. You raised your head slowly, glaring at the witcher who peered down at you.

“I don’t imagine we...?” You hinted to the witcher, rolling your eyes as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Geralt smirked, “Not in my wildest dreams, I was once told.”

You rolled over off of Geralt, sitting up. As soon as you sat upright, a sharp pain beat against your temples. You groaned, massaging both sides of your head with your fingertips.

“Damn it.” you winced, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

“I might have something for you,” the witcher said, getting up from the bed and walking to his bag. “Here.” He said, pulling out a small bottle which was sealed with a cork.

You read the bottle which was a mix of Rosemary, Ginger and something you couldn’t even try to pronounce. You assumed it must’ve been a healing ingredient as the two herbs were easy enough to say.

“I trust this isn’t poison, but then again you do seek out the innocent.” You groaned, chugging the mixture down. The taste was horrifying and the texture even more so.

Geralt remembered your conversation from last night, realizing you were too drunk to remember. “You are miles from innocent and if it was poison I’d drink it myself if it meant not enduring your wit.”

You scoffed, walking towards your bag and grabbing a fresh pair of clothes. You didn’t bothering asking him to turn around as it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. His eyes tried to look in any other direction but he failed, coming back to your figure as you slipped your freshly cleaned shirt over your torso. You decided to keep your previous pants on as they were best to fight in and you knew there would be bloodshed today, whether it was your own or Renfri’s you did not know.

“Well, Come on then.” You said hiding a dagger in your boot and sliding your sword into your scabbard. You left the inn with Geralt behind you, following.

Geralt walked to Roach, talking as usual to the mare. “She’s a little bitter today, Roach, I apologize in advance.”

You kicked gently at Geralt, “It is impolite to gossip, now may we get going, witcher?”

Geralt smirked, climbing atop the horse as did you. Soon you reached the busy town of Blaviken, as usual children ran back and forth in the streets, racing their friends. Families walked together from shop to shop, seeing the same things they do any other day. Partially the reason you hated Blaviken was because nothing ever changed in the town. The people were the same for generations, the towns ale never got better, always a disgusting mixture easily comparable to piss, children were filthy and the shops worn down.

The tavern was in sight and in moments you were climbing down from Roach along with Geralt. Your headache had eased and nausea had subsided, it seems the remedy Geralt had given you was true to its purpose. You felt more lively than ever walking into the Tavern. Josef met eyes with you, ignoring Geralts brooding presence. “Surely you’re not back for another drink? This early?”

You smiled at Josef, his eyes a chilling blue-grey. “I don’t think I’ll drink for another decade, Josef,” you chuckled, “Have you seen Renfri?”

“Whats it to you?” The barkeep spoke in her defense, odd as you were his oldest friend. You grew up with Josef, his mother and yours were close friends up until she bolted from Blaviken.

“She’s a friend of mine.” You smiled, convincing him it was only of interest of you to reunite with an old friend. He didn’t seem very convinced, pulling back his lip unsure.

“You two didn’t seem that good of friends yester—“ Josef started only to be cut off by Geralt reaching across the bar top, gripping Josef tightly by his head of hair and slamming his head down on the bar top. The barkeep winced and you tugged at Geralts arm, worried for Josef.

“Alright, what has Josef done this time?” A voice called out from behind you two. You turned around but Geralt only shifted his body, still gripping Josef’s hair. The dainty brunette stood before both you and Geralt.

“They’re looking for—“ Josef tried to speak but Geralt slammed his head into the bar top once more, knocking him out this time. You nudged Geralt harshly, muttering some curse words.

“Now Josef is a good fellow, he doesn���t deserve to be attacked in his own pub, have you no manners witcher?” Renfri stepped closer to the witcher, her hand swiftly crossing his chest, “Oh yes, I do remember from last night you had quite the manners.”

You shot a glare at Geralt who avoided your stare as if he could sense the anger building inside you again. He gently pushed the brunette back so she wasn’t standing so close.

“Well it seems you aren’t the one looking for me so what do you want?” She said turning towards you, looking at you as if you were a peasant. It humbled you as you don’t recall the last time someone had a gaze like hers.

“Something very simple,” you murmured, now wanting her dead more than ever. “A gift for the queen, your head on a platter.” You grabbed the hilt of your sword, pulling it from its sheath.

Screams emerged from the crowd and in seconds the only ones who stood in the tavern were you, Renfri and the witcher. She was just as quick as you, whistling before unsheathing her own sword. A mob of men came from the shadows of the tavern, standing against you as well. Geralt gripped his sword, walking towards the men to fend them off. Your sword clashed with Renfris as your feet danced on the floor with her. Her weapon slashed through the air and you ducked under swiftly, slicing her side. She didn’t skip a beat, spinning around and aiming behind your legs. You jumped over her sword, feeling the sharp edge knick your achilles but not deep enough to disable you. You heard the agonizing screams of Renfris goons, Geralt was slaughtering each one of them and Renfri fell distracted by this. You took the opportunity to slash across her chest which she fell back from, her sword fell from her hands and you jumped on top of her, holding your sword to her throat. She leaned into the blade, which cut slightly into her throat. With a quick movement, her head butted against you making you fall back onto your ass. You winced, feeling a sensation similar to your hangover. You leapt back up, clutching your sword tightly as she fumbled for hers. You two stood on opposing sides of the table, circling it with your swords pressing against each other’s, each of you applying all your strength to overthrow each other. Suddenly, one of Renfris men fell into the table, breaking the barrier between you two. You swooped down in a pirouette slicing the back of her thigh.

“Agh!” She yelled, but continued to work her sword. She would not back down and was persistent despite her bleeding injuries. With one final clash, she knocked your sword from your hands. You stumbled back, hitting your head against the hard floor. In seconds she climbed on top of you, her legs on either side of you as she pressed her own sword firmly against your neck just as you did to her moments ago.

“You’ve come for my head and now it seems I’ll have yours.” She quipped, a strong hatred in her eyes, “I do hope this isn’t over the witcher, but bless his soul he knows how to pleas—.”

Her body arched above you as you watched a sword rip through her upper abdomen. Blood dripped onto you as she collapsed over you but not before being kicked aside by none other than Geralt. He offered you a hand but you refused, standing to your feet just fine in your own.

“Y/n, what she said..” Geralt tried to explain but you didn’t let him. You pushed his chest shoving him back, then again and again.

“I ask you to help me kill her and you decide to fuck her instead?!” You shouted furiously, giving one last final shove. Geralt said nothing but gave you eyes of sorrow, those eyes you could no longer stomach to look at.

“You think you’re gonna save my life and have me leap into your arms?” You yelled, truly wondering his thought process, “You are pathetic.”

You ran out of the tavern, a strong urge to burst into tears but you couldn’t. For whatever reason, you just couldn’t.

Geralt rushed after you, “Let me take you to the inn, it is too cold to walk, you’ll freeze.”

“I wonder, will you attempt to warm me as you did her?” You scoffed, crossing your arms, it really was cold.

Geralt stared at you as you avoided his eyes, his beautiful bright yet dark and sad eyes. “You don’t understand, she’s a mutant, one who enchants men she comes across—“

“Oh poor you, the mighty Geralt of Rivia, fallen victim to a scummy brunette.” You laughed as if that was masking your anger but even Geralt knew the dangers of a woman laughing when upset.

“I’m a witcher, y/n, but I’m not immune to magic, no,” he grew agitated by your rudeness, “but I did everything I could to resist.”

You cursed under your breath, finally looking at him. His eyes spoke volumes of guilt, unaware Witcher’s could even feel guilt. Saying nothing to him, you mounted yourself on Roach. As Geralt joined you on top the horse, your arms instinctively wrapped around his torso causing him to turn his head to the side, watching the outline of your figure lean against him for support. A small smile creeped along his lips, though he didn’t let you see it.

Arriving at the inn, you entered your room which felt like heaven as a blanket of warmth wrapped around you. You grew hot from the sudden shift in temperature and immediately stripped despite Geralt being there. He paid no attention to you though not wanting to hear any remarks from you. He then did the same except he only removed his armor and shoes, nothing else. You put something less bloody and looser on, feeling much better after the wardrobe change. The two of you said nothing on the way to the inn and even moments after sitting in your room. He wandered your room aimlessly, looking for nothing in particular but noticing everything. He came across an instrument hidden in the corner of your room beside your bed. He picked it up carefully, he was reminiscing and made it no secret.

“I know a bard who would treasure a lute of this woodwork.” He said softly, strumming his fingers in one swift motion. You looked at him, holding the dainty instrument in his arms.

“It belonged to—Its the only thing I have left of him.” You were hesitant but smiled at the thought of him, the boy who you’d been best friends with for years. You didn’t know how to play the damn thing but it was something he had always talked about teaching you one day. “What’s this bards name?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said placing the lute back in its original place, “I came across him a few years after our parting and it would be a dishonor to say he’s a persistent one. He is far more than persistent.” Geralt cracked a small smile thinking of his friend.

“Is he human?” You asked.

“He is, yes. He would drive you mad, I know that much.” Geralt walked over sitting on the bed beside you.

“You really didn’t feel anything for her did you Geralt?” You asked shyly, knowing it shouldn’t even matter to you. You left him years ago after the incident, it was you who made the choice to part ways with him. He reached out, tilting your chin towards him.

“Nothing more than magic tethered me to her,” he said, assuring you it was nothing to do with chemistry but manipulation. “I’ve never fought anything so strong but I did and if I had to I’d do it again.”

Your heart warmed hearing this from your witcher, the witcher who was usually not so open with his feelings. You had that power over him and always did. You two were open books with each other and despising him all these years just set you up to melt right into his hands. You forgot the connection between you and the witcher through all of your quarrel.

“I know,” you admitted, feeling a rush of emotions. “and I-I’ve missed you.”

Geralt tilted his head down, pressing his lips to yours. You leaned into the kiss, draping your arms over his shoulders, intertwining your fingers behind him. You pulled him on top of you as you laid into your mattress. His lips were hungry and each kiss more ambitious than the last. He broke the kiss crossing his arms and pulling his shirt over his head revealing a broad chest. You missed every part of him and having been apart from him all these years tore your heart just thinking about it. But you didn’t, you focused on his fingers gripping your hips and tugging at the hem of your shirt. He slid the shirt over your head, revealing your proportioned figure. He missed the sight of you beneath him and what would follow these moments would be a pleasurable reconnection, one of kindred souls.

You laid breathlessly on his chest, tracing patterns on his skin. He hummed as you did this, his eyes fluttering in and out. It had been long since he had slept but he was calm and at rest. The morning sun still lit the room, and you had forgotten it was only a few hours past sunrise.

“So,” you said calmly, breathing in his scent, one you missed dearly. “When can I meet your beloved friend?”

Geralts eyes opened at this, a smirk on his lips, “I don’t think friend is quite the term for Jaskier, more of a pleasant nuisance.”

You smiled, propping yourself up on a pillow “Then fine, when can I meet this nuisance?” You corrected yourself, running your fingers through the Witcher’s pearl colored hair.

“If nothing is waiting for you after Blaviken then come with me.” Geralt said staring at the ceiling above him. You leaned over planting a kiss on his lips, smiling broadly. Laying back into his arms, you watched as he fell into a deep sleep. You soon followed and fell into a dream state on top of the man who you thought you would hate forever. But as a dear friend once said to you, your fate is written and those who are fated for each other find each other in the most vulnerable times.

[neon-junkie]

reader is in a relationship with Micah but feels like he doesn’t really care about them, so they break up with him, but he did care and they just completely broke his heart

:( :( :( gender-neutral reader as always 

"Micah," you sigh. "We gotta talk." "'Bout what?" he asks, his eyes still down on his knife, barely paying any attention to you. "You said you'd come bed an hour ago," you tell him. "I been busy," Micah tells you. "Sharpening your knife? For the tenth time today? It's sharp, Micah, stop findin' excuses," you huff, crossing your arms, stood next to him whilst he sits at the campfire. "I just wanna make sure of it, alright?" Micah says as he looks over the blade. "You do this every single day. Of course it's sharp!" 

"Alright, alright. No need to get in a huff," Micah tells you as he puts his knife away, chucking the whetstone to the floor. He finally looks up at you. "Why don'tcha come here?" Micah asks you, patting his lap as he puts his hands out. "No, Micah. You ain't paid any attention to me since we got together," you scoff at him, slapping his hand away from you. "Easy there," Micah raises his hands innocently. "What you mean I ain't paid attention to ya? I kiss you every damn day, don't I?" "Is that it? You think your sweetheart just needs a kiss every day and they'll be fine?" you scoff. There's really no getting through to this man. Why are you even bothering? "You know I spend time with ya when I can-" "-When you can? Micah! You got all the time in the world yet you waste it sharpening the same damn knife over and over," you scoff, cutting him off. "Look, I'm fed up of this." "Fed up of what?" Micah asks, squinting his eyes at you as he rests his hands on his thighs. "Of this. Of you. You don't give a shit about me. Before we got together you were all over me, makin' me feel good, like I'm the only person you care about. But now we're together you don't bother at all. You.." you pause, shaking your head as you pace back and forth, trying to not cry in front of him. How dare you waste tears over this boy. "Sweetheart?" Micah questions. "No, I ain't your sweetheart, Micah," you tell him as you stop pacing, turning to face him, staring down at him. "I'm clearly just someone that you enjoyed flirting with and accidentally got caught up in. That's why you ain't bothered since we got together. This was clearly just meant to be a bit of fun for you," you sigh, shaking your head. "This is done, we're done. I'm goin' bed, goodnight." You storm off, finally going to bed, heading over to what was your shared tent, despite Micah only ever stepping foot in it to fuck you. Your back is turned to him so you don't see his jaw drop and his heart shatter, because to your surprise, Micah actually did really care about you. Micah is one of those few men who has never actually been in a relationship. He's had his fair share of partners but never tied down to anyone. You were the first and only one, and honestly... he has no idea what he's doing. Micah assumed that once you were together then ta-da! It's all good, right? You can continue to flirt and fuck here and there, but Micah doesn't realize the problems that come alongside it, the communication and trust that you have to perfectly balance. He's questioned it before, about whether he should tell you how inexperienced he is, how he doesn't know what he's doing. But Micah did what Micah does best; assume he's fine and carry on. He swatted away those feelings just like he does with all other ones, though he eventually chose to ignore them when they started to come back. He didn't do that with his feeling for you though, he swatted them away the first few times, but was quick to realize that damn, he's has fallen for you, and it seems you have too. It was hard for him not to. He started off with a few innocent flirtatious marks here and there, expecting rejection just like the rest of the camp, but his face turned as red as his shirt the second you flirted back. He tried to smooth talk his way in there, but it seems those butterflies in his stomach got the best of him and you were left with a heavily blushing, stuttering Micah Bell. So what did you do? You continued to flirt, straight to his face, telling him what a handsome man he is, how you'd love for him to take you into town some time, or sit on his lap during a game of poker. "I-I... Y-yeah, sweetheart. We can do those things," Micah managed to stutter back to you. You made an excuse after and left him in a pool of his own sweat, mentally beating himself up for being such an embarrassment. But later on that night you found him having a game of five finger fillet with Arthur and of course, you just had to trail over. "Look at you go, Micah. You're gonna make poor Arthur here bleed to death," you said as you approached. "Oh? You think I'm good?" Micah asked you, narrowly missing his finger as you distracted him. Arthur squinted his eyes at him; it's unlike Micah to not be a smug bastard. "More than good, Micah. You seem so skilled with them hands," you say, your hand lightly resting on his shoulder as you watch him. "They can do a lot more than play with knives, sweetheart," Micah told you. "You should show me sometime." "I could show you now." Arthur quickly left, not wanting to watch you take a seat on Micahs lap as his confidence and ego finally returned to him. After that, the two of you continued to openly flirt around camp. Most of the camp members had pulled you aside to question your intentions and to warn you about that man, but you saw past his rough and sarcastic exterior. Or you thought you did. The second you got together, his cheesy flirting stopped. And now you're here, sobbing in bed as you allowed yourself to get caught up in another generic no-good outlaw. Micah, on the other hand, had gone for a walk around camp, head hunched down, brows furrowed, trying to decide who to blame. Had you been too demanding? Too needy? Too annoying? No. Not at all. Micah picked away at all your time together since becoming a couple and he couldn't find one single flaw. He loved having someone be clingy towards him, he loved that feeling of being wanted and adored. At first, it made him feel sick, only because it was such a new and foreign feeling that he didn't realize what was going on at first. But eventually, he realized what it was, and those sickly feelings became normal, no longer making him queasy. He leans against a tree. The first thing that comes to mind is that he should distract himself by cleaning his guns, but the image of you telling him off for it springs to mind. He can't help that he finds peace in cleaning his weapons; it's a damn good distraction, but he falls back on it too easily. Instead, Micah just looks out at his surroundings, the moon acting as the only source of light in the forest. For once, he watches the leaves fall and the night critters move about. He's so used to violence and confrontation that he's never really just stood and admired the earth. It's not his cup of tea, but he's sure you'd enjoy it. Micah knows you'd enjoy watching the earth turn with him by your side. He knows you'd love to cuddle up against him as you watch the river flow and the birds fly overhead. That's all he needed to do, take you out to do the things you enjoy. Maybe in those calmer settings, he'll be able to open up to you about not really knowing what to do in a relationship or how to communicate. And with time, maybe he'll learn how to communicate, using those calm settings as a good environment to bring up any current problems. It's hard to get riled up and argue when the skies are blue and the earth is happy, he knows you definitely won't, and he'd feel embarrassed getting worked up and causing a scene when there's no need to. Would he? Micah realizes that's the first time he's ever thought that. Micah realizes that he's just solved his relationship issues by having some alone time and letting his mind wander in a calm way, a way that you would. Micah realizes that he should probably go and apologize to you. After all, the way you make Micah feel is... well, there's no words for it, because Micah can't quite put his finger on it. He's never felt it before, and he's grown up believing that he'll never feel it, so there's no point thinking about it. But then you came along and chucked all his father's teachings out the window just with the way you look at him. So off he goes, making his way back to camp. He takes a deep breath, clearing his throat as he gets closer to your tent and... oh, you're crying. Micah feels his heart sink. He's the cause of this. The anger comes flooding back, but not at you, at himself, for allowing himself to hurt you like this. He's an idiot, isn't he? A reckless and chaotic man who'll never be able to change. Micah wants to walk away, he wants to escape the way he's made you feel so he can shoot a few strangers and pretend he's all better. But he doesn't. Micah stands outside your tent, stuck on standby as he questions what the hell he should do, and how the hell he should do it. Should he go inside and try to win you back? Or storm away and put his walls back up that you managed to break down?

[bitchin-beskar]

Requested by @ryleyrooroo: Can I please get some gingerbread with my soft boi Marcus Pike? 🥺

I am so so so very sorry for how long this took to be completed. But, I wanted to go back and rewatch Pedro’s scenes in The Mentalist, and I wasn’t able to until recently. So, here it is, very late... I hope you like it!!!

Nutmeg, Cinnamon, and Gingerbread

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: So, while re-watching The Mentalist, I felt a strong resurgence of my hate for Patrick Jane. I don’t know why, but I’ve never liked his character. And ever since Lisbon did poor Marcus dirty like that, I’ve not really liked her either. So, that definitely came out while I was writing, oops... And yes, I know it rarely snows in Sacramento, but it did snow on December 7th in 2009, so it’s definitely possible. Just go with it. 

Requested: Gingerbread - holiday kisses- under the mistletoe or in front of a roaring fire, their lips taste of nutmeg and gingerbread and holiday cheer

You were late, goddammit. 

Everything had fit together so perfectly, so of course something had to go wrong at the last minute.

Your boyfriend was working a case in Sacramento, and had been for a few months now. You’d been sad that the two of you wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas together, but then it was like the stars had aligned, and an unsub had popped up a few counties over, in Santa Clara, and your team was on their way. You’d managed to get your bosses to agree that so long as you took a commercial flight back, and that you’d be home before New Years, you could have a few days off to celebrate with your boyfriend.

Your case had been solved relatively quickly, within two weeks, just one day before Christmas Eve, and you’d immediately begun the drive from Santa Clara up to Sacramento. God, your boyfriend had been so excited.

“Hey, baby! Guess what?” 

You’d called him only minutes after getting on the road, too excited to try and keep him in suspense.

“Don’t tell me–”

“Yes! We finished the case! I’ve got…” you trailed off, glancing at the GPS. “About two hours before I reach Sacramento!”

There was a gasp through the speakers before a whoop of excitement rang through the car. “Sweetheart that’s amazing! I was beginning to lose hope!” 

You smiled at the clear and obvious joy in your significant other’s voice. “Me too, babe. I’m so excited to get to spend Christmas with you. I can’t wait to get to your hotel and just crash.”

“I can’t wait either, I–” A loud groan suddenly rang out. “Shit, I completely forgot. There’s a Christmas party tonight and the boss wants me there for ‘team bonding’ or something, and I probably won’t get back until late.”

You were quiet for a moment, and he must have assumed that you were upset with him. “Sweetheart I’m so sorry, I was so looking forward to seeing you, and now I’m gonna have to ditch you tonight for people I really don’t want to be around and–” you cut him off quickly. 

“Babe, babe no, Marcus, baby, listen to me.” You waited for him to stop before you continued. “It’s not a big deal. What if I come with you?”

There’s a pause for a moment, before your boyfriend lets out a small huff of laughter. “That… That might actually work. I can’t imagine the brass complaining about you coming to a Christmas party, especially when you technically work for the same company.”

You rolled your eyes, but really, he was right. He worked in the Art Theft Program for the FBI, and you worked for the BAU, also for the FBI. The brass was fine with your relationship since you weren’t technically colleagues, so why would they have a problem with you coming to a party?

After getting the details from Marcus, you said goodbye, already anxious for the drive to be over. You had some dressier clothes packed in your bag from the case you’d just worked, so you were going to swing by his hotel and change before meeting him at the CBI headquarters. With your ETA being what it was, you’d be right on time for the start of the party. 

At least, that had been the plan. 

There had been a car accident right in front of you while you were on your way from Marcus’ hotel room to the CBI Headquarters, and of course, you being the Good Samaritan that you were, stopped to wait for the police. You’d given your statement, but one of the officers would not stop flirting and inviting you out to dinner, no matter how much you insisted you had somewhere to be.

When you finally managed to get him off your back, you were running thirty minutes late, meaning the party was in full swing, and your boyfriend was alone, surrounded by people he didn’t like all that much. 

Marcus never really talked about the first time he’d worked with CBI, but you knew enough. You knew that he’d fallen in love with an agent, and that she’d agreed to marry him, only to break up with him and get together with an absolute ass of a man. Marcus had been left in Washington DC, with no explanation and a broken heart. 

You’d crossed paths with him maybe... six months after that? It was practically love at first sight for you, and although it took him longer to admit it–you know, due to trust and intimacy issues that were extremely valid–Marcus had felt the same. This had led to the two of you getting together on Christmas of all days, and the two of you would have a year of dating under your belts this upcoming December 25th. 

Now, you were about to meet the woman who’d broken Marcus’ heart and the man she’d chosen instead of him, and while honestly, you couldn’t be too upset, since Marcus was now dating you, you could still be mad at her on principle. 

As you walked into the building’s lobby, where the party was being held, and saw Marcus, you felt your breath hitch. It had been so goddamn long since you’d seen him, and there he was, only a few feet from you for the first time in over three months. His back was to you, and he seemed to be talking to two people, although you could tell by his posture that he was not enjoying the conversation. 

Getting closer, you realized that the couple talking to your boyfriend had to be Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon. For one, Jane looked as though he thought he was God’s gift to mankind, and judging by the smirk on his face, he thought himself to be above everyone in the room. And Lisbon looked simultaneously smug and upset, and you guessed she was probably smug that Marcus didn’t seem to have anyone–you knew he hadn’t told the CBI team about your relationship, as he felt it was none of their business–and that she was probably upset that Marcus didn’t look more broken up about her being here with Jane. 

God, it made you sick. Those two had played with Marcus, toyed with his heart, and he didn’t deserve it. Your sweet, loving boyfriend didn’t deserve this, to be stuck on a team with the two people who’d made him so miserable for months on end, and you were glad that, at least for tonight, you could be his buffer. 

As you approached the trio, Jane’s eyes locked onto you, and you saw a look of confusion on his face at the way you were marching over there like a woman on a mission. Clearly Marcus must’ve noticed Jane’s look, because he turned around just in time to catch you in his arms.

You didn’t even have time to look at Jane or Lisbon before Marcus’ lips were on yours. His arm held your waist tight against his, his other hand buried in your hair as he kissed you desperately. You knew it was probably a mix of missing you, and frustration with the two CBI agents–well, one CBI agent and one ‘consultant’–but Marcus kissed you as if the world was ending.

His lips tasted like nutmeg and cinnamon and gingerbread, and it brought you back to when he’d first kissed you, almost a year ago.

***

“Agent Pike, you may have a lot of experience, especially when it comes to catching art thieves, but I’m afraid your experience in gingerbread-house making is sorely lacking.”

The look the agent in question gave you was so reminiscent of a kicked puppy that you wished you had your phone with you to take a picture. He had gingerbread batter all over his hands and smeared on his apron, and he’d somehow managed to get flour and butter into his hair, making it stick up slightly in one spot. He had a little bit of frosting on his cheek, and he had a small nutmeg mustache just under his real one. 

If you had known what a disaster it would be to invite the special agent into your home to make gingerbread on Christmas Day, you wouldn’t have done it.

…

No.

That was a lie.

No matter how disheveled and disastrous this impromptu get together turned out to be, you knew you wouldn’t regret it. 

You’d met him on a case a couple months ago, and ever since, the cute art thief investigator from D.C. just wouldn’t get out of your head. So, when you’d run into him unexpectedly on Christmas Eve, you’d impulsively invited him over the next day when he’d mentioned not having any Christmas plans. 

And boy were you glad you had. 

He was so funny and cute and instead of getting over your crush–like you’d intended–it had only grown. He knew how to make you laugh, and he was a perfect gentleman, and he didn’t judge you for not wanting to settle down and be a homemaker like your mom, and he got along with your cat–which was an honest-to-god miracle, the little bastard didn’t like anyone–and he was perfectly perfect in every single way. 

And the way he was looking at you right now made you want to kiss him. 

Before you could begin to rationalize–whether you’d be rationalizing for or against kissing him you weren’t sure–his eyes flickered up to something above your head and then he looked back at you and before you knew it he was leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. 

It was warm and soft and perfect and fleeting and before you knew it, he was pulling away, a guilty look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, looking down at his hands. “There was mistletoe and you just looked so pretty, and I–”

You cut him off, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling his lips back to yours, licking at his lips to taste the mix of nutmeg, cinnamon, and gingerbread. His arms hesitantly wrapped around your waist, as though afraid you were going to bolt, but when you bit gently on his bottom lip, he suddenly crushed you against his chest, bending you back slightly as he devoured you. 

As you stood kissing in your kitchen, covered in baking ingredients, you found yourself deliriously happy for the sprig of mistletoe hanging above your head.

***

Marcus had always been gently intimate, sweet and soft and loving in a way you’d never experienced before. But this… this kiss was different. His lips pressed hard against yours, and you were suddenly thankful that you weren’t wearing any lipstick because it would have been smudged so thoroughly beyond repair if he kept kissing you like this.

It took you longer than you’d like to admit to remember that you had an audience, but when you tried to pull away–reluctantly, you might add–Marcus didn’t let you go. He used his grip on your hair to tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss. Your hands were clenched in his suit jacket, letting him control the pace. He slid his tongue into your mouth, and you were lost. He was turning you on with his possessiveness–honestly there really wasn’t any other word for it–and you almost whimpered when he finally pulled away.

“Hi baby,” he said breathlessly, his voice much deeper than usual. “How was the drive?” His hand slid out of your hair, only to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your spit-slicked and swollen bottom lip.

It took you a minute to answer, your brain still trying to reboot after that mind-blowingly perfect kiss. His arm was still around your waist, his thumb rubbing against your side in the way you knew he liked, to remind himself that you were there, next to him. 

“Longer than I wanted, I’m sorry I’m late.” He laughed softly, his eyes as bright as stars. 

“You’re fine, darling. I’m just so glad you’re here.” He leaned forward to press a fleeting kiss against your lips, pulling away before either of you lost yourselves again. “Let me introduce you.”

You turned, finally acknowledging the couple standing in front of you. Lisbon was staring at you, a slight frown on her lips, eyes narrowed in confusion and… jealousy? Wow, she had some nerve if she thought she was allowed to be jealous after what she did.

Jane, on the other hand, was less composed, a little slack-jawed as his eyes flickered rapidly between the two of you. 

Being a profiler and working with multiple other profilers on a constant basis made it so that you had a pretty good radar for when someone was analyzing you, and the fact that this man thought he had the right to try and analyze your and Marcus’ relationship pissed you off. 

He started to open his mouth, and you could tell from the look in his eyes it wasn’t going to be nice, so you decided to mess with him. 

“Hi! You must be… Preston? Is it Preston? Oh no, Patrick, I remember!” You felt so damn smug wiping that stupid smirk off his stupid face. “And you! You must be Teresa! Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand firmly, watching as she just blinked at you.

“Um… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, Marcus never mentioned you?” 

You could tell what she was trying to do, and you weren’t gonna have it. “Oh, Marcus and I don’t advertise our relationship very much. My boss’s wife was killed by the Boston Reaper, and it’s made me a little paranoid that someone might go after him just to get to me.” You knew it was kind of a low blow, but Teresa-fucking-Lisbon broke Marcus’ heart and you were not letting her off easy. “But, that’s the life of a BAU profiler, right?” 

She nodded slowly, clearly thrown off guard by your little display. Marcus’ arm was tight around your waist, and you were pleased to see her eyes drop slightly to his hand on your waist, only to quickly look back up when she saw it. 

“I really hate to be rude, and I know I just got here, but I’ve not seen Marcus in person in over three months, and you can only do so much over the phone, you know?” You heard someone choke on their drink behind you, but you couldn’t care less. “Maybe I’ll see the two of you later?”

Without giving them a chance to respond, you turned on your heel, walking back out the doors and into the parking lot, Marcus in step next to you. The two of you didn’t speak until you arrived at his car, only for him to use his arm around your waist to push you against the side of his SUV.

It was dark out, but you could clearly see Marcus’ eyes peering down at you, swimming with emotion. “Baby, what was that in there?”

You smirked, wrapping one of your hands around his tie. “I wasn’t about to let Jane start talking shit about you, or me, or what he thought our relationship was. And I saw how Lisbon was eyeing you.” You pulled him down to your level, whispering against his lips. “I had to show her I meant business.”

Marcus huffed out a small laugh, and the gust of air caressed your lips. “Sweetheart, that was so sexy.”

You brushed your lips ever so softly against his. “Teresa Lisbon had her chance. You’re mine, now and forever.” You kissed him harder, and as snow began to fall in the CBI parking lot, two days before Christmas, you whispered one more admission against his lips. “And I’m yours.”

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 15: Trapped - Adulting: But Ghostly

Screwing up in the Fenton Lab was a pretty normal regular thing, but screwing up in such a way to botch someone’s age and humanness without actually changing said we and humanness was a weird one. This is totally definitely Tucker’s fault. Danny caused it, but it’s still Tucker’s fault.

Tucker chuckles at his two friends, “honestly, helping clean up the lab is a weak ass punishment”, shrugging, “all things considered”.

Danny glances at him while pointedly picking up some very sticky and slightly mouldy, touching it with as few fingers as possible, “you sure about that one?”.

Tucker waves him off, “only makes sense for you to clean up the nasty shit. Unlike us, that won’t get you sick”. Danny flips him off while dropping the soggy piece in the garbage bag. Sam just smirks.

Not even five minutes later Tucker knocks some spray-can thing onto the ground, which in typical fashion explodes. Danny eyes the pink mist and sighs, “whelp, now there’s more mess, thanks Tu-”, cutting himself off at feeling a slight tingling across his skin. Turning to glare at Tucker, “oh fuck you”.

Relenting in said glaring at noticing that Tucker and Sam are both glowing now, glancing to his arm and groaning over the matching glow.... Great, just great. Quirking an eyebrow over watching the skin on his arm slowly stain a pale blue and increase in muscle mass? Looking up to his friends and gapping slightly. Jet black skin patching over Tucker’s face and pale green on Sam’s.

Tucker sounds slightly in awe but also worried as he flips over his clawed hand a few times, “okay, might have fucked up a little”, and blinking at the echo to his voice.

Sam grabs at her hair, seemingly made of vines now and with purple flowers popping open, “ya think?”.

Then both of them turning to Danny and grimacing, while he’s having a slight crises at definitely recognising the feel of ecto-flames where there should be hair. Immediately moving to check his pulse, the other two quickly following suit with wide eyes. Sam snapping, “if we just got offed, I’m gonna be pissed”.

Danny’s the first to sigh in relief, being the only one who very frequently checked his pulse normally. He could do without being any more dead, thank you very much.

Tucker snorts, “awesome, so I didn’t just accidentally kill us”.

Danny points at him, “meaning the labs death toll is still only half”, pausing, noting the deep baritone, and touching his throat, “woah”. Then grabbing his much larger than normal hands around his forearm with a quirked eyebrow. Looking up to his friends who are effectively copying him. Both a bit taller and more muscular. Both had longer hair too, though Tucker’s was barely past his ears and dreaded with gold caps on the ends, while Sam’s was nearly past her waist and looked like long vines of purple asters. Their faces were kinda different too and Tucker even had facial hair. They looked... like adults? adult ghosts at that, minus still being in their regular clothing anyways; which definitely didn’t fit super well anymore. Moving his arm a little and actually cringing slightly over the strain his shirt was under; okay, it’s good he wore baggy clothing or he would have ruined his clothing entirely. He might ruin them as it is.

Sam pointing to him, “you sound like Dan”.

Danny shrugs a bit awkwardly, “sound different to myself”. And thank the Ancients for that. He could do without hearing Dan’s voice every time he opened his mouth. Does feel slightly bad for his friends though.

All three make their way over to the back wall mirror and poke at their faces. Blinking eyes and baring fangs. Tucker chuckles, “I have fucking facial hair”, and starts hopping around on his feet, “and what am I? Like six feet tall?”.

Sam and Danny roll their eyes. Danny crossing his arms and looking down at Tucker. Who pauses just to shove Danny, “hey, we all already knew you were going to be a tall bastard”, then going wide-eyed, “dude holy shit! That stuff turned us into adults! Awesome!”.

Sam points at him, “and ghosts”, pulling at the corner of her eyelid, “though yes, green eyes are pretty wicked”.

Danny points at her, “and your skin’s such a pale green than your eyes don’t blend in”. Sam just smirks at that. Tucker pats him on the back though, “well at least yours aren’t red”.

“Amen to that”.

Sam shakes her head a little, putting her hands on her hips, “okay, as cool as this is -though it is kinda curious we’re not displaying powers- I think we should, I don’t know, fix this?”. Danny rubs his neck while nodding and Tucker snatched back up the can before flopping into a chair, “I got this. Hold your ecto-knickers”. Trying to lean his head back only for the headrest to not be up high enough, muttering, “man that’s weird”, as he readjusts it.

-

Forty minutes later finds Tucker groaning, “okay, I officially really screwed up. Completely screwed the pooch”. Earning loud groans from his two friends.

Sam pushes herself up, “alright, Mr. Bad Luck, the fuck’d you do?”.

Tucker sticks out his hands, smashing one on a table, “ts not what I did! It’s what the Fenton’s didn’t do! Also, ow”.

Danny and Sam sighing, “let me guess, no reverse option and they didn’t write the formula down?”.

Tucker snaps his fingers at them, “bingo. Man, it’s like you’re psychic”.

Danny rolls his eyes, “more like my parents are just predictable... and kinda incompetent”. Everyone cringing a little over that.

Sam rubs her eyes, “alright, so now what are we going to do? We can’t go anywhere like this and we-all-know-who will shoot us the second they get home”.

Danny taps his chin, “well, I’m not in my jumpsuit so I don’t look blatantly like Phantom so I think I’m in the clear for that. And we have planned for a situation where I couldn’t change back human. So I’ve already got makeup, wig and contacts. But Wig and contacts only work for me and I’m definitely not your guy’s colour”.

Tucker snorts, “you don’t say you pasty-ass fuck”.  Sam rolls her eyes, “excuse you?”.

“You’re pale, he’s pasty”.

Sam nods curtly with a smug grin. Danny just chuckles.

Tucker claps the chairs armrests, “whelp we should probably at least get you looking human, before we run out of luck or something”. Sam grumbling, “you’re gonna jinx us”. Which Tucker, of course, waves her off as they all get up.

However when they walk into the living room just as the front door opens, Sam and Danny glare at Tucker who laughs awkwardly, “oops?”. All three snapping their heads towards the pair of hunters as said hunters immediately, and predictably, draw ecto-weapons, “hold it right there spooks!”.

Danny holds his hands out, “wait! Wait! We’re not ghosts!”.

His mom doesn’t let him continue, “can it, we know what ghosts look like”. His dad nodding, “you might be able to trick some regular joes but not the Fenton’s”.

Sam mutters, “wow this is awkward”. Tucker just nods slightly at her while gulping.

Danny makes pacifying motions, “but wouldn’t we be floating and stuff if we were newly formed ghosts. We’re not even glowing properly”, it was true, their glows were so small they practically weren’t glowing at all, “so could you put the weapons down, mom, dad”, putting his hands down and shrugging loosely very intentionally, “I’d really rather not get gooped”.

His parents actually look to be considering this, not dropping their weapons though. Figures. His mom readjusting her grip as she goes to dig in her pocket. Producing a chunk of ectoranium seconds later, “well if that’s the case and you’re not ghosts then you shouldn’t have a reaction to this”, and moves to poke Tucker’s arm with the tip, gun staying trained on them all the while. Everyone watching as absolutely nothing happens.

Tucker grins almost apologetically while Danny speaks, “see?”.

Both his parents look puzzled at the ectoranium and Tucker’s arm before Maddie blinks and looks at each of them, her eyes widening, “Danny? Tucker? Sam?”. Which the three of them nod rapidly at. Thankfully their moods do a complete one-eighty at that.

Jack practically bounding over to Danny and actually having to look up at him slightly, laughing and patting his head, “ha! I knew someone was going to get my Fenton genes!”, and pats him on both shoulders like he was measuring how wide he was. Maddie smiles sweetly at him before giving the group of teens who don’t look like teens a puzzled look again, “what I don’t get is, how’d this happen?”.

Danny and Sam immediately pointing at Tucker, but wind up smacking him in the face. Danny chuckling, “shit sorry man, ain’t used to the arm length”. Tucker predictably waves both of them off, though rubbing his cheek from Danny’s hit because well, getting effectively smacked by someone with super-strength and hands that look like pure muscle hurts.

Sam rolls her eyes and explains to Maddie, “that idiot knocked over a spray can looking thing that sprayed pink mist everywhere”.

“Hey, at least I didn’t do it intentionally”. Everyone ignores that.

Maddie taps her chin, “I don’t understand. It shouldn’t have been able to do this without something ectoplasmic around”. While Jack is off in his own world wrapping his fingers around Danny’s biceps.

Danny chuckles at his excitable dad before looking to his mom, “mom. My contamination?”.

That gets both his parents attention, them blinking and going wide-eyed, “oh”.

Sam huffs and crosses her arms, “and really, you’d think you guys wouldn’t have teens, especially Danny, cleaning up down there if you even think you have stuff that can go off like this. It’s irresponsible”. Tucker chuckles, “I’m just glad we only look like ghosts“. Everyone, especially Danny’s parents, nod rapidly at that.

Tucker nodding his head at the lab doors, “I tried to find a reverse or the formula and back engineer it, but you guys forgot to do that... again”. Making both parents cringe a little, Jack rubbing his neck awkwardly.

Danny nods at Tucker before looking back to his folks, “so on that note, do you think you could fix this? Because you didn’t recognise us and I don’t think that Red will pause long enough to hear us out”. Sam scowls and rolls her eyes over that. Danny adding on, “something to at least get us looking human again. We can probably handle the adult-looking thing”.

Tucker chuckles and strokes his facial hair, “it is pretty neat”, smirking at his friends, “I bet the ladies will dig a guy with facial hair”, glancing to Danny’s face, “that isn’t on fire”. Both Sam and Danny predictably hit him.

“No trying to pick up older women, you pervert”.

“Hey, you can barely tell it’s flaming and you’re still you so don’t count on that”.

Tucker pouts at both of them, “why do you have to be so mean”, but obviously doesn’t mean it.

Maddie and Jack smile at the threes antics, if they hadn’t already been sure they would be now. Maddie smiles sweetly at Tucker, “you’re a minor. So please don’t do that”, shaking her head at him waving her off though knowing he probably won’t actually chase after an older woman. Looking to the three of them, “how about we get you three back down to the lab and see what we can do? Alright?”. The three look to each other, exchange shrugs, and following the pair of hunters down to the lab. Jack immediately bounding off and picking up the can.

None of the trio are really surprised that Maddie gets them to sit down and starts examining them, leaving the can to Jack. Her putting a stick in Danny’s mouth and blinking at the forked tongue, “well sweetie, you make for one very intimidating ghost”. Her continuing when the trio all cringe, “technically that’s a good thing. Ghosts are supposed to be scary, you wouldn’t want to be like the Box Ghost now would you?”, all three cringe way more over that, so Maddie gives a satisfied curt nod. While Danny starts fiddling with his tongue.

Maddie pokes at Sam’s flowers, “can you feel this?”.

“Yeah”, putting a little bite in her words, which sounds more than a little threatening with the echo, “so maybe don’t go ripping them off”. Maddie nods while Tucker chuckles, “man the echo sure changes the way we sound. I doubt you meant for that to sound like a threat”. Sam just huffs at that, making Danny and Tucker chuckle at her expense. Maddie, however, smiles slightly, relieved that she hadn’t actually been being threatened; it could always be hard to tell with Sam.

Maddie stares at and inspects Tucker’s skin quizzically, “we’ve never even seen a ghost with pure black skin before. Wonder why”. Everyone shrugs at that, except Jack who’s off in his own world tinkering away. Tucker snickers and elbows Danny, “well we’ve all seen ones with blue, isn’t that right”.

“Do you want me to punt you through a wall? I’m pretty sure I could very easily”, Danny flexes slightly for emphasis but facepalms at ripping sounds, “damnit”. Everyone else snorts and starts laughing at him.

Jack makes a hum that sounds more unhappy than anyone wants to hear, him grabbing Maddie’s arm to drag her over without even looking at her. The trio exchanging glances, all three muttering, “fuck”. Maddie turning around and looking a bit apologetic, “well, it seems that Danny’s contamination sort of... messed with things a little”. The trio groan. “Or rather, bonded with it. Even now the ecto that he sheds off is feeding into the chemical that’s in your systems. If you stayed away from him for at least a week you’d go back to normal on your own. But there doesn’t seem any way for us to artificially force this to revert”, sending Danny a very sympathetic look, “and I can’t see any way to fix this for you sweetie, sorry”.

Danny leans back and groans, before giving his friends awkward looks and rubbing his neck. They don’t even let him get a chance to say anything before Sam snaps, “not happening then”. Tucker nodding and smiling, “yeah, we’re not avoiding Danny-dude. And we’re especially not leaving him to put up with this by himself”. Maddie can’t help but smile at them, “you guys are probably the closest friends possible”. Which all three beams over, even if Danny still looks pretty apologetic.

Everyone turning their heads at Jack shouting, “ah-ha!”, and spinning around in his chair, “alright, so we totally can make another spay that could hide all this ghost-looking stuff!”, muttering at the floor, “won’t fix the aged up thing”, looking back to them, “but! It’ll get you looking human! All of you”. Earning grins all around.

Maddie looking back to the trio, “we’ll work on that, you three go upstairs and play games or eat. I don’t think any of us want you down here in case the prototype malfunctions”. Which all three laugh at.

“Yeah wouldn’t want to make this worse!”.

“Besides, Danny needs to change”.

“Hey. But yeah”.

Maddie shakes her head at the three as they head upstairs.

-

Danny flops down on his bed, having changed into a very stretchy sweater and sweats, “so I guess we’re stuck like this huh?”.

Sam giving a very apathetic, “yup”, as she flops down in her beanie, before wincing and sitting up, pulling her hair out of the way. Grumbling, “this is why I keep my hair short”. Tucker shakes his head around, making the dreads and metal on them smack his face, “I don’t know, it’s kinda fun”.

“Grow it to ass length and see how you feel then”.

“Naw, I’m a guy so”.

“Are you saying only girls can have long hair!”.

Danny snickers over what sounds like a mild slapping match. They’d be fine. School though, ho boy that was going to be a fucking trip. There was literally no way in all the infinite lands of the Ghost Realm that people wouldn’t freak over them looking like adults. Zone, he could see people asking to get sprayed too. Because honestly? Who wouldn’t want to automatically know how they’d look when they’re older. Danny gets that it’s a little less novel for him due to the whole Dan thing, but still. Adding in the ghost thing. Tilting his head, though it was kinda funny Sam wound up with flowers in her hair and wait... wasn’t the area around Tuck’s eyes a bit darker? Glancing at his friends and squinting, yeah Tuck looked like he kinda had makeup... on... wait a second. “Guys”, pointing at the two of them, “Pharaoh. Undergrowth”.

They both blink at him before Sam grabs at her hair and shoved a pocket mirror at Tucker to poke at his eyes. Tucker blinks and hands back over the mirror, “huh, well let’s not point this out to your folks. Like seriously dude”. Sam nods and frowns, “you don’t think this’ll give Undergrowth some control over me?”, looking between the two boys, “and should we really be surprised? We already knew the stuff that happened those times wasn’t really something that just goes away. Undergrowth adopted me”, pointing at Tucker, “and your soul is still T. Duulaman’s, sceptre or no”.

Danny hums and taps his chin, “I don’t think we have to worry about being controlled. We’re not actually ghosts. We just look like them. But fair point. And not like we can really do anything about it”. The two sighing, “yeah”. Danny points at them again, “but if this does start negatively affecting you guys, like our kind of negative, then you guys are staying away from me to get this to wear off. I’ll go hide at the ClockTower Citadel if I have too”. They both roll their eyes at his typical overprotective antics but they do nod.

Tucker points at him and leans forward, “honestly, you should visit ClockWork over this, I’m not sure if this ‘aged up’ thing would count as messing with time. Especially for other people to see”. Danny hums and nods at that. Sam nods herself and gets up to flop on the bed next to him, “and maybe ask them how to fix you. Because you being stuck ghost-looking in both forms screams bad news”.

Tucker joins them on Danny’s other side as Danny replies, “yeah. As it is when I’m an adult ghost my parents are so definitely going to put the pieces together now”. Both them snort at that, pointing out that that was ridiculously obvious. Tucker smacking him, “first, you need a bigger bed. Second, it’s not like you intended to keep this from them after Highschool anyway”.

Danny snorts, “true, on both accounts”.

-

It surprisingly doesn’t take long for Danny’s folks to barge into the room. Jack presenting a little perfume-looking bottle dramatically, “it’s done! And was surprisingly easy!”.

The trio blink, Sam muttering, “huh, that never happens for us”. Making them chuckle a little as they go about getting up. Danny asking, because he has to ask, “and it’s good for me? You checked it against my stuff?”.

Maddie nods at him reassuringly right off the bat, “no worries sweetie, that’s the first thing we did”. Which he grins over as the three stand to let themselves get a good spray down. Everyone watching in fascination as their skin starts patching back to their normal human skin tones. Jack actually whispering, “that looks so cool”, and Maddie patting him on the arm.

The first thing Danny does is pat his hair, sighing over it no longer being fire. “Awesome”, and puts his hand to his throat, “huh”.

Tucker blinks at him, “you know, without the echo you actually sound kinda sexy”. Everyone looks at Tucker with disbelief; Sam smacking him over the head. Everyone starts laughing after a bit though.

Danny giving his mom a hug, which is weird with her being so much smaller than him, “thanks mom”. She leans up to ruffle his hair, looking slightly apologetic, “of course, Danny. And we’ll try to keep the volatile stuff put away from now on”. Sam and Tucker snicker knowing that won’t even last a week. Never did. Danny just laughs, “appreciated”, even if he also knew it wouldn’t last.

Jack laughs, hands on his hips, “well you kids’ make for pretty fine looking adults!”. The three all grinning at him. But that gets Maddie to tilt her head and squint at Danny. Him quirking a sharp eyebrow at her before she leans forward and sticks her fingers in his mouth, “uhhhhh”.

Jack and Maddie both blink at him, though Sam and Tucker bend over laughing. Maddie speaking up, “you have fangs still”. Danny leans back to get her fingers out of his mouth, “ah well, my contamination was bound to affect me, right?”, and rubs his tongue over his teeth. At least his tongue wasn’t still forked. That was something.

Tucker leans over and flicks his ear, “ears are pointy too”, and snickers. Danny batting away his hand.

Maddie frowns a little but nods, “yes, I guess that would make sense. Can’t say I like it though”. Jack waves her off, “oh it looks manly on him! And people intentionally get their teeth and ears pointed sometimes! Right Sam?”. Sam nods but is frankly surprised he’s waving this off. Honestly, so is Danny.

Maddie purses her lips but nods, “you do have a point”, looking to Danny, “well I guess you better get used to it. You’re stuck with it”.

Danny shrugs, “eh I’m not complaining. Didn’t even notice”, baring his teeth, “are they that noticeable though?”. Sam rolls her eyes, “yes”. While Tucker snorts, “Vlad would be jealous”.

Jack tilts his head, “Vladdie has fangs?”. All three blink at him in disbelief and speak in unison, “you didn’t notice?”. Jack shakes his head and shrugs, while Maddie taps her chin, “now that I think about it, yeah I’ve noticed. But it’s been so long that I don’t think I really notice any more”.

Sam mutters, “that tracks”, to herself. Danny rubs his neck, “ah well hopefully you’ll get used to mine then too I guess”, he seriously can’t believe his dad’s never noticed though. Vlad flashed them threateningly all the time. Or maybe Danny was just more likely to notice thanks to heightened vision and ghost instincts.

Maddie hums, “well anyway, you kids should get some rest before school tomorrow. I don’t doubt that will be a bit hectic”.

All three giving matching deadpanned, “obviously”’s. As the couple turn to leave, not without Jack patting Danny’s head excitedly though.

-

The three stare at the door for a beat. Tucker clapping Danny on the back, “I think your dad likes the height”. Sam rolling her eyes as she moves back to the bed, “only because someone’s finally taller than him”.

Danny shrugs as him and Tucker move to join her, “eh, can’t say I blame him. It’s just like how being around ghosts that are actually stronger than me makes me feel less overpowered”, squinting at them, “and no, I don’t just mean ClockWork”, which earns laughs from the two.

Sam sighs into the blankets, “you know, when you’re an adult, an actual adult ghost, ClockWork probably will be the only one”. Danny grumbles, “don't remind me”. Which she snorts at.

Tucker rolls over and watches the ceiling a little, “at least being stuck as adults will really only be weird for a few years”, fiddling with his hair a little bit, “think I should keep the dreads?”.

Danny just grunts while Sam actually answers the boy, “they suit you. Keep ‘em. Why do you think I went and gave you fake ones when you tried the whole goth thing”. Now it’s Tucker’s turn to groan, “now don’t remind me”. Making them all laugh.

“Hey, nothing could compare to Sam’s pink get-up when I un-half-died”. Sam hits Danny for that one. Sam smacking Tucker for good measure, “you’re never going to live down hitting on me”.

“More like never going to not wish you hadn’t said yes before I realised you were you”. Sam shoves him off the bed with a scowl for that one.

Danny mumbles, “sleep sleep time”, and sticks his arm over the bed to physically drag Tucker back up, “come here pillow”, and wraps his arms around both of them tightly.

Tucker chuckles, “your hands are fucking huge now. Seeing that coming for my face was mildly horrifying”. Danny just grumbles incoherently into the bed. Sam sighs, “you’re not going to let us up, are you?”.

Danny grins into the bed, “nope. You’re trapped now”. Earning fond sighs from the two as they settle in to sleep.

[ragingbookdragon]

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 3

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 4,400 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Assault

Author’s Note: This part does contain mentions of sexual and physical assault, so if that’s a trigger for you, please be advised. -Thorne

***Set One Year After Part Two***

           The usual grouping of Templars gathered in the backroom of The Ethereal Crew Tavern, that grouping being Haytham, Shay, Gist, (Y/N) and a few others she didn’t care to name. Most of them had arrived on their own, but she and Haytham had taken the liberty of getting a carriage together. Rather scandalous given that neither were married nor courting the other, but personally, she could care less about social etiquette governed by the elite who had their heads shoved up their asses.

           She kept herself guarded, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers curled around the handle of the dagger in her jacket. Haytham probably knew, but he’d yet to let her know, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of his journal. It drove her up the wall how he seemed to place enough trust in (Y/N) to actually sit in a carriage with her, alone—she hated the feeling. Hated that he cared enough. Sometimes she’d wished she’d never accepted his offer to join the Templars. It was too late for regrets though as through a flurry of group missions and her own personal ones, she’d managed to climb the ladder of success within the Templars, coming to rest just below Lee. No doubt (Y/N) had certainly upset the chain of command, especially with pushing half the men of the group from their positions to claim them as her own, and as much as she hated it, she had to acknowledge that it gave her a sick sense of pride to take them down a few pegs—fragility of male pride, she decided.

           “Is something on your mind, (Y/N)?”

           She looked up from her boot laces and to him, though he’d yet to take his eyes off the pages. “Nothing that would make you happy, Grandmaster.”

           Haytham chuckled and snapped the journal shut before meeting her eyes. “You’re more than welcome to call me Haytham when we’re not with the rest of the Order.”

           (Y/N) cocked an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Honestly, I’d rather stab myself in the thigh…twice…with a dull knife…but that’s just my personal opinion.”

           He let out a snort and stowed the notebook in his jacket before regarding her. “Why are you so adamant to keep people from being friendly with you?”

           “Why are you so nosey about my adamancy?” she retorted.

           “I’m simply curious.” His steel eyes narrowed. “Is that so wrong?”

           “Unhealthy, would be the better word.” (Y/N) shot back, but on a rare whim, she revealed, “I don’t trust you.”

           Haytham evidently hadn’t expected that because his eyes widened ever so slightly. “Truly? Even though we’ve served together for a full year?”

           She huffed and turned her gaze to the window. “Don’t take it personally, sir, I don’t trust anyone.”

           “Then what do you trust in?” he inquired.

           “Myself.” (Y/N) murmured with a deep breath.

           “And when you can’t trust in that?”

           She eyed him from the corners of her eyes. “Psychological warfare isn’t going to work on me, sir. Been there, done that. I’ve learned my lesson.”

           Haytham smirked and she instantly cursed herself at her carelessness. “So that’s your reason. You won’t allow yourself to be taken advantage of again by someone.”

           (Y/N) couldn’t help but glower at him and if looks could kill, he’d have been dead and buried. “You smug bastard.” He barked a laugh but didn’t respond, and the carriage began to slow.

           They climbed out, her first, still fuming, Haytham following in suit. She opened the door and walked inside, leaving him, but he wasn’t upset, far from it. By the time he got to the backroom, (Y/N) had already poured drinks and taken her seat between his and Shay’s, a glare still in her eye.

           They stood at his entry and when he sat, they did as well. “Thank you for readying the drinks, (Y/N).” he acknowledged, and her grunt of acceptance served as a reply. He looked to the others. “We’ve started with more practical pursuits of taking over the colonies.” Haytham gestured to Shay. “With Shay helping to claim New York, we’ve control over two major cities and ports of the Americas.”

           Shay tipped his head and took a sip of his beer.

           Haytham looked to (Y/N). “You’ve also been helpful to help claim the city too, taking out public menaces during the nights. It’s kept the people safe.” She looked in the other direction, feeling the warmth rise on her cheeks at the praise. “But I’d like to do more.” He waved a hand and Charles unraveled a map along the table and everyone leaned forward in their seats to gain a look. “We’ve most of the New England and Middle Colony territories, but I want to focus our attention to the South. Gaining leverage would give us control of the colonies and we can turn them any way we wish.”

           Shay raised a hand and the Grandmaster nodded at him. “Ports in North and South Carolina and Georgia could be decent routes to start with. If at least to get us a feeling of the locations.”

           Haytham tipped his head in agreement, then looked to (Y/N) who was busy dragging her eyes up and down the map. “Have you any ideas, (Y/N)?”

           She hummed. “I’d start with negotiations with Native tribes or go to Florida and start there.”

           Before anyone could ask, Charles snorted. “Why go to the natives for help? Do you doubt that we can’t do it ourselves?” His voice was haughty, full of arrogance, and it pissed her off.

           (Y/N) met his gaze and he audibly swallowed from the sheer anger in it. “Perhaps because they’re the ones who could help us further our goals farther than we could on our own considering the fact that they’ve lived in the Americas long before colonial intervention? Perhaps because this is their land we’re talking about controlling? Perhaps because colonists like you have your head shoved so far up your ass that asking for help from actual natives of the land is considered insane? Perhaps because you’re a stupid son of a bitch who thinks that that colonials are somehow placed high above natives because we’re ‘civilized’ solely based on the fact that we live in brick houses and speak the King’s English—which by the way isn’t even a universal language because more countries speak a multitude of other languages besides English—Spanish and French being two examples.” She leaned forward. “Have I got the point across or should I keep offering rhetoric about how idiotic your complaints are until it goes through your thick skull?”

           Charles face had turned at least six shades of red, each darker than the last and he fumbled for an answer but all he could sputter was nonsense. (Y/N) glanced at Shay beside her who’d long since put his face in his arms to keep from laughing hysterically. Only the shake of his shoulders told her, and she looked to Haytham. “Start negotiations for help with the Cherokee and the Creek or go to Saint Augustine and work up. That’s where I’d start.”

           Haytham merely wore a smile as he nodded. “Shay would you mind traveling down to Saint Augustine within the month?” The Irishman didn’t even raise his head, simply waving a hand in response. “Well then, we’ll start with finding someone who speaks the Cherokee and Cree—”

           His words were cut off by the door slamming into the wall, and immediately everyone grabbed either a gun or a sword to defend themselves with when they caught sight of a disheveled woman.

           (Y/N) let go of her dagger and stood from her seat, ignoring how it toppled over behind her. “Priscilla?” The woman ran over to her and upon closer inspection, she took in the sight of the torn dress and the blood and bruises along her skin. A breath of shock left her. “What happened to you?”

           Priscilla practically burst into tears and as if her strength suddenly failed, her knees gave out beneath her. (Y/N) caught her before she hit the ground. “(Y/N)!” she cried.

           The Templar yanked her gloves off and gently cradled the woman’s face in her hands. Bruises littered her amber skin, and (Y/N) saw handprints around her throat and arms. Anger welled inside her and she didn’t need to lift the woman’s dress to know what had happened. She opted for, “Who did this to you?”

           The woman sobbed and shook her head. “He’ll kill me.”

           (Y/N) removed her jacket and laid it around Priscilla’s shoulders, allowing her some decency in the presence of men. “Priscilla…give me his name.”

           “I can’t,” she whimpered, raising a hand to wipe her face. “He told me he’d kill my family.”

           She cradled the woman’s face once more. “Where is your family now?”

           “At home.”

           (Y/N) looked at Shay. “Shay.” Her voice was calm, quiet, and it made his blood run cold. “Just North-East of the gang headquarters in East Village there is a small home that stands on its own. You’ll recognize it by the blue painted door. I need you to go and collect the woman and young boy that live there and bring them back down here.” He didn’t move for a moment and she narrowed her eyes. “Now, Shay.” He rose and motioned for Gist to do the same, and the two of them disappeared from the backroom.

           She drew her eyes back to Priscilla. “Go to my room and look in the chest at the foot of my bed.” (Y/N) dipped so she could catch her eyes. “You remember the code?”

           “I do,” the woman whispered.

           (Y/N) nodded. “In the right corner there’s a little bundle of packages. Find the one labeled Queen Anne’s Lace. Open it and chew a handful up and wash it down with water.” She helped the woman to her feet. “I’ll tell Anita to draw a bath for you when I leave.”

           “Where are you—”

           “Give me his name, Priscilla.”

           The woman met (Y/N)’s gaze and her voice booked no room for any arguments this time. “It’s…it’s Lord Josiah.”

           “The one you’ve been providing maid services to for the last few weeks?”

           Priscilla nodded, fresh tears springing to her eyes. “I’ve been trying to avoid his advances but I wasn’t paying attention and he—and he—” she burst into tears once more and (Y/N) raised a hand to her own mouth clenching her jaw so tightly it began to hurt. “I should’ve listened to them!” She cried.

           After a moment she took a deep breath and rested her hands on Priscilla’s shoulders. “Go to my room and lock the door. Don’t open it unless it’s me or Anita, do you understand?” She nodded. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” (Y/N) gently guided her towards the door and out of the backroom. They came across the stairs when a younger woman was coming down the stairs. “Anita, there you are.”

           She looked between them but didn’t say anything, an unspoken conversation that she simply nodded to. (Y/N) tipped her head to Priscilla. “Get her a bath ready. Hottest water you can get.” Anita helped Priscilla up the stairs and in an ungodly rage, (Y/N) headed for the doors of the tavern.

***

           She sat in the brush just outside the manor of Josiah Galbraith, silently watching the armed Regulars patrol the perimeter. So far, she’d counted two pairs of Redcoats go around, telling her that they were going clockwise and counter to keep anyone out. The first pair appeared from the opposite side and she waited until they got to the next corner to begin a mental timer. A minute and a half later, the second patrol appeared and as they reached the corner, she readied herself when a hand snapped on her shoulder and pulled her back.

           (Y/N) swallowed her own scream of fear, opting to spin around and immediately throw a curled fist to whoever had grabbed her. They let out a grunt as her hand collided with their jaw and they yanked her harder, toppling her off balance. She landed on the ground and before she could move again, they had her hands pinned to the ground.

           She started to struggle when they hissed, “(Y/N)! It’s me!”

           Focusing on their features with only the light of the moon, they soon became clear and she seethed, “Haytham, what the fuck are you doing here?!”

           He released her and pointed to the opening at the brush. “Keeping you from getting shot by a guard on the rooftop!”

           (Y/N)’s brows furrowed and looked out. Sure enough, a lone guard appeared from the backside of the mansion, a musket in his hands, occasionally looking around. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

           “If you’re going to get at Josiah, you need to manage to not get shot trying to get in.” Haytham advised. “Let me help you.”

           She turned on him. “I don’t need your help. Get out of here.”

           “You need my help, (Y/N). Josiah has more training than you realize. You won’t stand a chance against him.”

           (Y/N) cocked an eyebrow. “You know this how?”

           Haytham let out a sigh, steel eyes watching the patrolling pair pass. “He used to be a Templar before I got here.”

           It did little to soothe her rage, but she managed, “He’s not anymore?”

           He shook his head. “The Templars of the colonies before I arrived had him removed. There wasn’t any reason I could find.” He met her eyes. “I know this is something you have to do but let me help you.”

           (Y/N) stared him down for a minute then nodded, and before he could breathe a sigh of relief, she had a dagger to his neck. “If you do anything to compromise the minute trust, I am placing in you right now, I will slit your throat. Do you understand me?”

           Haytham’s response was solemn, but it was trustworthy. “I understand.”

           She pulled away. “You help me take him down, but I’m delivering the final blow.”

           “Understood as well.”

           They sat next to one another in the brush and she quietly explained, “There’s two patrols that go around the manor. When this one hits the opposite corner, it takes a minute and a half for the next couple to show up.”

           Haytham nodded, eyeing the guards passing by them then up to the top. “There’s only one up top, but he goes back and forth every thirty seconds.” He looked down the street. “I’ll see about climbing the walls to take him out. When I come over the side, then you can move forward.”

           (Y/N) didn’t necessarily like the idea of being told to wait, but he had a point and she nodded. “Hurry then, the next couple will appear in a minute.”

           He was off at that, occasionally glancing up at the rooftop to make sure he was undiscovered. She watched as he disappeared around the side and when the lone gunman appeared, so did Haytham. He covered the man’s mouth to prevent any sound, then he fell over the side. When he hit the ground, (Y/N) couldn’t help but wince at whatever bones he’d broken, but he didn’t get up, and that was the important thing.

           She sprinted to the door and tried the doorknob, but when it clicked, she grunted and pulled the lockpick from her jacket. Softly she twisted the pick until it stayed, then she jiggled the lock a few times. Almost there. She thought. C’mon, hurry it up. Just a little mo—

           “Hey! What do you think you’re doing!”

           The sudden shout from behind followed by the bayonet pressed up against her backside made her blood run cold and she sucked in a breath, quickly stowing the lockpick in her sleeve. (Y/N) raised her hands beside her head and slowly turned, coming face to face with the pair of redcoats.

           She smiled. “I was trying the door, but it was locked, so I was knocking.”

           One of the guards sneered. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

           “And what did it look like?”

           “Like you were pickin’ the lock.”

           (Y/N) internally winced but kept a smile on her face. “Pfft, I would never break and enter. That’s illegal!” C’mon Haytham, where are you? She wiggled her fingers. “It just looked like I was picking the lock, but I promise I wasn’t.”

           “Well if you weren’t pickin’ the lock,” the other guard sneered, “then what are you doing here?”

           She met their gazes. “I’m the replacement for Priscilla.”

           “For whom?

           Her eyes narrowed and she explained, “Priscilla. The woman that you two probably laughed at when she stumbled from the front door with a torn dress, bruised and beaten.” Their faces fell at her words and she saw Haytham sneaking up behind them. “The woman that you’ll die for.” Before they could react to her promise, they went down, Haytham’s hands at the back of their necks.

           He stood straight and slung the excess blood from his hands before retracting the blades into his sleeves. He met her gaze and she said, “I don’t know where you and Shay got those, but I want some.”

           Haytham chuckled and nodded towards the door. “Break the lock while I hide the bodies in the brush. The second patrol will notice two dead bodies.” (Y/N) didn’t wait to be told twice, immediately spinning on her heel to pick the lock once more. It broke with a click and she pushed it open to slip inside, Haytham behind her.

           They stood in the entrance and she whispered, “Do you think there are more guards inside?”

           He shook his head. “It’s possible but not likely. He’s probably paying for perimeter check only.”

           She hummed. “Unfortunate for him.” He glanced at her. “But very fortunate for us.” (Y/N) nodded to the stairs. “His room is probably upstairs.”

           As they made their way to the staircase a door opened and a servant came out, freezing as they spotted the two. Haytham pulled his flintlock out and pointed it at him. “If you want to live, go back inside and stay quiet. You are not our target.”

           The servant blinked but turned right around and walked back into the room. (Y/N) couldn’t help but snort. “And you say I’m threatening to people.”

           Haytham stowed the pistol and climbed the staircase, keeping close to the wall. “You are. But I only threaten people when I need to get the point across.”

           The lock sounded from the door the servant had gone through and she quipped, “I guess he got the point.”

           He hummed. “I’ve heard Josiah is a bastard to his staff.” He glanced back at her. “From he did to your friend, that’s proven true. I doubt any of the servants will weep at his passing.”

           “Murder.” (Y/N) corrected, passing in front of him as they reached the top. “At his murder.” He said nothing, and with a quick glance down the hall, Haytham’s probability had proven true, there wasn’t a guard in sight.

           They crept down the hallway to the door at the end and took either side. She looked at him as she held the doorknob and he pulled out his flintlock and cocked it, nodding at her. (Y/N) took a deep breath and opened the door with as much silence as it would’ve allowed; Haytham went in first, her following and they were shocked to find Josiah waiting for them.

           He looked up from the foot of the bed, ignoring Haytham outright to stare at (Y/N). “I knew you were going to come,” he said. “I knew when she threatened me with your name you would.”

           “You know nothing of my name.” She hissed.

           A chuckle passed his lips. “I know more than you think.” His eyes drifted to Haytham. “You’re the new Grandmaster for the Order, aren’t you?”

           “I am.” Haytham responded, flintlock still poised and ready. “You’re lucky you left before I came, else I’d’ve killed you much earlier.”

           “I’ve no doubt.” He stood and held out two sabers. He tossed one to (Y/N) who caught it and then he unsheathed the blade and pointed it at her. “A duel, then.”

           She took a step forward, ignoring Haytham’s voice of complaint and pulled the sword from its scabbard. “You want to fight me.” Her eyes narrowed, yet she got in a defensive position. “Why?”

           Josiah raised his blade like a fencer, one hand behind his back. “Engaging in duels is honorable practice.”

           (Y/N) scowled. “There’s nothing you could ever do that would make you honorable again, you sick bastard.”

           “And yet, you still engage in a duel.”

           “So that I can cut your heart out of your chest!” She leaped forward and swung the sword at him with enough force that he grunted and faltered back. (Y/N) didn’t let up, strike after strike, she sent him, and with each blot of crimson appearing on his pristine white shirt, she knew her blows were landing.

           For some odd reason, he didn’t seem to be fighting back and while it was only a minor concern in her mind, it soon became a major one. She made the mistake of leaving herself open when he parried her blade, and she paid the price when his fist collided with her stomach, taking the air with it.

           (Y/N) gagged and felt the blade go slack in her grip but it was all the time he needed to yank the sword away and spin her around, one hand coming around to lock at her throat, the other pointing the sword at Haytham, who wore a stern look, but she could see the fear bleeding in his eyes.

           Josiah chuckled in her ear and it made her stomach churn. “Anger makes you predictable dear.” She struggled against him, but the hand at her throat tightened, cutting off her air and she gasped. “You think I didn’t know you were outside, learning the guard patterns?” (Y/N) reached for his hand and pulled, trying to gain air. “I let her leave alive because I knew you’d come after me.”

           “Why?” she gasped as best she could.

           “Why? Because you’ve been a thorn in the elite’s side for years.” He shifted the hand that held the sword and flipped open her jacket, pulling the dagger out. Josiah took a few steps back, taking her with him, and Haytham followed. He put the dagger against her side and hissed in her ear, “You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and mess up plans left and right. All in the name of vigilantism. And what good has it gotten you? Dead.”

           (Y/N) met Haytham’s eyes and she nodded at him. She swallowed and muttered, “You’ll die before I do, you sick fuck.” Her elbow jerked backwards into his gut and he cried out in pain, letting her go. She reached out. “Haytham!”

           Her fingertips brushed the barrel of the flintlock, but she closed them around it, pulling the gun to her. She found the handle and spun on Josiah. With how close they were, there was no space to flee and she pulled the trigger, watching as he stumbled backwards to the wall, a circle of crimson blooming larger with each second.

           He slid down the wall and chuckled, but it dissolved into a cough. “My death—wins you nothing.” (Y/N) stared at him and grabbed the handle of her dagger, yanking it from where he’d embedded it in her waist. Besides a grunt, she made no sound of pain. “I might die—but my legacy will still—stand.”

           She wiped the blood of the dagger and sheathed it, remarking, “No it won’t.” He met her eyes, fuzzy and growing dark. “I’ll run every trace of your name into the fucking ground. When I’m done, there won’t be a soul alive who’ll remember you. And if they do,” (Y/N) knelt down and whispered, “It’ll be because your crimes will outweigh it all.” He sucked in a breath and with a final gurgle, he went still.

She stood and pulled her jacket around her, stealthily pressing onto her wound to keep pressure. “We’re done here.” She handed Haytham his flintlock. “We should leave before the other patrol comes.”

           Haytham grabbed her arm. “Are you alright?”

           (Y/N) met his gaze. “No.” Pulling from him she made her way to the door. “No, I’m not.”

***

           It was well past closing time when they got back to the tavern and (Y/N)’s wound felt like it was on fire, and she herself could barely stand on her own feet. Still, she pushed on, knowing she needed to at least see Priscilla and her family before she took care of it.

           Stepping inside, she was greeted by Priscilla’s screech of relief and a bear hug from the woman. “You’re okay!”

           (Y/N) weakly patted her arm. “Yeah…I’m good.”

           The girl stepped away and looked at her, eyes full of concern. “(Y/N), are you alright? You look ill.”

           Haytham appeared by her side and peered at her. “She’s right. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

           She shook her head and swallowed the sickness climbing her esophagus. “I’m fine. I’m just tired and need some rest.” She looked at Priscilla. “Since you and your family are here, take a guest room and get some sleep. We’ll talk about moving you tomorrow.”

           (Y/N) ignored their concerns as she made way to the stairs and she’d barely climbed two of them when she collapsed. Hands grasped her shoulders and while she wanted to struggle, she couldn’t find the energy to do so.

           She vaguely felt them turn her over and she groaned as her back hit the staircase. Shay and Haytham appeared in her vision, their faces contorted with apprehension. Haytham’s lips were moving but nothing was coming out that she could understand, and she felt cool air rise under her shirt, telling her that someone had opened her jacket. Haytham looked down and back at her, eyes wide.

           Someone’s hand touched the edge of her tunic and with a renewed burst of energy, she gripped their hand tightly and squeezed with all the strength she had left. “Don’t take—my clothes off.” She hissed.

           Haytham’s hand touched her cheek and with a slow intake of breath, her head lolled backwards, consciousness fading from her.