#like she has skills but shes also shaking crying sobbing running away at the first sight of a zombie. love that for her

[time-slink]

i think its really funny that i used to believe falses reputation as a super badass pvp god because like she IS competent but now that i watch her? shes also so so so so scared. all the time

[incendiobrock]

The Witches Forest

Request: heyy idk if u do requests but if u aree then can you do one where the reader is a witch and is dating colby so she goes on one of the haunted trips w them and does some reading idkk you can end it however you like <33 tyy! 

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this! I loosely based this imagine off the witches forest video on the Sam and Colby channel but instead of the witch from the video giving the reading it was y/n, and instead of Colby getting lost in the forest it was y/n. Hope you enjoy! Also this was loosely inspired by an imagine I read by @annab-nana you can read it here!

Warnings: sexual joke (I think that’s it)

------------------------------------------------------------

It was a typical day with the trap boys. Your boyfriend Colby had finally convinced you to go on a haunted trip with them. The only reason you had agreed was because he had promised you, and Corey, that there wouldn’t be any seances. You would all be going to just spend the night there, not summon anything.

In fact, Sam was planning on doing a cleansing ritual that he had done some research on. So, you agreed. You were always super worried about the boys and the trouble that they would find themselves in, especially with demonic entities and spirits. 

One of the other reasons you had agreed to do the video with them was because you knew that the fans have been begging for you to make an appearance. Colby got tweets and comments daily about his “witchy girlfriend” joining in on a haunted overnight video. All the fans knew that you were super into crystals, and tarot cards, and different herbs, and just about anything that you believed would help protect you and connect you to the world of spirituality.

So here you were, sitting in front of the camera, Colby right by your side, his ring clad hand holding onto your thigh, as the rest of the guys surrounded the table. “Okay, who’s ready for the reading?” You questioned, looking around the table. Everyone nodded and agreed to begin. You passed the tarot deck to each of the boys, instructing them to shuffle the deck while thinking of their intention for the trip to The Witches Forest. Everyone did as told and passed the deck back to you, you were the last to shuffle.

“Alright, so I’m going to pick the top three cards and then we can go over what they each mean for us, and for the trip we are about to go on.” You stated, gently flipping over the top three cards, The Tower, The Nine of Swords, and the card of Death.

You felt the room tense as they all read the cards chosen. “It’s not bad.” You said, trying to calm everyone’s nerves. “Uh- I don’t know about you but a card that says death seems pretty bad to me.” Corey said, laughing out of fear.

“Yeah babe, what does that mean besides ‘we are going to die?’” Colby air quoted the last part. “Will you guys just give me a minute to explain it?” You laughed at your boyfriends face as his eyebrows remained scrunched on his forehead, looking desperately at you for answers. You went on to explain that death could signify the “death” of an era and the beginning of something new. The Nine of Swords means that their own thoughts can weigh them down, or cause a feeling of darkness, and The Tower means danger, chaos, but also liberation. 

“See, so nothing is necessarily bad. It actually seems like this might be good for you guys, especially since we are planning on doing the fire ritual too. That way you can begin a new journey and have a nice cleansed path before the next moon cycle begins.” You stated, leaning your head on Colby’s shoulder and cuddling into his side. He placed a short kiss onto your forehead taking hold of your hand, “Alright so let’s get on the road we don’t want it to get too dark before we set up the tent, plus it’s about an hour drive.” Colby said to the group, still holding your hand as you both stood up to go get into the car.

About an hour later you had all arrived at the forest. Colby had parked the car a little off the dirt path in a small clearing between the trees. You were happy to get out of the car to stretch after having to sit between Jake and Corey in the backseat. You brought along a small backpack of stuff like a water, first aid kit, a flashlight, and most importantly some crystals that offer protection. You took out the small ziploc with the crystal and began to give one to each of the boys, telling them to keep their crystal in their pockets for protection. 

Sam had asked you to explain to the camera what all you had brought so you showed him the black tourmaline, amethyst, and the obsidian, saying that they each offered protection and grounding properties. “Alright, now that we got our protection rocks let’s go pitch the tent we will be staying in all night.” Sam said, shutting off the camera. You all stood around trying to help as Colby did most of the work putting the tent together. You were impressed with his skills, never knowing that he could set up a tent with little to no instruction.

“Dang brother, those Cub Scout skills are really showing right now.” Jake joked, sticking the last spoke into the dirt. “Thanks brother, you know I’m skilled with these hands.” Colby responded, sending a wink in your direction. Your cheeks heated up as a small laugh escaped from your mouth. Leave it to Colby to make a sexual joke that makes the guys cringe. 

After a little exploring all together, and almost losing the location of the tent, you had all decided it was time to start the fire ritual. You were glued closely to Colby’s side, hearing a lot of motion within the trees. “Once we get the fire going maybe we will feel better, the light and heat should scare off any animals that are near.” Sam said grabbing the fire bucket that he had brought for this ritual.

Colby lit the fire and you all sat around in camping chairs. “We should’ve brought s’mores bro.” Corey said, trying to alleviate some of his fear. You agreed with him because you knew you felt the same fear as him at the moment. Sam explained what was going to happen with the fire ritual and passed out the objects that everyone was going to be throwing into the fire, in hopes to release any possible spirits that were attached to them. As soon as you guys started to watch the stuff burn Colby flew back, falling with his camping chair.

“Did you guys see that! Right there! Right behind Jake! Sam? Did you see it, it was like a shadow and it moved super fast right behind Jake’s head.” Colby yelled, standing quickly off the ground and shining a flashlight in that direction. “I saw that too!” You said, abandoning your camping chair as well. Colby took hold of the camera and began walking away from the fire and towards the trail. “Colby! Wait for us bro you can’t go alone!” Sam yelled out, chasing after him. “I have to go, I know I saw something I need to see where it’s going before it gets away, I wanna capture it on camera!” Colby said.

“Someone has to stay by the fire we can’t all leave! Jake you stay here with Corey and we will go investigate.” Sam instructed, but Jake hesitated wanting to go too. Corey ended up agreeing on staying by the fire so you three could keep up with Colby who was still walking quickly away from the group. You thanked Corey, worried that your boyfriend would get too far ahead of everyone. You began to jog to the path, already extremely behind the others because of the sudden panic. 

You turned onto the dirt path and didn’t see any of the three boys, but could barely make out their voices in the distance. You began to jog down the path, heading to the left. You had felt like you were getting closer to them but their voices still remained faint and incoherent. You knew that Sam had yelled for everyone to stay on the path in order to avoid getting lost so you kept jogging further and further into the forest, away from the fire where Corey sat.

You slowed to a walk, shining your flashlight all around, hearing tons of branches snapping and rustling. You suddenly felt very alert, almost as if something was watching you. You felt the panic really set in as it became harder and harder for you to catch your breath. “Colby!” You yelled. “Colby! Sam! Jake! Corey!”  You knew you had made a mistake going this far down the path. “Hello?! Can anyone hear me!” You heard a scream off in the distance making your eyes basically bulge out of your head. You turned sharply towards the direction of the noise, shining your flashlight out in front of your face. Your hands were trembling, shaking the light violently. Not only was it freezing out, but you were terrified of what was out there.

You began running back the opposite direction of the trail, your breath almost nonexistent at this point, but you were determined to make it back to the tent. You heaved, feet stomping away at the dirt path beneath. After what felt like a century, you saw the distant glow of the fire. You ran, the victory of reuniting with the boys fueling your return. The fire was now in clear sight as well as the figures of the four boys you were so anxious to see. The noise of you approaching causing them all to turn and look at you. 

You practically leapt into Colby’s arms, tears pouring down your face as you wrapped tightly around his torso. His hand found its way straight to your hair, pulling you as close as he could to his body, swaying you side to side. “Oh my god, baby. Where were you? I was so worried! I thought I had lost you.” He said quietly, running his fingers through your hair trying to soothe your crying. “I-I was running after you a-and then I got lost. I heard a s-scream, I’m so scared.” You sobbed, never wanting Colby to let go of you.

“We looked all over, we were calling your name like crazy but Jake said we should come and wait by the fire incase you came back. We didn’t want to keep moving further away from you on accident.” Sam said, standing closely near you and Colby. 

“Can we please go? I don’t think I want to be here anymore.” You pleaded, looking into Colby’s eyes as his delicate fingers helped to wipe away your tears. “Yes, of course. I love you, I’m so glad you’re safe. Let’s head to the back up plan, the cabin.” Colby said, directing the last sentence to the boys. You nodded gratefully, making your way into Colby’s car while Jake, Corey, and Sam packed up the mess. 

The night was getting foggier as you pulled into the driveway of Jenna’s cabin. You felt relief rush over you, knowing that you wouldn’t have to spend another second in the Witches Forest. You all got out of the car and huddled by the front door, rain beginning to pour down. Sam took off his backpack digging through it to find the spare key Jenna had lent him. “Uh, Colby did I give you the key earlier?” Sam asked. Colby let go of your hand and patted his pockets down, “No I don’t think I have it. Is it in your pockets?” He responded, recapturing your hand in his, knowing that you were still shaken up about getting lost. Sam flipped his jean pockets inside out, no key to be found. He began pulling everything out of his backpack, searching deep into the bag for the key.

“Let’s go back into the car maybe I left it in there.” Sam said, heading straight back to Colby’s car. You all got back in as the rain continued to pour, Sam searching every inch of the vehicle. “I can’t believe you lost the key Sam, first Y/n goes missing and now this?” Jake says from the backseat, obviously frustrated. “It’s not all my fault okay? You think I meant to lose the key?” Sam snapped back, the tension in the car rising. 

After a lot of searching, the key was no where to be found. Much to your dismay, you had to go back to the tent in the depths of the forest. You all huddle into the blue tent, slipping into your sleeping bags. It was only a few more hours until daylight, a few more hours before the suffering would end.

“I’m not going to let anything hurt you. I lost you once tonight and it was the scariest moment of my life. It’s not going to happen again, I promise.” Colby vowed, pulling you into his chest. You smiled at his kind words, despite how scared you were he always knew how to make you feel safe. “Thank you Colby, I love you so much.” You responded, nuzzling further into his chest. “I love you, to new beginnings.” He chuckled, referencing the tarot reading from earlier. “To new beginnings.” You agreed, sealing the deal with a kiss on the lips.

[cheekygreenty]

Leave Me Lonely p.2 - The Darkling x Reader

Part 1 is here 😝 also there’s so many song requests and majority are Ariana Grande and I’ve never been a fan of her but omg some of the songs you guys requested are absolutely amazing so I think I kinda like her now

He wasn't waiting at the gates for you nor was he in your shared chambers when you returned, your rugged appearance only alarming to the Healers as Ivan basically carried you through the Little Palace halls. You were blind by the rage bubbling inside of you and numbed by the humiliation seeping deep into your bones.

Not only was it because of the hushed whisper fight back in the camp where he didn't hold back on his jabs or his volume, but now he left you to hang, blatantly ignoring you and prioritizing a girl over his partner in a potentially fatal attack. It was bound to let loose a million and one different rumors, rumors where you suffered the most. No Grisha would dare blame their General, and no matter how much respect they had for you, you were always going to be the scapegoat. It happened before and will happen again, but this time you had a fleeting suspicion he wouldn't defend you.

My heart has had enough, of the give and take

The urge to cry was overwhelming as you shed your clothing and slipped into the scorching bath. Your muscles and bruises ached from the fighting and horseriding but you hurt the most.

Today wasn't the first time you let tears slip out because of Aleksander, in fact, you only ever cry because of him. You loved him so much, yet all that came from your relationship lately was heartache and pain. One good day without a fight equaled days of unrest and tensions. You were exhausted and drained, nothing made you happy anymore. It was as if he was sucking the joy out of your life but simultaneously was the only thing to give you joy.

Danger, how you hold me.

The sweet nothings he whispered into your ear as you fell asleep, the talks of a better future where he spoke of marrying you, even something as small as holding your hand while walking through Palace gardens. It all made you smile and set the memories into the concrete of your mind, holding onto them when times got tough.

But now times were tough, they were at a peak and the good memories were replaced by all the bad ones. You tried to fight them, tried to fight the horrible voice in your head that screamed as loud as it could: Let him go.

The bawling started then and never ceased. The water got cold but you didn't seem to care that you were shaking from the temperature, or were you shaking from the realization you would have to end it with Aleksander? You didn't know. Only when a knock sounded on the door did you momentarily stop.

'Ms.Y/L/N, Should I send in the Healer to finish working on you?' a maid questioned.

'In a minute.' You cringed at your voice, it was raw and croaky from your fit of sobs. You got up and grabbed the black robe, securing it on your body before opening the door and letting the Healer do his job. Usually, the itching would annoy you, but this time you paid it no mind as you reflected on your situation.

He finished working on your leg in a matter of minutes and excused himself just as another maid brought in your dinner. You ate alone in the confines of your bedroom, your hair still wet and donning his robe. There was no energy in you to get dressed or to move to the bed to sleep your tiredness off. You wouldn't until he got here.

You needed to put yourself first, to set your foot down and demand his attention. You wanted to be the old Y/N, the one before Aleksander got to you. She was kind and sweet, a humble orphan, never feared by anyone, and good at her job. You hoped you could be her again, hoped that Aleksander's smooth words wouldn't wind you in again and chop a piece of you away.

The doors finally opened and his boots echoed along the hardwood floors.

'You're back.' He came up to you and kissed the top of your head where your hair was now perfectly dry. Before today you would've thought it was a sweet gesture, an endearing kiss to show his love, but now you saw it for what it was: routine.

He continued further into the room, not noticing your tear-stained face or puffy eyes.

'I brought the Sun-Summoner before the King today, I have his permission to train her, it's as if he thought I cared for his opin-' He paused, eyes finally taking you in. You stared out the window in front of you, the same place you had been looking at for hours. He took note of the scrapes on your hands and bruise on the side of your temple, but what garnered his interest was the look of pure melancholy on your face.

'Y/N?'

'You left me there, left all of us'

'What?' He was taken aback.

'There were four times as many of them as there was us and you left.' Your voice was void of any emotion.

'There was plenty of Grisha with you, Ivan was there. Besides, they would have fled knowing I was there.'

'You're not getting it, I was there.' That's all that should matter to you. 'They didn’t flee. I almost died Aleksander. You told me to give my kefta to her and it almost cost me my life.'

'She's the Sun-Summoner.'

'I don't care.' You spit with venom so strong he flinched but stayed quiet but you continued, letting the ball drop. 'I'm leaving the Little Palace. Station me somewhere around the borders. It's for the best.'

As soon as the words left your lips another wave of pain washed over you. How were you supposed to live without him? My love knows no bounds, and it yearns for a man that doesn't care for me.

'You're leaving me?'

'It's for the best.' You repeated and looked away from him, not being able to stand his poised face and calm composure. He was supposed to be upset, shout and scream for you to stay, but he looked....normal.

‘I’m sure the Second Army could do with a skilled soldier on one of the fronts. I’m no good rotting here in the palace.’

He stayed silent and as the seconds ticked by, it was visible his demeanor was falling apart.

'The best for me or you?' There it was, denial. The slight edge to his voice and the flexing of his hands, perhaps even the glisten to his eye.

'Don't do this, don't turn this around on me Aleksander. I have spent the majority of these last few months crying because of you. I have nobody to turn to, all my friends are scared me, they fear me and it's all your fault.' You wiped the tears as they rolled down your face with the sleeve of his black robe. 'I can't do this anymore.'

'You can't just up and run.' Is he upset about his best soldier leaving or me leaving?

'What else am I to do?'

'You don't have to leave the Palace' He took small steps towards you, the reality of the situation hitting him.

'I do. For if I stay I'll see you around and I'll hurt even more. Please, let me go.' You went back to staring out the window because if you had to look at his devasted face, you would crumble.

He kneeled down beside you and tried to grasp your hands but you pulled away. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see his head drop in defeat. You wanted to reach out, hug him, tell him you're staying, put a stop to his sadness but that voice screamed again: Put yourself first. You're the one who's been hurting to make sure he's okay.

'I'll stay in a spare room from now until I leave'

The chair squeaked as you stood up, but Aleksander stayed put. You went to leave, to put all this behind you and start fresh, bring the old Y/N back, but a whisper pulled you back. With your forehead resting against the cool of the door, you resisted the urge to turn around.

'I love you Y/N.'

'I know, I love you too'

I'd rather you leave me lonely, even though it hurts

You're a dangerous love

---------

Taglist

@aleksanderwh0r3 @theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx @pansysgirlfriend @pansysgirlfriend @justmesadgirl

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Trick or Treat

The next A Very Bouncey Halloween installment and a belated birthday gift to my darling @veritasrose. Thank you so much for the last year of friendship, I look forward to celebrating with you again. <3 you are much loved.

tw: curses, Geralt is an idiot, competent Jaskier

---

Light flashes through the room and momentarily blinds Jaskier, who stumbles back against Geralt. He mumbles an apology to the ever-sturdy Witcher as he waits for his vision to return and when he blinks clearly for the first time after a few long moments, the bard feels utterly and totally confused by the scene unfolding before him.

The Duke’s grandest ballroom, which had been bustling with excitable party guests only moments ago, is now flooded with ghouls, ghosts, vampires, and monsters of all sorts. A woman with swan’s wings is huddled in one corner, squawking angrily at anyone who tries to draw near. A minotaur stumbles through the center of the dance floor, lowing in frustration as he tries to control his bulky limbs. Two werewolves wrestle for dominance atop the furthest banquet table to their left. As Jaskier takes it all in, he feels Geralt’s hands wrap suddenly around his bicep; the Witcher is clinging to Jaskier fiercely, leaning his not insignificant weight against the bard’s side as his eyes grow round and watery.

“What’s happening?” Geralt finally asks. His tone of voice seems breathy and high, filled with a terror - almost totally foreign to Jaskier’s ears. Geralt fears nothing and yet… “Let’s get away from this dreadful place, please!”

“Aren’t you going to try and solve this problem?” Jaskier asks, glancing at his companion. He gestures at the various monsters roaming freely past the buffet table. “You’re likely the nearest Witcher, after all.”

“I’m no Witcher,” Geralt declares. He splays a hand over the very center of his blue velvet doublet (a nearly perfect imitation of the way Jaskier reacts to a perceived offense). “I am a Count. Witchers are dirty things, not meant for such a public life as my own.”

“For fuck’s sake, Geralt, now is not the time for a prank of this nature,” Jaskier huffs. “Something is clearly going on here. We need to help these people!”

“I know something is wrong,” Geralt sniffles - fucking sniffles - and squeezes the bard’s upper arm even more tightly. The sound of Geralt crying shakes Jaskier into understanding, even as Geralt begs: “But I don’t know how to help! Please get me out of here, Milord, I’m scared.”

Milord? Jaskier mouths to himself, even as he wraps one comforting arm around Geralt’s waist and ushers him away from the growing chaos at the center of the ballroom. Jaskier hurries them down one suspiciously empty hallway after another until he reaches the small suite that he had accepted as payment for his performance at the party. Jaskier ushers Geralt inside and locks the heavy oak door behind them.

“My Lord Geralt,” he gets the not-quite-Witcher’s attention. “Do you mind taking a seat by the fire for now? I’ll be right with you as soon as the room is secure, and then we can figure out what’s going on and what to do from here.”

“Yes, Milord,” Geralt nods. He hurries to comply with Jaskier’s request, to the bard’s continuing shock and awe, and stays still and quiet as Jaskier removes his doublet and rolls up his sleeves. Using the strength he’s spent twelve years at Geralt’s side developing, Jaskier shoves a bookcase, a dresser, and an unfortunately designed roll-top desk in front of the locked doors for added protection.

Moving behind Geralt with practiced efficiency, Jaskier also closes, shutters, and locks every window in the room, pulling the curtains closed to keep any light from spilling out and alerting stray creatures of their presence.

When he’s finished locking down all of their room’s possible entrances and breathing hard from exertion, Jaskier tugs the Witcher’s xenovox from his bag and flips it open, waiting with bated breath until Yennefer’s irritated voice snaps: “What do you want, Geralt?”

“Who is that?!” Geralt cries from his place near the fire. He has a white-knuckle grip on the overstuffed armchair he’s perched in and his clothing is mussed; Jaskier motions for him to be quiet and Geralt bites his lip, worrying the soft pink skin between his unusually dull canines.

“Was that Geralt?” Yennefer asks. "Did Jaskier summon me?"

“Yes and yes,” Jaskier replies. “I think he’s been cursed or enchanted or something. I was hired to play at the Duke of Rinde’s All Hallow’s Eve celebration and Geralt accompanied me - even dressed up for the occasion - but something happened at the party and now he’s acting strangely. I don’t know what to do.”

"What's happening?" Yennefer prods.

"Geralt is acting rather out of sorts. He’s speaking strangely, he wanted to flee the party rather than investigate the source of the changes-”

“What changes?”

“Everyone sort of… Well, a good portion of the party guests suddenly transformed into their costumes,” Jaskier explains, his speech stunted by his disbelief. “I know it sounds incredible, and it was! One moment we were all enjoying the music and the next… there was a minotaur and a mermaid and a faun… Geralt went nearly mute and started clinging to my arm like some sort of aristocratic maiden!”

“Oh shit,” Yen groans.

“Who is that?” Geralt repeats. Jaskier continues to ignore his companion. He knows that the moment he turns his attention to caring for Geralt, he won’t be able to tear it away again, and he needs to finish this conversation with Yennefer first.

“Why are you swearing?” he asks the sorceress. “What is it?”

“Geralt asked me for advice about this stupid ball a few days ago, while you were busy making arrangements with the Duke. He wanted to impress you with his All Hallow’s Eve costume and prove that he could be just as fancy and well-mannered as all the other men of your status.”

“Why in the world would Geralt want to dress up and act like a nobleman? It makes no sense! He detests small talk, he hates vanity, and he finds most men of my station to be cowardly and overly delicate - myself included! I just- I don’t quite understand why he’d go through all of this just to impress me. Or why he thinks this kind of thing would be impressive in the first place.”

“Jaskier, please tell me that you aren’t as stupid as our mutually beloved Witcher…”

Jaskier considers for a moment, pondering the things that he does to impress Geralt: gathering wood, learning to cook with game meat, preparing the Witcher’s potion ingredients while he's out on hunts, organizing their packs when they're spiking camp, brushing Roach’s mane… Realization dawns suddenly and all at once. He has a moment of pure understanding, a moment much beloved by every poet, bard, and playwright across the Continent: “Oh.”

Yennefer gives a tired laugh. “Yeah.”

“So he’s stuck as… a noble?”

“I suppose,” she sighs. “I’ll portal you to my location and we can figure things out in peace. Get your things together, I’ll open it up in precisely five minutes.”

“What’s happening!?” Geralt demands. Jaskier pulls the Witcher/Count to his feet and bows shallowly.

“I am Jaskier Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I will be your protector and chaperone for the foreseeable future, Your Lordship,” Jaskier bows shallowly. “I’m going to gather our things together and then we are going to meet up with a very lovely sorceress, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

Jaskier barely manages to hide his surprise at Geralt’s utter lack of recognition. His memories of Yennefer have also been taken, then.

“She’s a mutual friend.”

“Are you my friend?”

“I would like to think so,” Jaskier smiles. Geralt remains oblivious to the bard’s heartache, even as he curls himself against Jaskier. He tucks his face against Jaskier’s shoulder and sobs quietly. The bard runs his hands comfortingly up and down Geralt’s spine for a long, soothing moment. The smooth, royal-blue velvet tickles his fingertips. “Shh, dear heart. I’ve got you. Everything will be alright, I swear.”

“I trust you,” Geralt whispers.

Just as Jaskier is about to reply, Yennefer’s portal snaps open in the center of the room. Jaskier hands Geralt a set of bags and hauls his own over his shoulder. “Time to go, Your Lordship. Just take one little step…”

---

“Do you know who I am?” Yennefer asks. Geralt shakes his head before burying his face in the back of Jaskier’s shoulder-blade.

“I’m so frightened, Milord.”

Frightened? Milord? Yennefer mouths. Jaskier shrugs nearly imperceptibly and makes a panicked gesture in the Witcher’s general direction.

“I don’t know what to do either!”

“Well, start from the beginning. Tell me what happened at the party before all of… this.”

Jaskier recounts every detail he can remember in the most straightforward way possible, momentarily renouncing his poetic skills in favor of efficiency - for Geralt’s sake, of course, not Yennefer’s. When he's finished he asks: “And you said he did all of this to impress me?”

“Yes.”

“But why?” Jaskier repeats his earlier question. Yennefer understands that his meaning is different; Jaskier understands that Geralt is interested in him romantically, but the bard can't seem to get it through his head that Geralt has deemed him worthy. Although, knowing the Witcher, he isn't even sure how to go about doing such a thing in the first place.

"I just... I don’t quite believe you," he adds.

“He loves you,” Yennefer reiterates. "And now he’s stuck like this until the effects of the spell wear off, so I suggest you take his precious Lordship to one of my spare rooms and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll see you both for breakfast, providing the magic is null and void by then.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“I hope you enjoy small talk, you bardic bastard.”

Yennefer smirks and disappears from the room in a whirl of black and white silk, the scents of lilac and gooseberry curling through the air in her wake.

Geralt clings to Jaskier’s bicep again as the exhausted bard stands, keeping his larger body pressed against the human’s side as if Jaskier is the one who wields the Witcher’s swords. “So I’m under a spell?”

“Yes, darling.”

“At least I have you here to protect me, Jaskier. You’re so brave and strong; my hero!”

“It’s usually the other way around, dear heart, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now, how about we find a comfortable place to bed down for the night, Milord?”

"Alright."

Jaskier moves Geralt's hand so that it's curled around the inside of his elbow, the proper etiquette for a platonic escort, and leads him quickly down the long hallways of Yennefer's sprawling manor house. He chooses the blue-themed bedroom at the back of the East Wing, far from the sorceress' own suite of rooms.

He has to help Geralt change out of his lordly costume, the Witcher-turned-Count fumbling uselessly at the laces and buttons as if he'd never seen a fastening before in his life. Geralt whispers shyly as Jaskier pulls a nightshirt over his head: "Thank you again, Milord Jaskier. I feel as if I can't help but continue indebting myself to you."

"Think nothing of it, dear heart," Jaskier smiles, ignoring the pang in his chest. "I am happy to help you."

Jaskier tucks Geralt into bed before changing into his own nightclothes, tossing his things back into their travel bags as he swaps outfits. He feels Geralt tense up when he sits on the edge of the bed and his eyebrows narrow in concern.

"Are you alright, Geralt?"

"Are you going to share a bed with me?"

"Would you rather I didn't?" Jaskier answers with a question of his own.

"I... I wouldn't mind it if we shared."

Jaskier wishes he had Witcher sight, so he could catch a glimpse of the blush no doubt attempting to stain the Witcher's face. Despite the mutagens, Geralt's face still went pale pink when he encountered a strong emotion. It was adorable. And incredibly rare.

As soon as he pulls the covers over his chest, Geralt glues himself to Jaskier's side, snuggling close. "Feels safer," he says in lieu of explanation.

"Goodnight, dear heart."

"Goodnight."

---

"Fuck," Geralt groans, sitting up in bed. Jaskier sits up beside him, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Good morning, Milord," he teases.

"Shut up," Geralt groans. Jaskier does get to see him blush this time, and the bard revels in it; he would trade all the gold in the world to see Geralt flush like this. "I can't believe I cried on you!"

"It was rather adorable, actually."

"Hmm."

"Still..." Jaskier reaches out, tentative, and cups Geralt's cheek with his palm. He turns the Witcher's face and locks their gazes together, blue meeting gold. "Still, I think I prefer you as you are. My big, strong Witcher who cares so much about defending the little guy. Willing to step in and help wherever and whenever he can."

Geralt's eyes get a little glassy and he leans forward, pausing and letting Jaskier make the final decision. The bard meets him halfway, pressing his lips against Geralt's without any sense of urgency at all. It's warm and sweet, time fading away as they let their feelings pour through this one simple gesture. When they pull apart again, Geralt gives a surprised, lopsided smile. "Oh."

[sakurology]

Brainrot Kinktober 10/31

hungry

Anal & Daddy Kink: Tanaka Ryuunosuke x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mainly that this isn’t proofed lmfao 😔 anal obvs, use of the word daddy, fingering, squirting, pulling out... idk this one was pretty self explanatory

Word Count: 1.3k

Brainrot Kinktober Mlist

A/N: and that’s all she wrote! There’s a few pieces left to finish but thanks for sticking with us this whole month and beyond.... also @super-noya ty for being the best wife 🥺💖

Your friends always complain when you get like this. They hate that you always bail out early. 

“I’m sorry you all, I just… have to go.” 

“Lemme guess, Tanaka is hungry and can’t bear to make his own instant noodles, right?” One comments

“Y/N, come on, you can be away from him for one night- he’s not a baby...”

They exchange eye rolls as you finish your cocktail and get up from the crowded nightclub booth. As you saunter out, the slow but familiar anticipatory smile dons your face. The loud music and bright blue lights on the dance floor are captivating, but knowing that Tanaka is home waiting for you is even better. 

When your key clicks in the lock, the hairs on his neck start to stand on end. He’s silent, just listening to the click of your heels against the marble floor. That’s when he hears it. 

“I’m home, daddy.” 

It’s simple enough- just a sentence. But the ring of that name in his ears falling from your voice has him stiffening in his pants almost in command. You stood in the doorway, starting to undo the straps of your heels, only to be stopped. 

“Leave them on, baby.” 

“Okay, daddy,” you repeat again. Your voice is sickeningly sweet, making its way over to where he sits on the couch. You wrapped your arms around him, slowly starting to slowly massage his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. You can feel the tension dissipate in his muscles with a groan. The deep grunts and sighs start to send shockwaves of heat to your core. 

“Are you still hungry?" You asked. “....I am.”

 His head fell back with a sigh, a pointed finger soon following your question.

Tanaka brings his hands up to meet yours, stopping your motions. “Upstairs?” You whispered into his ear, nipping at the hot skin of his neck. Finally looking into his eyes, you could see the darkness slowly overtaking. 

The cold air of your shared bedroom was mostly silent, save your shallow breathing as you lay there, clad in nothing but the high heels you had worn out that night. Your ass was hiked into the air, arms resting in front of you, cuffed to the center post of the bed frame. The gentle anticipation turned into an intense tingling in your lower half at the feeling of his weight on the bed. As soon as his hands started to trace down your back, a sharp whine spilled from your lips. 

“Daddy, please.”

“I know.” His words were soft but as soon as his hands found their way to the flesh of your ass, it connected with a harsh snap, a mangled cry of his name falling from his lips yet again. 

Your core was growing impatient as Tanaka teased your slit with slender fingers, the calloused feeling of his fingertips brushing against your clit jolting your head back with a wanton moan. He gingerly stuck a finger in your wetness, dragging it along the inner walls of your cunt. Slowly, he added another, then a third, picking up the pace of his ministrations. As your cunt eagerly sucked him in, the sound of pooling wetness inside of you echoed in his ears. You could feel Tanaka wiggling his hips against the mattress, trying hard to gain some sort of friction against his cock- longing to be inside of you. 

The sensation of your hole gripping his fingers sent pulsating waves through your core and out of every single cell on your body. You could feel yourself starting to clamp around him, only to be yet again met with a strike against your ass that was soothed over by the feeling of gentle kisses against the sore flesh. His fingers left your core and found their way into his mouth as he sucked them clean before his figure came to loom over you, fingers harshly rubbing at your entrance. A lewd chortle leaving his mouth as you felt his spit cover your asshole, swiping over it with his thumb. The warmth slid down to your slit as you felt his cock mix it in with your wetness, you shaking in response. 

“Are you ready, babygirl?”

You responded with a ragged “yes, daddy,” before feeling a sordid pain rack through you. As his cock pushed its way past your second hole, he started bottoming out, applying more pressure at your clit with his fingers. He hissed a drawn out ‘fuuuuck’ at the feeling of being fully sheathed inside of you. 

“So good for me,” he hummed, repositioning himself and pushing your face further in the mattress as you stared to cry out. 

The feeling of fullness having his thick cock in your ass coupled with his skilled hands working your clit had your head swimming. He was just getting started, though. His free hand gripped at your hips, several harsh blows to your ass left in its wake. 

“Mmmh-always- sssso fucking- ah, so fucking good for daddy, aren’t you?” Your fucked out sobs came out as half conscious yes’s. 

He was working you with all he had, hips smacking against you with such vigor that you could hardly hear your own enraptured cries over it. He was pounding your ass just as hard as he would’ve your pussy, never once letting up on the pace he had come to build. Given Tanaka’s stamina, he was relentless on you; and he relished every single second of it. With each thrust you felt like your nerves were going to explode from the sensation. You could never mistake the feeling of being almost uncomfortably full, filled past your brim. Just like the first time, and every time he had fucked your ass- as he pulled out, you only wanted to feel him do it again and again.

“Fuck, daddy- yes!” You gasped. 

Your body was trembling at this point, thighs vibrating as waves of heat hit your cheeks, your ass. starting to clamp onto his cock for dear life. You were close, and he could feel it. His hand slipped its way out from in between your legs, leaving you with a flutter of relief from the intensity as he took your ass. You cried out as the feeling of vibration made it’s presence known against the swollen nub, not not noticing that Tanaka had reached for your favorite bullet vibrator. Moans turned into screams then, the walls of your cunt haphazardly clenching themselves around a void. You felt the knot coming undone as he continued to jackhammer into your ass.

“Fuck, I’m- fuckfuckfuck daddy, please- I’m gonna cu-” He cut you off. 

“Go,” he urged. “Cum, babygirl. Cum for daddy- right now.”

You couldn’t help but obey, a final desperate wail escaping your throat as your thighs snapped together, trickling wetness sliding it’s way down as you came around nothing. The feeling of your essence running down his own legs sent him over the edge, Tanaka immediately pulling out to spurt his thick, hot cum over your ass and back. You fell forward, finally collapsing into the bed, wrists raw and limp as they clattered against the cuffs. Catching his breath, your boyfriend let out a sigh, abs flexing as he reached over your body, grabbing the waiting towel to clean you off. 

“Hmmmmphhhh... the cuffs,” you whined. 

“I’m coming baby, I’m coming, you gotta be patient with me…” he warned. He took the key from beside you, freeing you from your confines and scooping you into his arms. His silence and prior rough demeanor immediately dissipated as he carried you into the bathroom, tickling at your sides as he housed you onto the counter of the sink so he could run your bath. 

“I love you, so much, baby.” 

“I love you too Ryuu,” you giggled. “Thanks for getting me out of there... I hate clubs.” 

He laughed. 

“ I know. Anything for you- now let’s get a bath and order some takeout… I’m starving.”

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[pretendingboyfriends]

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A/N: heyyyyyy i know this took a long time to finish BUT shit happens and mental health comes before fanfiction. anyways, i hope u guys love this part and pls do not hesitate to send comments, suggestions, etc. when you’re finished and pls don’t forget to reblog!! also, thank u @sunflowers-styles​ and @fromyourstrulyh​ for beta-ing this part it would be a mess if u hadn’t <3

Warnings: angst, sadness, slightest bit of sexual tension, deidre being a bitch

Word count: 6.5k+

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Harry’s aching to talk to you. He still has no clue what he did wrong and he desperately wants to fix things, but you won’t even give him the chance–refusing to do so much as make eye contact with him when speaking. You’re humiliated. Not only because you wanted to kiss him, but also because you made it seem like he did something wrong. However, being your non confrontational self, you haven’t gained the courage to explain anything to him. Plus, you don’t want to make Deidre suspicious, so you force yourself to act just as casual as you had before and, of course, she hasn’t noticed a thing.

The day has been nothing out of the ordinary, you’re sprawled across the couch with your leg in the air, allowing your toe-nails to dry after their first coat of olive green nail polish. The weather is exceptionally nice and your hair is still wet from the dip in the pool you had taken earlier when the sun was significantly hotter than it is now. Harry left for groceries an hour or so ago and now you’re just waiting for Deidre to come out of the bedroom so that the two of you can go out and do something together.

“Okay, so-” She calls from the end of the hallway as she walks, “There’s this party tonight that the boys invited me to and I think you should come with me.”

You frown, swinging your legs back over the edge of the couch so that you can sit up straight and look at her. “What?”

She shuffles through the doorway in a crop top and skirt, her shoes clutched in her hand as she runs her fingers through her hair. “C’mon, It’ll be fun! We haven’t gone to a party together in ages.”

“I thought we were gonna go out together, just the two of us. Wasn’t that the whole purpose of this beach getaway? Just us spending time together?”

She shrugs, “I mean, we never really made a plan, it was just an idea.” 

“Well, that’s not fair,” You bite, standing from your spot on the couch and crossing your arms over your chest. “I feel like it was implied that we were going to hang out tonight and now you’re going to some party with people you barely know?”

She rolls her eyes, “We can still hang out at the party!”

“No, Deidre, because I don’t want to go to a party with a bunch of people I don’t know!”

“Oh, come on,” She groans, “Nobody knows anyone at these parties, we’re all just there to have fun!” 

“I still don’t want to go.” 

“Fine. I’ll just go by myself, then.” She huffs, hunching over to slide her shoes on.

You take a deep breath, “I don’t think you should go either.” 

“Oh my god,” She groans, “What are you, my mom?”

“No, I just think, as your best friend, that going to a party with a bunch of people you don’t know very well--a bunch of men you don’t know very well--isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s just a party, I don’t understand why you’re so worked up about it!” She yells, arms flailing around her in frustration as she walks across the living room to the door. 

You drag both your hands down your face, groaning in exasperation. “Deidre, you met these guys a few days ago and they’re asking you to get drunk with them. How do you not see how dangerous that is?”  

“They’re nice guys, they would never do anything to hurt me!” 

“You don’t know that!” You retort, “For all you know, they could be planning to drug you and drag you back to a room to do who knows what to you!”

You hear the honking of a car horn coming from the front of the house and she huffs, shaking her head at you as she leans forward and grabs her purse from the coffee table. “I’m leaving. I’ll send you my location when I get there.” And with that, she’s gone.

You’re left alone in the house, the only sound that can be heard is the choked sob that erupts from your chest as soon as the screen door slams shut behind her. Tears spill down your cheeks with each sob, your body collapsing into the couch before you drop your head into your hands. All you can feel is anger, frustration, and anxiety. You’re concerned for Deidre, however, you’re also infuriated with her. She’s selfish; so selfish, in fact, that she doesn’t even consider that you and her entire family might be affected if anything terrible happens to her. 

You sit there on the couch for what seems like decades, your body wracked with sobs as tears stream down your cheeks. Every emotion from the past few days has suddenly burst from within you and you’re unable to contain it.

Finally, after gathering your emotions as much as possible, you lift yourself from the couch and trudge to the kitchen for some comfort food. Swinging the fridge door open, your eyes almost immediately land on a large, unopened bottle of red wine.

“Fuck it.” You mutter, reaching forward and grasping the chilled, glass bottle by its neck. You place the bottle on the counter as you recklessly search for a corkscrew in one of the many drawers lining the countertop. Moments later, you’re mustering every bit of strength inside of you to open the bottle with the screw and after nearly 10 minutes of struggling, the cork pops out with a loud “THUNK”.

You sigh, reaching for the cabinet above you for a wine glass out of reflex, but you quickly decide against the use of a glass and gulp the liquid straight from the bottle. You know your behavior is reckless, but you can’t find a single part of you that cares. You need the pain and frustration to go away somehow and drowning them with an $11 bottle of wine would suffice for now. 

Dragging yourself out to the patio, you allow the thick, heady liquid to slide down your throat and settle into your empty stomach as you plop yourself into one of the chairs. A loud rumble of thunder in the distance draws your attention from the bottle, causing you to pull it away from your lips for a moment. You watch as a faint, almost unnoticeable, drizzle gradually turns into a steady shower and then into a heavy downpour. The scarce amount of people that had been on the beach when you first stepped out onto the patio are now shoveling all of their belongings into their arms as fast as they can to avoid being trapped in the downpour.

Soon, the beach is completely vacant. Not a soul is in sight and, oddly enough, you’re drawn to it. Nearly two-thirds of the bottle is resting warmly in your stomach at this point, so your decision making skills are not the most reliable, but something’s telling you to go out and sit in the rain. So, after chugging the rest of the bottle (and quickly rushing inside to use the bathroom because alcohol on an empty stomach is like a free pass to pissing yourself), you allow your intoxicated brain to wisp you down the patio stairs and into the thick, sopping wet sand.  

Your clothes have already begun to soak through from the rain as you stumble along the shore, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot from crying and your head is throbbing with every step you take. Then, you stop, allowing your body to drop down into the sand before looping your arms around your bent legs and tugging them to your chest.

It’s nearing dusk as you sit there, the sun slowly sinking further and further beneath the horizon behind thick clouds. Your clothes are completely soaked through by this point, but, in your drunken state, you can’t find a reason to care. Tears begin to spill down your cheeks again, mixing with the rain drops already pelting your face and you don’t even bother to wipe them away. Your chest feels numb from the sobs that incessantly wrack your body, but you can’t find the strength to stop. It feels like you’re trapped. Unable to escape the sinking loneliness that increases with every moment of every day and ignoring it only makes it worse. 

When you’d first agreed to the trip, you were given a sense of hope. You thought that maybe, if you were around people that made you happy, your loneliness would dissipate and you wouldn’t feel like this anymore; but it’s only become worse.

Unbeknownst to you, Harry is sprinting from his car with an armful of groceries to the front door of the beach house and swinging it open. He calls for Deidre, then calls for you finding silence within the house. He frowns, stumbling further into the living room towards the kitchen so that he can set the large, paper bags down on the table to relieve himself of their weight. He leaves the bags there and begins to search the rooms, finding each one of them empty and becoming even more confused. Lastly, he slides the patio door open to find each chair empty, the empty wine bottle sitting alone on the metal patio table. He steps out, shutting the door behind him before walking to the table and taking the bottle into his hands. The glass is still damp with perspiration, but there isn’t more than a few tablespoons of wine left sloshing at the bottom of the bottle. He places it back where it had been resting before as he lifts his head to look out at the beach. The downpour is so thick that it’s difficult to make out any sort of shapes, but when his eyes land on your figure in the sand, his heart nearly leaps from his chest. 

He calls your name as he bounds down the porch stairs and into the sand, jogging to where you sit with your knees pressed to your chest. You turn to him with a sorrowful expression, lip quivering uncontrollably with your weak sobs. 

“What happened? What’s wrong?” He stutters, dropping to his knees beside you with one hand on your back and the other on your knee. “Are you hurt? Should I call somebody?”

You shake your head. “M’alright.”

“It doesn’t look like you’re alright,” He frowns, reaching his right hand up to gently turn your face towards him. “Wh- why are you- what’s going on? Why are you out here in this weather all alone?” 

The rain is still incessant and it’s hard for either of you to see anything but you’re able to sense just how much Harry cares. You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and shake your head. 

“Dee went out,” You slur quietly. “Then, I had a bit of wine.”

“You’re crying.” He points out.

You shake your head again, avoiding his eye contact. “S’just the rain.”

He sighs in defeat, hand dropping from your face as he pushes his wet hair from his own. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” He grasps your hands gently as he stands, pulling you up with him. You stumble slightly, falling into him and his arms reflexively wrap around your waist, mumbling: “Easy, darling.”

The unremitting mizzle of rain pelts against the both of you as he drags you back up to the house with one arm wrapped around your waist. Your head leans lazily against his shoulder and your body melts into his due to  the alcohol coursing through your veins. Keeping a tight grip on you, Harry quickly leads you up the porch stairs and back inside the house, careful to keep you from tripping over your own feet. 

The temperature of the house is slightly cooler than outside and you’re unable to keep your teeth from chattering as you step inside. Harry notices this.

“Stay right here, I’m gonna go get some towels.” He mutters, shuffling off down the hallway and leaving you standing soaked, shivering, and intoxicated in the entryway. He returns within a few moments holding a stack of fluffy pink towels (courtesy of the beach house owners), quickly unfolding one of them and wrapping it around your shoulders. You tug the fabric around yourself, teeth chattering as you take a deep breath and look up at him through bloodshot eyes.

“Thank you.” 

He nods, taking a towel for himself and leaning over to shake out his dripping hair. You step past him into the hallway, walking towards your bedroom with the towel still wrapped around your shivering frame. The house feels like it's spinning with every step you take, your hand pressed against the wall to support yourself as you guide yourself to the bedroom. You know Harry’s watching you, longing to ask you why you were out in the rain completely wasted, but you don’t feel sober enough to trust him or yourself. 

Stumbling into your bedroom, you shuffle through your drawer for some dry clothes, settling on an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. You don’t even bother with closing the door all the way as you peel the wet clothes from your skin, carelessly dropping them onto the carpet. After you successfully pull the sweatshirt on, you attempt putting on the sweatpants, discovering that in your drunken state, finding the correct leg hole is much harder than you anticipated. So, after struggling for all of one minute, you huff and throw them aside. 

“Need help?” 

You glance up from where you sit on the edge of the bed to find Harry leaning against the doorway, dressed in a dry t-shirt and sweatpants. You frown, “Were you watching me?”

“No,” He pauses. “I mean- just for a moment, but I swear I didn’t see anything.”

You nod slowly with a yawn, “It’s okay. I’m too drunk to care, anyway.”

He chuckles at that and watches as you stand, stumbling to the upper end of the bed and pulling the comforter down to make room for you to slide beneath it. You plop yourself onto the mattress with a yawn, patting the empty space beside you and looking up at him. 

He raises his eyebrows, “Y’want me to…?” You nod at his unfinished question, giving him a small, drunken grin. So, after a moment of hesitation, Harry walks over to the bed and climbs into the empty spot beside you with your eyes glued to him the whole time. He sighs, “What now?”

“Will you… hold me?” You request quietly, avoiding his soft, virescent stare. 

He pauses. There isn’t a single fiber of his being that doesn’t want to feel your warmth against him, arms looped around your waist, nose buried into the crevice of your neck; but he knows that you’re drunk and he can’t be sure that you won’t regret anything once the intoxication has passed. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” You shrug. “Unless, of course, you aren’t comfortable with it,”

“I am, but you aren’t fully… ‘here’ right now and I don’t want you to regret anything.”

You sigh, “I think I’m sober enough to ask you to harmlessly spoon me to sleep.”

“Alright,” He nods, moving to lay on his side, head against the pillow. “C’mere, then.”

You smile to yourself, leaning over to switch the small bedside lamp off before allowing your body to lie against the mattress fully before turning to face away from him, waiting for him to wrap his arms around you. The hem of your sweatshirt rides up with your movement and, although you’re completely oblivious to it, Harry notices. His eyes focus on the soft skin of your hip and the thin fabric of your panties resting against it. Fuck. Swallowing the heavy lump wedged in his throat, he moves forward and loops his arm around your waist, tugging your back into his chest with a quiet grunt. 

One may assume that two people in this situation, given the status of your relationship being strictly friends (in the lightest sense of the word), would feel uncomfortable or awkward, but both of you, somehow, feel a sense of relief. Two long, breathy sighs emit from both of you in unison as your bodies fit together like two pieces of thread, meant to intertwine perfectly to create a beautiful piece of clothing. 

The two of you lie there in the dark silence, taking slow, deep breaths to calm your fluttering heartbeats as the tension builds. If you were sober, you definitely wouldn’t have even considered being in this situation, but since there’s nearly 25 ounces of liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’re unable to keep yourself from being brutally honest about what you want. Silently, you move your hand from where it rests on the mattress, sliding it over his hand that rests just between your stomach and ribs and taking it into your own. He feels your hand, but doesn’t say anything.

Every sense of your caution has been thrown to the wind at this point, so you don’t even consider hesitating when asking: “Do you remember that song that came on the other day when we were in the car?”

He’s caught completely off guard by your question and frowns. “I-uh, yeah, I remember. ‘Dancing With Myself’?”

You nod in acknowledgement, silence settling over you again for a few lasting moments before you speak again. “The other day when you were talking about the meaning of that song, how it sounds upbeat and happy but the lyrics are actually him talking about how lonely he is, it reminded me of myself…” You pause, sighing quietly, trying to blink away the inevitable tears. You can sense that he’s listening, though, so you continue. “I just- sometimes it’s hard for me to feel at home with people even if they are my friends, and there are many times when I just see myself with them and I just don’t even feel like I’m there. Like, despite being in a room full of people, like the song says, I’m dancing with myself, trying in vain to make myself look like the exact opposite of how I feel. It’s like I just have to go through life alone, despite the people around me.”

He’s quiet for a while and it scares you. Maybe you said too much. Maybe he’s uncomfortable. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the tears to spill and then he speaks.

“Is that- is that why you were crying?”

“Partially,” You whisper, staring straight ahead into the dark room. Harry’s arm moves a little and then you feel his fingers brushing against your hand before lacing his fingers between your own without a word. His body presses closer to yours and you ever so faintly feel his lips against your shoulder for just a moment. 

“I’m sorry.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the tears fall and trickle down onto the pillow where your head lays. “It fucking hurts,” You take a long, shaky breath. “It hurts when I can’t even tell my best friend about how I feel because I feel like I’m being selfish for giving her the weight of my issues.”

“You’re not being selfish,” He whispers, squeezing your hand gently. “If you’re hurting, she should be there for you no matter what. Just like you are with her,” He pauses for a beat, taking a deep breath. “I think you’re one of the most caring people I have ever met. You have always been there for Deidre even though recently she’s been a bit of twat to you.” 

“Yeah,” You chuckle at that and he breathes a small laugh, tightening his arms around you. Silence settles around you once more, and you think that maybe he’s fallen asleep but then he stirs and moves his hand from yours to tilt your face and body in his direction, leaning over you. Your eyes meet as he gently swipes his thumb against your damp skin, collecting the tears that had just escaped from your eyes with a small smile. Just as he is about to drop his hand from your face, you grasp him by the wrist, pressing his large palm to the curve of your cheek. His gaze flickers between your lips and your eyes, even in the darkness of the bedroom you’re able to make out each other’s faces and you see the edges of his lips curl up into the faintest smile. 

“Also,” You breathe, thumb stroking the skin of his wrist gently, “I’m sorry about the other night.”

It takes a moment for him to process what you mean, but when he does he shakes his head. “No, no, it was my fault. You didn’t want me to kiss you and I shouldn’t have crossed your boundaries like that. I’m sorry.”

“No, Harry, that’s not-” You sigh, “I just- I was afraid it would mess things up with Deidre and I was putting her feelings before my own, which I now realize wasn’t fair to either of us.” You motion between the two of you.

“I get it,” He nods, watching as you take his hand from your cheek and interlock your fingers between his. You’re still mildly intoxicated, so your confidence levels are also quite a bit higher than normal. Harry watches you in silence, the two of you mindlessly fiddling with each other’s fingers like it was the most normal thing in the world for you to do. And then he clears his throat. “So, you- you did want to kiss me?”

You pause, bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you look up at his face. “Yeah.”

“Hm… good to know.” 

Silence falls over the two of you again as you focus back on your fingers dancing against his. You want to keep talking to him; You want to say ‘fuck it’ and throw every bit of caution to the wind regarding Deidre, falling into this “scandalous” affair with her brother; You want to tell him how you feel, express every bit of longing you’ve had for him since the first day his dimpled smile met your gaze, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open, the alcohol in your system taking over and pushing you to surrender. So you do.

You yawn, “I think I should probably go to sleep now.”

“I can leave if you want…” He responds, lifting himself up from the mattress slightly, but you stop him with a quick shake of your head, tugging his arm back around your waist. 

“Stay until I fall asleep?” 

He smiles to himself, arms tightening around you as he nuzzles his face into your hair. “Okay.”

Harry hadn’t intended on falling asleep with you. He’d planned on waiting until you fell asleep and then would  sneak off to his own bed, but it’s morning now and the two of you are lying fast asleep in the exact position you were in the night before. His arms wound tightly around you, chest pressed to your back, and his nose pressed into the base of your neck. In a way, the warmth and peace his arms give you feel completely normal; like you’re long-term lovers, dozing in the soft morning sunlight, awaiting the new day.

The alarming screech of your ringtone rudely interrupts your slumber and causes you to lift yourself from the mattress and angrily slap your hand around in search of your phone. Finding it, you squint at the illuminated screen to see Deidre’s profile picture and name, you groan and push yourself to sit up on the mattress as you slide your finger across the screen to answer the call.

“Hello?” You croak, knuckling frustratedly at your puffy, sleep-filled eyes.

“Hi,” She sounds out of breath, almost frantic. “I know you’re probably still mad at me but everything is okay. I didn’t come home last night because I ended up passing out on Jeff’s couch after everyone left and he failed to wake me up, even though I told him to. But yeah, um, I’m sorry, I’m on my way home. Please don’t be mad at me.”

You should be mad at her, but it’s early and your hungover brain is making it harder for you to form any sort of emotion. “It’s fine. We-I fell asleep early anyways so I didn’t notice.”

She sighs in relief, “Okay. Well, I’ll be home in like 10 minutes,”

“See ya.” You mumble half-heartedly before the line cuts out and you’re dropping your phone into your lap with a yawn. Somehow, during that conversation, you’d completely forgotten the presence of Harry. That is, until he clears his throat and shuffles on the bed, causing you to turn and look at him. 

“G’morning,” He mutters, his deep, syrupy accent tainted with sleep. “Was that-?”

“Deidre, yeah,” You finish, rubbing your hands over your face. “She’s on her way.”

“Oh… then I should- I should probably get out of here,”

You nod and he pushes the comforter off of his body, sliding over the side of the bed and planting his feet against the carpeted floor. Once he’s left the room, you drag yourself out of bed to change into something a bit more appropriate.

Your memory of the night before is somewhat of a blur due to the amount of wine you’d consumed, but you do remember the things you said to him right before falling asleep; the way he touched and held you like you were his own. Your heart flutters at the memory of the way he brushed a fallen tear from your skin and spoke to you in a soft, soothing voice. You’ve deceived yourself by saying that this is just a crush, because it’s more than that and deep down you’re slowly beginning to realize it. 

After pulling on the clean, discarded sweatpants that, in your drunken frustration, had been left in a crumple on the floor, you make your way to the kitchen. Harry’s there already, spreading mashed avocado onto freshly toasted bread before lightly salting it with garlic salt and placing a perfectly fried egg on top. He’s humming to himself as he works to make more slices and you smile, clearing your throat to catch his attention.

He turns his head in your direction. “Oh, hey! Do you want one slice or two?” 

“Um, I’ll have two, please,” You respond, slowly making your way across the small kitchen to where he stands at the counter. “You didn’t have to make breakfast, though,”

He shakes his head as he sucks a bit of avocado from his thumb. “It’s no problem, really. I don’t mind.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, Deidre walks through the front door, calling: “Hello! I’m back!” 

You walk through the kitchen doorway to find her at the door, sporting the same outfit as she had been last night. Her hair is tied up into a messy bun, though, and her shoes are in her hand instead of on her feet. 

“Good morning,” You greet.

She tosses her shoes aside and smiles at you. “Hey, I’m sorry about last night. Can we talk later?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nod and give her a small smile back, lacking the energy to still be mad at her and giving into your tendency of forgiveness. 

As she follows you into the kitchen, she greets Harry with a quick ‘good morning’, grabbing a fully assembled piece of toast from him before scurrying off for a shower and leaving the two of you alone once more. It’s easier being around him now. There’s a hint of tension now, but it isn’t malicious or uncomfortable tension. You feel drawn to him even more than you did before and you can tell he’s feeling the same way. 

“God, Harry, that was so good.” You nearly moan as you wipe the crumbs of toast from your fingertips.

He smiles, swallowing and wiping the corner of his mouth. “M’glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to teach me your cooking and baking skills someday,” You chuckle, subtly hinting at spending more time with him. 

He downs the rest of the coffee in his mug, humming. “I’d love to.”

You smile at him, standing to take your dishes to the sink and holding out your hand for his. He frowns and shakes his head. “None of that, I’ll clean up.”

“At least let me help.” You pout. 

He chuckles. “If you insist.”

You follow him to the sink, watching as he takes the dishes and begins to rinse them and hand them over to you so that you can place them into the dishwasher. There really isn’t much of a reason for you to be helping him, but you’re finding it hard to keep yourself away from him. The giddy flutter of your heart when his fingers brush against yours and the flirtatious smiles spread across your faces makes you feel utterly alive and you never want it to end. But, eventually, there are no more dishes to clean and you’re in desperate need of a shower, so he thanks you for your help and the two of you go your separate ways.

Cold, frothy water splashes against your bare feet as you walk along the sandy shore. Your sandals are dangling from your fingertips and your loose-fitted jeans are rolled up to your shins to allow a more comfortable stroll. The sun is just beginning to set, casting a peach hue along the crystal-like water as it rolls lazily back and forth. 

Deidre is a few feet behind you, collecting a lone seashell she’d spotted during her stroll. A quiet moment passes and then she’s beside you again, palm stretched out into your direction to show you the small, detailed shell with a glowing pride. 

“Oh, that one’s gorgeous.” You gush at its beauty, taking it between your own fingers to examine it further. It’s a small tulip shell, only about two inches in size, but its shimmery, pearlish gleam is almost breathtaking under the dim sunlight. 

“Think I’ll try to find another one and make them into earrings.” She smiles as you place it back into her hand. 

“Yeah, that’d be cute!”

The two of you have only just left the beach house in an effort to be somewhere alone so the two of you can talk things out. Deidre is silent for a moment, both of you ruminating the possible ways to begin the conversation. Then, she speaks.

“I’m sorry for leaving you like that yesterday, that wasn’t very cool of me.”

You smile a little, “Thanks. I’m sorry for getting so upset with you. I definitely could’ve handled that better.”

She nods. “Yeah. I think we both could’ve handled that much better.”

“Definitely,” You agree, kicking the damp sand with your bare feet. “I just think that, you know, you promised to spend time with me on this trip and I feel like I’ve barely seen you. And I’m glad you’ve made friends, but I’d kinda like to just spend time with you at some point.”

“Yeah,” She sighs, “I’m sorry.”

You turn to her, stopping in your tracks and opening your arms for a hug. “Are we good?”

“Of course.” She smiles and wraps you into a giant bear hug, causing both of you to stumble on the sand a bit. Both of you are giggling uncontrollably once you pull away, nearly falling into the sand beneath your feet. 

“I’ll race you back to the house,” You smile deviously, planting your feet in the starting position and waiting for her to do the same. 

She smirks and positions herself beside you. “Oh, you’re on.”

The two of you bolt towards the house at top speed, sand kicking up behind you in big clouds as scurry along the beach under the pale evening sunlight. 

You reach the house moments before her, immediately collapsing into the sand in front of the stairs to catch your breath. Deidre is quick to stumble up behind you, nearly skidding to a stop as she takes several big gulps of air through a laugh. 

“Still got it,” You wink at her, a similar image of the two of you in the same positions at a much younger age flashing across your mind briefly. 

She flashes you a mocking smile with a tilt to her head and then the repetitive ring of her phone in her pocket interrupts the moment. You watch as she tugs it from her pocket, sliding her finger across the screen and lifting it to her ear with a peppy greeting to the other person on the line. Immediately by the tone of her voice you know exactly what’s about to happen. She’s going to do exactly what she’s been doing since the trip began– or rather, since the two of you were teenagers– she’s going to sputter out a mouthful of excuses and then she’s going to leave.

“Okay, I’ll be out front in five minutes! See ya!” She says before sliding her phone back into her pocket and smiling at you. “That was Jeffrey and his friends, they invited me out again tonight and I promised I would go.”  

She doesn’t even fucking realize...

Sheathing your blinding frustration with a tinge of annoyance, you nod, motion up the stairs before mumbling: “Well, then, you better get going.”

Watching her scurry back up the stairs and into the house, your heart sinks into your chest. She’s so used to you just allowing things like this to happen that she doesn’t even realize how much it’s hurting your relationship and how much it’s hurting you.

After dropping your sandals there you find yourself wandering from the bottom of the stairs back out into the shore, lazily kicking at the shallow water whilst your arms are wrapped around your chest. It’s gotten much darker and people are beginning to filter out through the dunes, lugging their belongings or simply just walking hand in hand. 

The waves crash repeatedly with a lulling, crisp sound that drowns out all other sound in your ears. The air is warm and so is the wind as it swirls and whips around you, causing the loose fabric of your sweater to flap obnoxiously. 

Faintly in the distance, you can hear the screen door of the back porch swing shut and it draws your eyes back up to the house where Harry bounds down the stairs with a smile on his face. A smile just for you.

“Hey!” He calls, gasping for air as he jogs towards you across the sand. You wave back at him with a small smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you stand and wait for him to reach you. 

“Hi,”

“You alright?” He frowns, stepping closer to you. 

You sigh, fingertips pressed against your forehead in a weak attempt to hide your distress. “I- uh, yeah I’m okay.”

“Doesn’t really look like it,” He says, tilting his head to examine your face a bit better. 

You squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to hold back the tears beginning to build at the edge of your lash line, taking a deep breath. “It’s just- fuck, Harry, she keeps doing it. She keeps telling me that she wants to spend more time together and then she just leaves me. And she doesn’t even fucking realize it,” You look back up at him in the dim evening lighting, wrapping your sweater clad arms around yourself. “Like- what am I supposed to do? She doesn’t listen to me.”

A pregnant pause follows when you finish speaking before Harry speaks. “I don’t know if you can really do anything. Deidre is going to do what she wants to do, regardless of how it affects you.”

He’s right. As much as you never thought you’d actually admit it to yourself, you know he’s right. It feels almost as if a weight has been lifted off your chest; a weight that’s been there since you and Deidre blossomed into teenagers and she gradually began to treat you this way. And then you’re looking back at Harry, gears turning in your brain at a pace that’s almost too fast for you to process. Then, without any sort of caution or judgement as to what it might result in, you’re surging forward pressing a hand to the back of his neck, beneath his mop of hair, and frantically pulling his lips against yours. 

It takes a millisecond for him to react, but then he’s kissing you back harder, long arms coming to wrap around your waist and press you into his chest as his soft, supple lips move skillfully against yours. Every long, heart aching year that passed that you had grown to care for him flashes through your mind; every smile he directed at you; every time he wrapped his arms around you in a giant bear hug, mumbling: “Nice to see you,” in your ear; every moment that you spent falling in love with him. 

He’s the first to pull away, arms unwavering from their place around you. “What about Deidre?”

You stare back at him for a moment before shaking your head, mumbling: “I don’t care.” under your breath, eyes flickering down to his lips before both of you are lunging forward once again. 

Both of you stumble around on the sand for a moment and then Harry falls back into the sand, ass first, bringing you down with him. The two of you are a fit of giggles and snorts as you land in the fluffy, damp sand, limbs tangled between limbs. You land with your legs straddling his slim waist, hands planted against the sand beneath him, hovering over him with a smile. He gazes back up at you with his own dimpled smile, his hands resting cautiously on your hips. He stares at you, studying your face as the two of you catch your breath before he says something that has your stomach twisting into knots and your skin bursting into flames. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,”

You lift one of your hands to cover your face, giggling nervously at his words as he lifts himself to sit in the sand with you in his lap. “I’m serious.”

“Why?” You whisper in response, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. 

“God,” He mumbles your name, “You might not see it, but I see it. And I’ve seen it since we were kids; since I was 18.”

You’re speechless, unable to form a full sentence to respond to him, so you just grab his face between your hands and latch your lips onto his again. You stay like that, lips dragging against each other’s lazily until the sun finishes setting and the only source of light comes from the bright glow of the moon. And then he pulls away again, hooded eyelids trained on yours. 

“Let me take you out. Like, on a date.”

You smile, “Okay.”

don’t forget to reblog if u enjoyed!!<3

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[heybeybey]

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

Pairing: Rivetra | Levi x Petra

Summary: Forced to retire from the Scouts due to a major injury, Levi thinks he'll be spending the rest of his days in domestic solitude. Petra, however, has another idea.

Loosely based on The Way of the Househusband.

Or: Captain Petra x Househusband Levi canonverse AU

AO3 Link

A/N: Okay I've had this outlined for WEEKS (no ending in mind tho) but I never got around to actually drafting it. But....... I had some time this morning and the inspiration after seeing this post so yay.

Thanks to @sleeperswakewriting for introducing me to The Way of the Househusband. It's cute and funny and DEFINITELY RIVETRA in another universe.

This is going be a drabble series btw but no assurance on when I'll be updating each chapter (My Royalty AU draft is glaring at this fic rn tbh). Some chapters will be based on the Netflix show but Levi's condition is a bit different from Tatsu's so it'll probably be loosely based at best.

And yes, the title is from the song My Girl. But I like this version since I think it fits Petra the most :3

Also also, we all know deep down that Levi wants to be a househusband so here you go.

- - -

Chapter 1: The Ceremonies

There was a time when his mind wandered to how his career in the Scouts would end. Levi always thought he'd die on the battlefield, just as he witnessed among his comrades. He'd accepted that reality, sometimes even waiting for it despite his will to continue fighting on.

For some reason, retiring has never crossed his mind.

"Honorably discharged due to major leg injury, incomplete spinal cord injury, and loss of right eyesight."

He can still hear the pity and sadness from Erwin's voice from that day in the hospital when they talked over where he will go from there. The doctors mentioned that his spine will heal over time, but his leg is broken way beyond repair. It's worse enough that amputation was considered at one point. He'd be good as titan food should he retain his current position in the scouts.

At first, he wanted to scream. He wasn't the type to show some outwardly emotion (except for when he's beating down new recruits or the three males in his squad) but being a part of the Survey Corps is what gave this shit of a life some meaning after he was pulled out of the underground.

Frankly, he didn't know what's next.

"Hey, Captain." Petra's sweet voice snapped Levi out of his thoughts and he forces himself to get out of his bad mood. This was her day and he'd be damned if he ruins it for her.

Levi takes her in and the corner of his lip quirks up. He feels pride fill his chest as his eyes strays a bit on the insignia freshly pinned on her uniform.

"I think I should be the one calling you that, Ral." He replies. "Congratulations."

Wheelchair-bound for what may be the rest of his life, Levi and his squad had to sit down and talk over what's next for the Scout's elites. The obvious choice was Eld, but Levi and the rest of the team were surprised when the blonde man turned down the promotion. He says that while he had the leadership skills and the years of experience that makes him more than qualified, he knew that he didn't have the same burning dedication to the cause as much as he'd witnessed in others.

Eld said that he'd be glad to support the next team captain instead. Oluo, while skilled, had often been too focused on his kill count. Gunther has a strategic mind but didn't really have the charm to bring people together.

So they all turned their attention to Petra.

To be honest, Levi had always wanted to promote Petra as his second-in-command. However, Scout regulations demanded a certain number of years that she didn't have yet at the time he first chose his elite squad. He'd never had a problem with Eld, but his and Petra's ability to synchronise on the battlefield is the reason why he'd always turned to her when he needed a second hand.

It makes sense in his eyes and to the rest of the team, even when Erwin and the other soldiers were doubtful of his choice. They've seen how ferocious Petra is during expeditions, but still had the heart to cry alongside her dying comrades. She's kind and helpful, but knows when a hard decision is needed to be made. She'd pitched in her ideas and opinions every time she accidentally passed by the officers' meeting sessions (she always brought them tea so she sometimes hear the conversations). This was often met with a surprised look from her higher-ups but having worked with Petra for quite some time, Levi would just smirk at his fellow veterans.

She's still rough around the edges and she definitely still has more room to improve, but the potential is there. He wouldn't have chosen her as part of his team in the first place if he didn't see that fire.

He wasn't surprised that Eld, Gunther and Oluo supported her, even when Petra was terrified to accept such a responsibility. Levi was firm in his decision.

In the end, Erwin stamped on his approval.

Levi was the one who pinned the insignia on her signifying her new position during today's pinning-on ceremony.

- - -

"Hey, Captain!"

"I think you should stop calling me that, Petra."

"Sorry. Habit." The ginger blushes slightly as she steps closer inside the apartment, basket in hand. "I bought something for you."

She brings out a few fruits from the basket, laying it down on the dining table in his humble apartment. "The farmer's market was on sale today and I had the chance to pass by before they closed."

"You didn't have to buy me all these, Petra."

"I had to use my pay raise for something, Captain," she jests. He wheels himself towards her to assist her with unloading the basket and they both work in silent contentment.

"So, how's your first day?" Levi asks after washing the fruits. Petra's face lights up at his question and the whole room seems to come alive as she chatters on.

"Holy Maria, Captain. I didn't know the team can be this stupid. No wonder you had dark eyebags after training us for years!"

- - -

It's been three months since he resigned from the Scouts. The new captain never fails to come home to the apartment he's renting near the Scout HQ everyday.

Come home? Tch. How delusional can you get.

He'd welcome her back every expedition and every training day. A part of him feels a bit of guilt gnaw on him when he sees how tired Petra is whenever she comes home, thinking of the time when he was her direct commanding officer.

"Captain, can I sleep here tonight?"

Now, he sees the sorrow and fatigue in her eyes. "You're always welcome here, Petra."

He offers to give up his bed for the night but she declines, saying that she'll be fine on the couch. She's unnaturally quiet, but he knows that this is how she typically is after expeditions.

They're both on the couch right now and she snuggles closer to him. Levi motions for her to lay her head on his lap, their boundaries thinning with every single visit.

He's quiet when he sees the tears start to fall from her eyes. Soon, Petra's sobbing and she wraps her arms desperately around him. His hand starts to slowly run through her ginger locks, hoping it gives her some comfort.

"She was the last in my and Oluo's batch." She starts, voice shaking and he gives her space to talk and mourn her comrade. "I wanted to save her... but it was either her or compromise the mission. I had to give the order."

"I'm sorry." Because if someone understands her better, it's him.

- - -

"Levi?"

It's the scout's day off today and they're all allowed to leave the vicinity to visit friends and family, or simply just to fuck around if they wanted.

Petra, not surprisingly, decides to spend another weekend with him.

"Hmm?" He's currently preparing their lunch, wheeling himself around the kitchen area.

"Did you ever think about settling down when you were still in the scouts?"

He cocks an eyebrow at her question. "And leave a widow crying on my grave? I didn't even have the time to date, Petra."

And he didn't even want to date someone else. Not when he kept having wet dreams about his own subordinate at that time.

"Well, you have a chance now, right?" Petra starts to help with laying down the dishes on the table. He looks at her, eyes taking in her body language. She's doing that thing with her hands again where she tries to occupy it with things to do whenever she's nervous. She's too tense for this to be some absent chatter.

"Just spit it out, Petra."

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm always here. In this apartment. Whether I'm back from training or meetings or expeditions," she starts. Levi wheels himself forward to grab their food from the small kitchen but he attentively listens to each of her words. Seeing that he won't be replying, Petra decides to continue.

"I like coming home to you, Levi. And I'm still devoted to you." Petra nervously says, the redness on her cheeks intensifying. Levi feels his heart thump at her last sentence. He stops what he's doing and looks straight into her amber eyes, the same moment as she reaches out to delicately hold both of his hands. "I'd like to continue doing so... if you'll have me in another way."

Bold as ever is the first thing that fondly came to his mind. He feels emotion start to climb up his throat but he never wavers in staring back at her. The next thing that came to mind wasn't exactly a thought, and the answer leaves his mouth with a certainty he didn't know he had.

"Okay," he quietly replies. Not much of a talker, as usual. Still, his sure answer was quite a surprise to the both of them.

Was it loneliness? That fear that he'd most likely die alone because of his automatic ability to push people away? Maybe it's some deep hidden desire to live a domestic life with someone—something that he allowed himself to fleetingly dream of while he was still in that underground hellhole—that he has since accepted wouldn't be in his future.

Until now.

He and Petra decided to have a shotgun wedding that same afternoon.

[morosemagick]

On Your Lips, Like a Prayer | Sihtric x Reader One Shot

Warning: References to Suicide, Minor Character Death

Words: 4449

Tagged:

@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @obipoelover @thebohemianpenguin @ivarinleatherpants

You remember falling.

Through the sky. Into a river. Drowning. They could’ve been dreams or your imagination or may you’re hell because when you wake up you don’t recognize the place you’ve found yourself in. The first thing you try to do when you wake is reach for your phone... until you remember you didn’t have it. What you had done, you had done with nothing on you. You didn’t want to be found or recognized. The plan was to scrub yourself from the pages of history. Yet from what you are told by the man and his daughter; who found you in the river half dead, it seems you did the far opposite.

Instead of erasing yourself from history, you’ve fallen through it.

And that was six months ago.

They believe you to have amnesia from the accident, but you remember every detail of what happened. It’s the ninth century from what you gathered. From what you remember from taking history in school, King Alfred the Great is the King of Wessex, but you are in Mercia. Who is ruled by Lord Ceowolf? You’re unsure. Everything you’ve known is gone or rather has yet to be. You have no idea how you’ve gotten here and you want out. So in a moment of foolishness, you try to redo what you did to send yourself back but instead you wind up stuck in their beds again for a month with a broken leg. It’s hard to run after you do that, and now you know without a doubt in your mind that you’re stuck. You cry about it for weeks, and the family who found you doesn’t understand why. You can’t tell anyone, because you’re certain they’ll set you on fire if you tell them.

Because you… you are from the future.

————————————<3—————————————

You’ve been here for a year now. Osmund and his daughter, Mildryd, are kind and loving people. They treat you like family, with love and respect. This place becomes your home and they teach you all the skills you’d need to survive these times. You learned about farming, rank etiquette, and all other manners you would need to blend into your surroundings. Soon enough, you embraced this world as your own. Not that you had a choice because every day it became more clear that this was not a dream and you were indeed stuck here.

Also, you had no desire to repeat what you did to get here in the first place… again.

“Lynne? Lynne, where are you?” You can hear Osmund call out to you. Lynne was what they called you here. It meant waterfall, from what you understood.

Which made sense, because that’s where they found you... At the bottom of a waterfall.

You come out from the stables, where you’ve just finished brushing the horses with a smile on your face, “Right here, Osmund. Everything alright?”

“I sent Mildryd into town to get grain but I didn’t realize she didn’t bring water in for the goats,” He tells you as he wipes the sweat from his face with a rag, “I hate to pass on her chores, but you know my daughter-”

“She’ll be flirting with the trader for a while,” You chuckle. Mildryd fancied the boy a lot and hopes he’d ask her father for her hand in marriage soon. She was young and full of life, the opposite of you if you were honest with yourself. You envied her spirit, “I’ll go to the river.”

“Thank you, Lynne,” The older man smiled, “You’re an angel.”

You only smile as a response. They show you so much love and part of you feels like you don't deserve it. Still, you grab your bucks and head down to the river, which is quite a walk away, to fetch some water as requested. It's beautiful here, and perhaps taking a moment to stand there and admire its beauty will be one of the moments you will grow to regret for the rest of your life because by the time you turn back to return to the farm you can see smoke.

You drop both buckets to the ground and run as fast as your post-broken leg body can take you, but you're too late.

A sob breaks from your lips as you walk through the ruins of Osmund's home. His body lays blood and lifeless on the floor, the sword he carries still in its sheath. You take the weapon from him, belt and all, and tie it around your waist. Leaving the house, you head into the rest of the small village you call yours in search of the man's daughter.

The rest of the village is no better than Osmund's home. Everyone is dead, from what you can tell, and your expectations for finding Mildryd are lowering by the second.

When you find her, she's holding on to her final breath, and her body covered by the trader she loved so much.

"Mildryd," You call to her with tears in her eyes, "Mildryd… who did this to you?"

"It… it was the Danes," She coughs and blood comes up, tears flowing down her cheeks, "Is.. my father-"

She dies before she can finish the sentence, and you sob over her dead body.

The time you get to mourn is cut short by a voice calling out from behind you, “Lord! A survivor!”

From the accent in his voice, you can tell he must be a Dane, and you ready yourself to face with your hand on the hilt of your sword. It’s heavy, and you haven’t had much practice but the one thing you have plenty of right now is rage. Rising to your feet, you pull out your sword and swing it without care as you turn around but the Dane behind you is quicker. He bobs and weaves his upper half to avoid your aimless swings and pulls out a blade of his own.

It does not take him long to disarm you, your sword dropping to the ground with a clang.

“Just kill me already,” You tell him as you lower your eyes to the ground, trying not to cry in front of him, “Please! Get on with it-”

“I don’t desire to kill you, Lady,” The Dane tells you, his voice softer than anticipated, and you open your eyes to see him put his sword away. He picks up your sword, and then lends out a hand to help you to your feet, “I am sorry to have startled you.”

You are hesitant to take his hand, but you do so anyway.

It’s his eyes; one blue and the other brown, they are mesmerizing and all but command you to trust him.

“Sihtric?” Another man calls out to him, this one also dressed like a Dane but something about him looks Saxon… like the others you’ve grown to know, “Who is this?”

The one you trust, Sihtric, turns to face you and they stare for a moment as they await your name, “I am-” You almost use your real name, but you stop yourself and continue again. Hoping they don’t notice, “I am Lynne, Lord.”

“This is your village?” He asks you.

“Was,” You replied looking back at Mildryd’s dead body behind you, “They killed my family…”

“Did you see the raiders who attacked this place?” The man asked and you shook your head no.

“My… my sister, she told me it was the Danes,” You glance between the two men, watching for their reactions, “That was all she said before she died.”

“Lord?” Another voice calls out, this one with an Irish accent, and from the side, another man appears followed by one much taller than he is, “There is no one else. If they had survivors, they must have taken them.”

The Lord sighs, and puts away his weapon, “Do you have somewhere to go, Lynne? Family somewhere else in Mercia, perhaps?”

You look between the men who surround you and shake your head no, “This was my only family, Lord. I have no one.”

“We can take her with us to Coccham, Uhtred,” The Irishman starts to say, but you are quick to jump in.

“I am not a slave!” You snap as you reach for your sword, forgetting you no longer have it.

“Nor do we wish you to be, Lady,” The one named Uhtred replies, “You will be safe in Coccham, should you choose to follow us. I am the Ealdorman there, we shall find someone to take you in.”

You nod okay, knowing you don’t have any other choice, “Thank you.”

Uhtred and his men start to walk away, and when you step to follow them your bad leg gives in and you start to fall. Luckily, Sihtric is there to catch you.

“Are you hurt, Lady?” He asks you as you wince.

He helps you straighten yourself upright, and you take a deep breath, “I broke it, six months ago,” You explain to Sihtric as he tries to help you walk, “It still feels weak some days. Just… give me a moment.”

“Should I carry you?” He asks and you blush as you furiously shake your head no.

“No, no,” You chuckle shyly as you attempt to walk again, “I can walk. I just need to go slow.”

Sihtric smiles lightly, and it brings you peace, “We’ll go your speed then.”

You nod okay, and together you walk slowly out of the village that was once your home.

————————————<3—————————————

Lord Uhtred finds you work as a stable hand in Coccham. The owners of the stable is an older couple whose children have moved away with their own families, and they are more than pleased to let you stay with them. After a few months of being in Coccham, you find yourself growing to like the place. It’s a booming town, and the people who live here all seem to be grateful for their half Dane half Saxon Lord for keeping them safe and prospering. About six months into living here, Lord Uhtred puts you personally in charge of his horse, as well as the horses of the rest of his men. The old couple tells you it’s a privilege for the Ealdorman to hold you in such regard.

You wonder why they seem to like you so much.

When you aren’t working you find yourself in the company of Lord Uthred’s men. There is Finan, his cheeky, Irish right-hand man. He’s a flirt and a tease, but you find him harmless and kind. Then their Clapa, the large bear-like Dane. He’s quiet but courteous. Last, but certainly not least, there is Sihtric. You never expected to like him as much as you do, but he makes you laugh and smile and feel like maybe you survived that fall for a reason. He visits you frequently at the stables and he tells you it’s to make sure you aren’t overworking your leg.

Part of you wonders if there is an ulterior motive for his visits.

Not that he needs one to visit you. You enjoy Sihtric’s visits probably much more than he did. So part of you finds it ironic when those around you weren’t fond of you spending so much time with a Dane. Their Lord was a Dane, too, after all.

“That Dane boy,” The stable owner, Cedric, started to say one day, “Does he bother you?”

You glance his way as you brush Lord Uhtred’s horse, readying all his warriors’ horses for their departure, “Not at all,” You tell Cedric, “Sihtric is kind.”

“You are of marriage age, Lynne,” Cedric tells you as he brings over a saddle for the horse, “Perhaps we should help find you a husband. I know some young eligible men. Hard workers,” he starts to say, and you know what’s about to come out of his mouth next before he can even say it, “Good Christians.”

“I’m not looking for a husband,” You tell him with frustration as you take the saddle from his hands and place it on top of Uhtred’s horse.

“My wife and I are only getting older, Lynne,” The old man tells you, and you keep your eyes away to prevent yourself from making a face, “It is not good for a Lady of your age to be unwed. This is your prime. You should be having children, starting a family.”

Part of you is ready to tell the old man off, but before you can say anything a familiar voice interrupts the conversation, “Cedric, Lynne! How are our horses?”

“Lord Uhtred,” Cedric smiles, and you can’t help but hate how hypocritical he is, “They are almost ready, Lynne ready the other saddles please.”

You nod at the two men and make yourself scarce as you go to prep the other horse. Your first stop is to Finan’s horse; because you know the mare can be fickle some days, and as you reach down to pick her saddle, you don’t see Finan and Sihtric sneak up behind you.

“Lynne!” Finan all but shouts, giving you a fright and making you drop the saddle to the floor.

“I swear to God, Finan, one would think you are the heathen and not Sihtric,” You scold with your hand over your heart as the two men laugh.

“We are only teasing, Lynne, I swear,” Finan tells you as he picks up the saddle you’ve dropped.

Sihtric leans up against a post and nudges you with his elbow, “Cedric does not push you too much, does he?”

“No, he does not,” You tell Sihtric as you go to ready his horse, but he stops you, carefully taking the saddle from your hands, “I do not need your help, Sihtric.”

“I want to help,” He tells you with a smile, and you can’t help but smile wider.

“She says she doesn’t need your help, Sihtric,” Finan teases from close by, and you both blush, momentarily forgetting he was there, “Hate to ruin the moment, but we need to get goin’.”

“Where are you riding for?” You ask them as you stand back and let the men finish readying their own horses.

“Mercia,” Sihtric tells you and a small part of you feels anxious, “Dane’s have taken Lundene."

“And King Alfred has decided he does need Uhtred, after all,” Finan chuckles and Sihtric smirks, but both of their calm demeanors don’t make you feel any better, “Don’t you worry, Lynne, we’ll be home before you know it.”

Finan passes by, rubbing your shoulder as he goes, and then leaves you alone with Sihtric. You sigh, folding your arms over your chest, “Be careful out there, okay?”

Sihtric chuckles as he takes a step closer to you, “Will you pray to your God for my return?”

“You know I don’t pray,” You lie with a smirk. You pray every single time Uhtred and his warriors leave, and you do so every night till they return. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a thin gold cross on a blue, beaded string. It’s the only thing you own, from before, and you hand it to Sihtric with a weak smile on your face, “But just in case.”

He takes it from your hand so slow, the feeling of his fingertips lingering even after they are gone, “I will take good care of it.” Sihtric pulls you closer by the back of your head and kisses your temple as he moves around you.

Your cheeks stay a rosy color even long after he is gone.

————————————<3—————————————

They are back sooner than expected.

Or at least, that is what you hear when the crowd gathers to greet their returning warriors. You overhear the Lady of Coccham, Uhtred’s wife Gisela, make mention of returning too quickly for men holding a city under siege. Lord Uhtred is the first to walk through Coccham’s gates, looking surprisingly clean for a man coming from war, then Finan comes in close behind him… and then-

Wait.

You feel your heart pick up its pace when you realize Sihtric is not with them and for a moment you find it hard to breathe. As the crowd lets its lord through, and Uhtred and his men reach the stables, you rush over as fast as your legs can take you to meet them. You feel your bad leg ready to give up as you reach the stables, but this time Finan is there to catch you.

“Slow down, Lynne, you nearly killed yourself,” Finan tells you as he holds you steady with one hand.

“Where...,” You start speaking but you can't, instead you’re huffing and puffing trying to catch your breath, “Where is Sihtric?”

Finan sighs, wiping at his mouth with his free hand, “You’re not gonna be happy, Lynne.”

You try really hard not to cry as he explains to you what has happened at Lundene and how the King’s daughter has been possibly taken as prisoner. In fact, you do relatively well at holding it all in and keeping yourself together for most of his explanation. That is… until he gets to the part where Lord Uhtred has sent Sihtric and another warrior named Rypere to Beamfleot to spy, and you suddenly forget how to breathe again. You go to reach for your cross in your pocket until you remember you’ve given it to Sihtric for good luck and almost immediately you begin to cry.

“Lynne,” Finan puts his hand on your shoulder as you sob, covering your face with your hands, “Lynne, he’s coming home… okay? Sihtric is good at what he does. The best spy we have, and I know he’s got a good reason to come home in one piece.”

You shake your head okay, and furiously wipe away all your tears away the best you can, “How long do you think he’ll be gone?”

“I cannot say for certain,” Finan shrugs, “But he is coming home, I promise.”

Finan’s words only give you some reassurance and you spend the next few days feeling absolutely miserable. You continue on with your workdays with the best fake smile you can muster, and at night you find yourself at Church. Usually, you pray in your room, partially because you feel like you aren’t really doing it right and you feel too embarrassed to pray in public. You weren’t a very religious person before, but now that you are here in this church, you pray to every God you can think of that Sihtric comes home safely.

“Lady?” A voice from behind you calls, and you jump to your feet in a moment of fear. You weren’t expecting anyone else to come to the Church that night, coming late enough in the night to certainly be alone for as long as you wish, “I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

His words remind you of the first time you met Sihtric, and you can't help but smile.

“It’s okay, I’ve just been… jumpy, lately.” You tell him as you sit back down on the bench, “I haven’t lived in Coccham for long, but I know I don’t recognize your face.”

“Ah, yes,” His smile is kind as he joins you at the bench, “I am Osferth, Lady. May I join you?”

“Of course, Osferth,” You smile back the best you can, but you’re tired and it’s late so it’s hard to put on your usual fake face.

Osferth takes his seat next to you, making sure not to get too close, and keeps his eyes on the altar ahead of you, “What are we praying for?” He asks, glancing your way.

“My-” You paused, not knowing what to call him. Your friend didn’t sound like a good enough way to explain what he meant to you, and you definitely didn’t think of him as a brother. So you go with this, “My family. Someone very important to me has been sent away on a dangerous mission for Lord Uhtred.”

"If he is a warrior for Lord Uhtred, he must be very brave," he tells you, reassuringly

"Only a special kind of warrior is lucky enough to serve a Lord like Uhtred," You agree with him, "And I have been told Sihtric is good at what he does, but I can't help but worry."

"Has prayer helped?" Osferth asks you and you look his way with a chuckle.

"Not at all," You tell him, and you both laugh.

"Sometimes it is hard to have faith in something we don't see," Osferth tells you as he looks forward again, "I try to put my faith in people. Lord Uhtred is a good warrior. So are his men. Having Faith in them… it's much easier."

So that's what you. You put your Faith in Uhtred and all of his men that will do whatever it takes to bring each other home.

————————————<3—————————————

More time has passed.

Rypere eventually returned to Coccham, and with his arrival, Uhtred and his men rode for Winchester to bring his findings to the King. You hear that men are sent to Beamfleot to bargain for the Princesses return. They are gone for a long time, longer than you anticipated. The days that pass make you increasingly more anxious.

You don't want to say your faith in Uhtred and his warriors is wavering but… it hasn't been as strong as you hoped it to be.

Cedric and his wife have been pushing the marriage thing. They aren't your parents so they can't just sell you off, luckily for you, but it's gotten annoying just how many single men they've tried to introduce you to in the last month.

None of them are Sihtric, so you do not care.

You're in the Church again one night, and you've been there longer than you wanted due to your bad leg. It's been aching something fierce in the past few days, and you think maybe you have been overwhelming yourself. You can't help but smile at the idea of Sihtric yelling at you to take it easy, and just as quickly as the memory comes to you so do the tears that start to cloud your eyes.

"You lied to me, Lynne," That familiar voice you've been hearing in your head speaks out loud, and you gasp when you turn around to find Sihtric standing behind you, "You said you do not pray for me."

You chuckle as the tears fall from your face and your lips curl up into a smile, "You're all I pray for." It stings to stand, but you push through the pain anyway and rush to greet him.

Sihtric catches you as you jump into his arms, and the two of you stumble back until he falls to the floor with you in his arms, "You need to be more careful," He smirks as he moves a hand to your cheek, "What would the people say if they see us in the church like this?"

"To hell with people," You laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Sihtrics' free hand pulls your body closer as you sit there on the floor of the church, all but devouring each other with each kiss.

"Let me carry you home," Sihtric tells you when he breaks the kiss, and you nod okay. He moves to stand, taking you in his arms as he rises. Making sure to be careful with your bed leg.

Being like this makes you feel so safe. So loved.

You giggle and kiss his neck as he carries you back to his house, and whispers things in your ear that send shivers down your spine all the way back to his house. Your sure people saw him carry you, and they are more than likely to gossip about you but you don't care.

You've never felt more alive than you do right now.

Sihtric lays you carefully in his bed, his lips reconnecting with yours as he hovers above you. He tastes sweet and your heart is racing in anticipation of what is going to happen next.

That is until you hear him moan out that name.

"Lynne," He starts to say as he breaks the kiss, "Lynne, I-"

"Wait!" You cut Sihtric off with a finger to his lips, "Before you say it, there is something else I've been lying about," Sihtric raises a brow and you take a deep breath, "My name is not Lynne."

You expect a poor reaction, but instead, Sihtric smirks, "That doesn't surprise me."

"Really?"

"Yes," He tells you as he places a kiss on your lips, "The day we met, you stuttered when you told Uhtred your name." You chuckle at the fact that he remembers that, and his smile is soft, "So tell me, what is the real name of the woman who has stolen my heart?"

Your smile is wide when you get to finally speak your real name out loud for the first time in almost two years, "My name is Y/N."

Sihtric smiles, leaning in to kiss you again, "Well, Y/N," another kiss, and then another, "It is nice to truly meet you," one more kiss, and then he leans up a bit and you can see the smirk on his face, "Is it too soon to say that I love you?"

You shake your head no as the tears come back to you, "Not at all."

"Good," Sihtric replies as he leans his forehead against yours, "I love you, Y/N."

Sihtric whispers those words for what feels like a hundred times that night. He whispers it as he strips you out of your clothes and as you remove his. It comes out as a moan when he slips himself inside of you, and it sounds like a prayer on his lips as he chants it in your ear as you reach your climax with your back arched and his lips on your neck. And it's the last thing you hear when Sihtric reminds you one more time before bed.

A few months later on the two year anniversary of you finding yourself here, on this page of history, Sihtric tells you he loves you again when the two of you return to the place where Osmund and Mildryd found you, and you tell him all about what brought you to this world. You can't help but feel this is where you were meant to be when Sihtric tells you he prayed for you, too.

For someone who could love him, more than he could himself.

It seems… you were exactly what the other was looking for.

[ilove-cedricdiggory]

Kiss away the insecurities and pain

George x Reader

Requested? No, I just had this idea for a hot minute and needed some George fluff too

Summary - After Draco speaks down on your size, your head is full of the insecurities and your heart is full of the pain.

Trigger Warning - Plus size reader bullying, family abuse,

Your tears slipped down your face, sniffles leaving your lips softly. You were quite used to tears caused by Draco Malfoy, seeing as the pure blood considered you quite a disgrace. Your heart hurt at the thought of people seeing you like he said, especially your boyfriend, George.

You were bigger than most students at Hogwarts, your hips were what muggles called, child birthing hips, your thighs containing more stretch marks than you could count, let alone with both hands, and your tummy was quite the pillow for anyone you trusted to let rest their head on it.

For the most part, that spot was reserved for your amazing boyfriend, George, but you occasionally let your friends cuddle up with you, seeing as how they all commended you on your snuggling skills.

But, Malfoy had just cornered you, Crabbe and Goyle on each side, insulting you about as bad as your entire family did each time the school year ended and you were taken back to their grasps.

"As wide as an elephant." He laughed, looking back at Goyle. "Thighs bigger than the heads of our entire class." He perked in, satisfying the blonde. "I bet it takes three wands to lift her up in the air."

The words bounced in your head, shaking you to your core. The loudest of them all, being what Draco called out as you rushed out of the hallways, "Weasley's probably laughing at her every time she's gone. I bet Lee and Fred dared him to see how long he could last." The sharp words dug holes into your head, insecurities filling up every gap. There were many spaces filled to the brim with insecurities due to your family, but these were the first real ones you had with your relationship.

You had always been precautions with getting into any relationship, especially a romantic one. But George always reassured you that he was in this with you because of your personality, not because of your looks, but either way, he thought you were absolutely stunning. He loved your size, loved the idea of their being more of you to love. To kiss every inch of your skin, to love every ounce of your skin.

But, you hadn't ever considered this to be a dare. You knew Fred and George dared each other to do quite a bit of crazy things, but would they ever play with someone's feelings like this? They wouldn't do that to someone, would they?

No.

No they wouldn't, what were you thinking?

Well...George only really ever dated skinny people before you. People who felt confident in wearing crop tops on warmer days, girls who's thighs together were the size of one of your own. George never dated anyone bigger before you...

That doesn't mean he's playing with me, or was dared to date me, no way.

Tears fell from your cheeks, the inner turmoil digging the insecurities further into your skull.

You weren't sure what time it was when your roommates walked into your room, but each of them had questions for you.

"Where were you? Where have you been?" Their voices were right out of your closed curtains. You kept your eyes shut, hoping they would consider you asleep. After a few more moments, they walked off, although you weren't sure if it was due to them believing you were sleeping, or just annoyed from your silence.

The next morning came, and you still stayed still in bed. You heard your friends come close to your bed, but walk off, moving down stairs to bed. Once you confirmed it was just yourself, you peeled off of your bed and slipped on some of your muggle sweatpants and a bigger sweater, one you purposely bought to be bigger so it could surround you. You silently moved out of your common room, down the hallways, and into the medical wing. Maybe you could convince Madam Pomfrey you were under the weather and give you an excuse to stay in bed.

She took one look at your face, sighed softly, and moved to hug you tightly. Your cheeks still red and puffy from all the tears shed, your eyelashes still damp from the way you fell asleep. Before you said a word, she guided you to a bed and handed you a mug. "It's hot cocoa. You can't stay for longer than today, but I'll tell your professors you're suck and staying in here with me." You were incredibly grateful for the woman, taking a sip of the warm liquid before curling into a ball on the bed.

You hoped George wouldn't hear anything of your recent wearabouts, but you knew your professors would question him about your illness, all of them knowing about your relationship status with the red head.

The hours ticked along, Pomfrey bringing you food, but for the most part, it sat on your bedside table, untouched. Right as you began to drift off to sleep once more, the doors slammed open, causing a bang to vibrate through the colder area. "Mr. Weasley's! What in earth are you doing?" Pomfrey immediately began scolding the two boys, glaring at them.

While you expected George, you still expected Fred, seeing as you had been best friends with them long before you and George began to date. You got them out of punishment your second year and they decided to keep you around. Fred had comforted you after small fights with George, laughed with you while his twin was stuck in the library, trying to understand a lesson he missed, or sat with you at dinner when George had his own detention.

"Madam Pomfrey, where is she? I haven't seen her in two days!" The voice of your boyfriend spoke to the older woman, trying to glance behind her to find your bed. "Mr. Weasley's, she can't have visitors right now, I'm sorry." She began to push them out, closing the doors behind them.

"She has to! I need to see her, we both do! Is she okay? What's wrong with her?" The two were finishing each other's sentences, trying to communicate to the older woman how badly they needed to see you. She glanced back at you, watching as you shook your head no quite quickly. Raising an eyebrow, she opened the doors once more, letting the two in. "Madam Pomfrey!" You groaned, turning over to your other side quickly.

This woman.

You heard their footsteps rush to your bed quickly, finding your covered bed quite quickly, seeing as you were the only one in here. "Your eyes squeezed shut, attempting to keep the tears from slipping from them once more, hoping they would believe you were asleep, even though you were talking moments ago.

"Hey love." George sat right on your bed, Fred taking the seat behind you. "How you feeling?" He asked softly, running his fingers through your hair softly. After a minute of unresponsiveness from you, he sighed softly. "We know you're awake." Fred's voice spoke this time, moving to stand, looking down at you.

You sighed, turning to look up at the two red heads, praying to whatever God was there that your face had calmed down from your last crying fit. But, alas, you were left to curse whoever was out there, seeing both of their faces scrunch up in confusion. "Are you okay love? Are you in pain? I thought Pomfrey would have given you something for pain." George mumbled, looking up to glare at the office, knowing she was in there.

"George, there isn't anything she can give me for this." You mumbled, looking away from them both.

"What on earth are you talking about? I thought the woman had a potion for everything." Fred said, moving to turn around to speak to the healer himself. You quickly grasped onto his wrist, keeping him still.

"I'm not sick, Fred. It was just Malfoy." You whispered, biting your lip at the admission. "What did the git do? Owl Lee, tell him to start grabbing some puking pasties." George spoke to his twin, hate already filling his eyes. "Love, it's nothing I haven't heard before." Your voice grew softer somehow, your heart hurting.

Both Fred and George knew about the abuse from your family, having comforted you many times as you sobbed into their chests. They both wished they could hex every person that spoke to you like that. George's arms quickly wrapped around your frame, pulling you to him, leaving space for Fred to sit on the bed himself. "What did he say?" Fred asked softly, hate filling his entire being.

"Just, normal stuff." You whispered, but felt George gruff at that. "No, what did he say, my love." George hating having to push this stuff from you, but also knew if you didn't speak it out, it would stay in your head for yourself to hear, over and over again.

"He, uh, he said I was the size of an elephant, that my thighs were bigger than everyone's heads in our class combined, that it takes" tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as you spoke the words into the air. "That it takes three wands to lift me up and uh." You paused, not wanting to admit to the two what was being said about your relationship, with either of them.

"Hey, come on, you can tell us." George's warm thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You peered up at the boy, the boy you were madly in love with, and wanted to sob at the idea of having ever thought he would date you as a dare. He was the kindest, sweetest man you had ever met, besides his father, and you knew he loved you incredibly. You sighed, looking over at Fred, seeing him nod slightly, smiling at you.

"He, uh, he said that you were only dating me because Fred and Lee dared you to. That when I wasn't around, you guys probably laughed at the idea of me being with you." You whispered, finding yourself hating Draco about as much as you did your family. To put this kind of fear and insecurity about, not only yourself, but your relationship, had you disgusted.

Fred stood up abruptly, grabbing a spare parchment and pen from another side table, writing ferociously on it. "I'm going to bloody kill him. I'm going to kill him." George mumbled in your ear, holding onto you tighter. "George, I can't kiss you in Azkaban." You tried, hoping to see him crack a smile. "I'll take his place, they won't know the difference." Fred said, continuing to write on the paper. "Freddy, who's going to make me smile when George is in detention?" You hoped to get both of their attention once more, wanting to calm the twins down.

They began to speak to each other, planning what you assumed was the death of Draco Malfoy. "Fred Weasley, George Weasley." You interrupted, looking at the two. "While I want nothing more for a revenge to be set on the Malfoy, can we please just calm down for a second?" You whispered, looking at the boys. "I just want George cuddles and Fred jokes for a bit, please." Your heart hurt less with the honesty of your words to the boys, but your head looked down, hating having to ask for comfort.

Both the boys stilled, looking at you with regret and shamefulness. "Sorry." They both mumbled, George wrapping his arms around you tighter as Fred sat back in his seat. George pulled you into his lap, his hands running through your hair. "First off, you don't believe we'd ever do anything like that to you, do you?" His voice was shaky, afraid of you're response.

"Right after it happened, I was arguing with myself about it. My head was full of the insecurities, from Draco and my family, but my heart knew better. You two would never hurt me, especially not like that. Maybe an accidental prank, but that's the worse you two would ever do to me." You spoke, looking between the both of them. Fred smiled, nodding at you before George kissed you softly. "Secondly." Fred spoke, clearing his throat. "The last thing you should ever worry about is your size, y/n." He was soft spoken, a tone you only heard when he was serious.

"You're absolutely beautiful, incredibly smart, and so much more than your size of clothes. Draco Malfoy and your family are so incredibly insecure for trying to make you feel bad about yourself like that. So, so stupid." George kissed your head, attempting to calm himself down.

"I just, I hate the idea of people seeing me as nothing more than my size." You mumbled, looking up at the twins. "Y/n, you are so incredibly more than your size. Anyone who refuses to see that is nothing more than their stupidity." You smiled, laughing softly at them.

"Now, can we please go back to the common room to plan the sweet revenge on the twat?" Fred asked, George slowly standing the two of you up. You all walked to Pomfrey's office, thanking her for letting you stay for the day before you walked hand in hand with George.

You knew, no matter what was said about your size, Fred and George Weasley would always be there to make you smile, and George would always be there to kiss away the insecurities and pain.

[imagine-loki]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 7

TITLE: Tear You To Pieces CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 7 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was sent to make up for his deeds by helping out The Avengers at the tower. Everyone thinks he’s changed, but he is just biding his time. He manipulates and uses someone who works there, who has a crush on him, to get exactly what he wants.  RATING: M

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: DARK LOKI, RAPE/NON-CON, MANIPULATION, MURDER, VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, KIDNAPPING

Kelly was so nervous, no, terrified that she was going to get caught by Stark or one of the other team members.

What she was doing was breaking every single rule there was. Even though she was part of the security team and could simply say she was improving the system, there would be lots of questions. Why at this time of night when she should be sound asleep in bed? Why did she have the box that contained Loki’s powers? Why had she turned off all the security cameras and overridden Jarvis?

She tried to remain calm and stop her hands from shaking as she picked up the golden box. She had still been worried that it would burn her hands or maybe explode upon being picked up by a human, since it was from Asgard. But she was relieved when it just felt like a heavy golden box. Not that she had ever picked up a heavy golden box before…

After replacing all the security firewalls and making sure it looked like it had been untouched, she rushed back to the security room to turn the cameras back on and sort out a loop for the tapes. It was easy enough for her to do. Overriding Jarvis had been the difficult part, but she had managed from her own room with her own computers and equipment.

As she rushed back into her room to finish off, she nearly screamed because Loki was stood in the middle of her room, waiting for her. He couldn’t help himself from being eager. But she could understand that, really. He had a part of him taken away from him without consent. That couldn’t have been nice at all.

‘Loki! You scared me.’ She blushed hard, as usual when she saw him.

‘Sorry, darling. That was not my intention… I just merely wanted to check that you’re alright, and if you managed to get it.’ He said softly and reached out to give her upper arm a soft squeeze.

‘All good. I just need to release Jarvis… Here, I believe this is yours.’ She handed him the duffel bag she had with her. While she sorted Jarvis, Loki opened the bag and felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through him when he saw she had succeeded in getting him the box.

‘I can’t thank you enough, Kelly my dear. You’ve done so well for me, I am so proud of you for doing this. Your skills are truly impeccable.’ He moved towards her once she was finished and he embraced her, making her heart soar as she hugged into him.

‘You’re welcome, Loki. I’m glad I could help.’ She said with a big smile as she looked up at him.

He let go of her and leaned back, grinning from ear to ear down at her. ‘You have no idea how much you have helped me. I am forever grateful, pet. I shall never forget this.’

‘Really, it’s my pleasure. I’m just glad I’ve been able to help, I hate the thought of anything bad happening to you.’ She said, slightly flustered.

Loki cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘Nothing bad is ever going to happen to me, pet. Or you. I give you my word.’ He whispered.

Loki went back to his own room not long after. Kelly assumed he was going to get his powers into him. She wasn’t even sure how that would work, she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to know anyway.

When she went to bed, she took a while to get to sleep. Her mind was racing. Did she do the right thing? What if she was found out? But she eventually calmed herself down, knowing Loki wouldn’t let anything bad happen. It wasn’t like he was going to use his powers for bad now, anyway. He wasn’t under Thanos’ control anymore. He had changed.

And she hoped that once the others saw that, even if they found out he had his full potential, it wouldn’t matter by then. As he’d have proved himself worthy of their trust from missions, especially the big one coming up.

-

The following morning, it was late morning and Kelly was a little nervous as she hadn’t seen Loki yet. He was usually an early riser, but there was no sign yet. No one else had noticed, or even cared.

Part of her was worried in-case he’d ran off. She wasn’t entirely sure what all of his powers were, exactly. What he was capable of. But she knew teleportation was one of them. Again, she wasn’t sure how strong and how far he could actually go. But it was at the back of her mind.

She instantly felt guilty for thinking such a thing when Loki came strolling into the kitchen.

But then she noticed he seemed a bit… off. He was wearing his full Asgardian armour, which was unusual unless he was off on a mission or training.

‘Morning, Loki. Is everything ok?’ She called over to him. Clint was also in the kitchen leaning on the counter, and Pepper was making a brew. But they paid no attention to Loki. As usual.

‘Everything is absolutely wonderful, my pet.’ Loki growled. His voice was darker, much darker than normal. It sent shivers down Kelly’s spine, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was the good kind or not.

Clint and Pepper looked over at Loki then, noting the difference in his tone too.

‘What have you done, Loki?’ Clint asked warily.

‘Nothing…’ The wickedest, most evil grin spread across Loki’s face. ‘Yet.’

Kelly felt like time froze as Loki suddenly aimed the palm of his hand towards Jarvis’ camera in the corner of the kitchen and blasted it to pieces with his green energy.

‘LOKI?’ Kelly screeched at him, confused and scared.

Clint jumped up to his feet and Pepper was about to call Tony. But Loki used the same energy and blasted Pepper right through the wall. A few SHIELD agents that had been close by came running in, but Loki dealt with them easily.

‘What the hell, why does he have his powers?’ Clint shouted and made a move for his arrows that were on a chair a few feet away from him.

‘I’m sorry… He said he needed it for the big mission, that he was worried.’ Kelly blurted out quickly, eyes wide as she watched Clint scramble for his arrows and bow.

Clint grabbed his bow and began pulling out an arrow, he glanced at Kelly, frowning. ‘Mission? What miss’ before he could even take aim at Loki, he was taken out too by Loki. With terrifying ease.

Kelly let out a scream and she ran in a blind panic towards the door. But a strong arm slipped around her middle and stopped her, lifting her off the ground and into his body. She kicked and screamed, trying to get him to let go.

‘Now now, pet. No need to fear me, I will spare you, while I burn this place to the ground.’ He growled into her ear.

Before Kelly could apprehend what was happening, Loki put a spell over her and transported her elsewhere. Her vision went hazy and all she remembered seeing last was Tony in his suit flying into the kitchen, using his blasters on Loki.

-

When Kelly came round, she was confused as to where she was at first. But as she sat up and blinked a few times, she realised she was in a library. She recognised it.

Running towards the door, stumbling a bit on the way, she burst outside and looked up and down the street. People were running around and screaming in panic. She looked up the road and towering over the buildings of the city she could see the Avengers tower. There were huge explosions coming from it, a big fire and gaping holes. It was getting utterly destroyed.  

‘What have I done?’ She sobbed, putting her hand over her mouth.

But she knew this wasn’t the time to be scared or to cry. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and started running up the road towards the tower, while other people were running away from it.

She needed to try and reach Loki, try and talk sense into him before he killed anyone else. She could only hope and pray that she wouldn’t be too late.

But Loki wasn’t under Thanos’ control this time. There was no hope of acceptance from his father or brother, he didn’t want to be equal to anyone anymore. He had no leash, he was his own master. In control of his own destiny.

And he was going to make sure he got what he wanted.

[believe-in-alderaan]

Merrin has a nightmare where she succeeds in killing Cal when they first met, but as he is dying, she gets a glimpse of how important he could have been to her.

You really want me (and everyone else) to suffer, huh? Also, I made it the second meeting, sorry.

“Back off! You attack me again, I’ll strike you down,” Cal huffed, his lightsaber glowing beside him.

Merrin looked down at the young fool with distaste. “Oh, I won’t do a thing,” she taunted, raising her arms. “But my murdered sisters…” A ball of green light formed in her hands, then exploded outward touching various pods hanging from dead trees and rock. The pods opened, revealing the reanimated corpses of nightsisters who had been long dead. “THEY will have their revenge!” Merrin finished triumphantly. She watched with pleasure as Cal’s face changed from determination to horror. More and more of the undead emerged from their cocoons and surrounded him.

Merrin made herself vanish in a flash of green. She then effortlessly jumped from one ledge to another and sat, watching the scene unfold.

The young Jedi was skilled with his weapon, but he was vastly outnumbered by the nightsisters. They also possessed a bit of magick from Merrin’s spell, making them a credible threat to Cal. How DARE he invade Dathomir, just like the Jedi before him. He and his kind would continue to pay for their treachery.

“Grahhh!” Cal had taken a blow to the head. His lightsaber clattered away from him and both of his hands went to his bleeding forehead.

The little droid that was with him ran up and produced some sort of vial. Cal took it and stabbed it straight into his own neck. The stim seemed to help him back to his feet and he recalled his lightsaber with his outstretched hand.

Another wave of cursed nightsisters descended on the doomed Jedi. He hacked and sliced and force-pushed them away while attempting to run.

“Enough!” Merrin wasn’t having that. She summoned her Magick and used it to drag him back to the hoard of nightsisters. She then commanded her undead sisters to stop attacking and to just hold him.

Soon, Cal was on his knees. His arms and legs were being held fast by the dead nightsisters, his lightsaber nowhere to be found. BD-1 was also disabled, his metallic legs torn from their sockets.

Merrin reappeared right in front of Cal, a light smirk on her lips. “And now, Jedi, you will die as my sisters died.” She waved a hand to one of the undead sisters who then snagged Cal by the hair and forced him to look up at Merrin. His face was marred with scratches and blood, one of his eyes bruised and blackened. Still, he looked determined and angry.

From thin air, Merrin drew a dagger. Laced with magick it glowed a sickly green. She held the weapon in her hand. Then, in one elegant movement, she drove the blade into the chest of the young Jedi.

Cal’s eyes grew wide, his mouth agape. The only sound that escaped was a cough and gurgle before he was thrown backward by the undead nightsisters. He landed in a heap on the ground, barely breathing.

Merrin approached Cal, full of pride for the revenge she had gained for her sisters. She reached out to grab the dagger, ready to pull it from his chest. The dying Jedi looked her right in the eye…

“No… this is WRONG!” Merrin shouted, images flashing before her eyes. Something was wrong, why was she feeling regret? What happened here? She could see… visions of herself and this Jedi, together defeating Malicos, spending time together on the Mantis, helping him retrieve the holocron...

She tried to will herself to jump back, to release the blade. It was suddenly like she was standing next to herself, watching her drive the blade deeper, then pull it back. The image before her was twisting, resurfacing old memories of watching her sisters die.

Cal took one last shaking breath before going limp. Merrin watched herself examine the blade with a deeply disturbing grin.

“CAL!”

Merrin sat up in her bunk, tears streaming down her face. She threw a hand over her own mouth and let out a loud sob, then inhaled sharply trying to calm herself down.

“Merrin?? Merrin!” Cal was swiftly beside her, placing a comforting hand on her back.

The gesture grounded her and helped her hush her crying. She rubbed her eyes and coughed. Her stomach was twisted in knots by this point, but Cal’s soft rubbing on her back was helping her regain her full-self. She was on the Mantis, they were safe on Bogano while Cal recovered from his injury given to him by Darth Vader, she hadn’t killed him and had actually saved him.

“N...nightmare,” she finally stammered.

“That’s what I guessed,” Cal said softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Merrin shook her head. “No no I’m… I’m fine.”

[whump-town]

The Lies We Tell

Aaron Hotchner has been lied to his entire life. That’s the thing about good intentions...

Warnings:  abuse

The day that Haley’s family moved into the neighborhood is seared into Hotch’s memory.

He was pulled out of bed by his father. The older man slurring his words, heavily affected by whatever cheap liquor he’d been drowning himself in the entire afternoon prior. He had no chance to understand what was being said. He’d gone, regardless, in the direction of his father’s pulling to alleviate the pressure on his shoulder joint. Knowing too much of the pinned, awkward angle would spell misfortune for him.  

Sure enough, his shoulder comes free with a pop and a chocked grunt of pain-- he knows better than to cry out. He suffers through the drunken rant his father’s worked himself into, careful to keep his wounded arm tight to his chest. In the privacy he’s afforded, only after his father’s taken a few blows and has resigned himself to sleeping off his slump, he can reset his shoulder. Should he do it by himself? No. There, simply, isn’t any other option.

With word of the family moving in down the street, the Brooke’s, his father sobers up to put up his best front: loving father who day-lights as a lawyer and spends his nights beating the shit out of his family. That doesn’t mean that Aaron doesn’t manage to “step out of line” just as they’re leaving-- how dare he existed in his home. 

With his ears still ringing from the blow to his head, vision swimming, Aaron Hotchner stands between his mother and father on Brooke’s lawn. His father beams down at him, pride and joy in every area of his face except in his eyes. The only place it matters is the only place it isn’t. The family across from them doesn’t take note of how empty his father’s eyes are or how hard his grip is on Aaron’s bony shoulder. All they see is a family that mirrors their own:

A father, a mother, and two children. 

The Brookes are a good family. It takes years for Aaron to grow out of his contempt for them. By then, his father is dying and the beatings are getting worse. 

“Aaron--” 

He falls hard for Haley Brookes and for some reason she gives the world’s worse pirate #3 a chance. She starts to wonder how a guy like Aaron falls through the cracks. He does plenty of clubs and he’s as sweet as can be. His personality is a little underdeveloped, as are his social skills, and he doesn’t always understand current social things, but he’s funny, and he’s handsome.

And he’s got an awful home life. 

“Oh God,” she reaches for him and quickly realizes that was a mistake. “Sorry,” she whispers, taking a step back. She hadn’t expected the broken sob to leave his mouth when she reached for him. Sure, she’d noticed that sometimes if she reaches for his hand too fast he flinches away. She just hadn’t connected his bruises for… for this.

He’s shaking in their doorway, soaking wet from the rain pouring down outside. It’s too cold to let him stand out there for too long. 

She wracks her brain for what to do and with shaky inhale she forces herself to calm down. Aaron’s always fed off of the energy others give, it’s one of the first things you notice the longer you’re around him. His empathy is high. “Aaron,” she calls softly, extending her hand out of the doorway to him. He still has to step to reach her but that leaves their proximity in his control. 

It takes him a moment but he steps closer and allows his fingers to brush against hers. 

He knows Haley is safe. Haley will help him. He’s struggling. The line between pain and comfort is distorted. He’s scared and it immobilizes him. Rationally he knows-- he knows Haley will help him but he’s afraid his father will see. What if he hurts her too?

“Son?”

Mr. Brookes. He’ll protect them from his father.

“Son, what the hell--” 

Haley steps between them, seeing the way Aaron’s eyes light up at the sight of her father. He’s not in his rational mind. This isn’t his fault. “Daddy,” she warns softly. Mercifully, they pass between them an understanding. Her father hates the Hotchners and he distrusts Aaron and his motivations. But he understands this. He understands where the bruise swelling on Aaron’s right cheekbone came from.

“Let me help,” Haley whispers to Aaron. “Come on, you’ll be okay.” She offers her hand back out and watches as Aaron’s eyes pass between her and her father. There’s another moment, more hesitation but he finally breaks the gap. He trusts her. He’s always trusted her.

Once he steps forward, this time, he doesn’t stop until he’s got both arms wrapped around Haley. He sobs into her collar and she holds him. Pulls him close until he’s practically folded into himself to be at her height. To allow himself to sink into her arms and just be held. 

Haley’s mother brings in a bag of peas, cliche but the only thing they have to reduce the swelling in his face. Mr. Brookes stays in the kitchen, watching from the doorway as his wife and daughter aid Aaron. As uneasy as the situation feels him, there’s a stir of pride in the pit of his stomach at the side of Haley being so tender.

“Shh,” Haley runs her hand through Aaron’s wet hair. He flinches from the touch of the cold press to his cheek, pushing himself closer to Haley. She expects the movement and wordlessly takes the bag from her mother. “It’s alright,” she soothes and this time he sees the bag coming. He doesn’t fight it. 

“I’m right here.” She promises, “always. I’ll always be right here.”

He places his hand over her own. It takes him a moment to realize where he is-- laying in the Brookes’s living room with his head in Haley’s lap. Blinking tears out of his eyes he asks, “do you promise?”

Haley nods and presses a kiss to his forehead, “I promise, Aaron. I’m right here.”

That was the first lie she ever told him. 

___________

He makes it through training. Paperwork comes and goes. He can wrap his head around the cases that hurt the most but... he still stumbles. He’s not figured out how to hide these things from people trained to detect exactly what he’s doing. Jason and Dave are unforgiving. They push and push at his broken pieces.  There’s a moment, suspended, where he can recognize that he has exactly two options: fall apart or tell. 

And the time to make that decision is quickly leaving. 

The silence is building and while he understands that there is nothing wrong with the silence normally, here it is baited. Each moment he allows Dave’s question to go unanswered is another ticking time bomb that allows Dave to come to his own conclusion, however right they may be. 

Hotch doesn’t typically appreciate people getting into his head. He doesn’t appreciate anyone getting into his head. There’s a strange give and take with Dave, though. He’s come to understand a certain level of giving-- personal information as little as a review of his day or, from what Dave wants, an in-depth analysis of his childhood. These things equate to trust and… and, well, love. 

“Well?”

But he can’t say the words. They’re stuck in the back of his throat-- worse than choking. Exactly like choking. He doesn’t want the words there. He wants them aired out. He wants to tell Dave that his father hit him so badly once that he was hospitalized for three days in the ICU. That the hitting wasn’t enough. As he got too weak to hit, the verbal abuse was just effective. 

But there’s no Heimlich maneuver for emotions.

Just growth. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hotch doesn’t dare look up from the paperwork in his lap. 

The question had been if he was willing to tell Dave what it was that had bothered him so much about the family of their almost victim. Almost, being subjective. The boy had still been through the trauma of being kidnapped, it was just some cruel mercy he wasn’t killed. 

And for what? Hotch knew exactly what they were sending that boy back home to.

It’s the same thing he used to go home to.

Dave hums, it’s a specific sound he makes in the back of his throat and Hotch knows exactly what it means. He looks up and Dave just raises an eyebrow and shrugs it away. “I was just wondering,” he mumbles. “I also thought you should know that Jason called child protective services and I have a friend working on getting those kids out of that house.”

So he had seen the bruises.

“Oh,” escapes his mouth before he can bite it down. He nods his head and looks away, afraid of what he might see if looks at Dave for too long. “The father was unhinged,” he profiles. “Those kids won’t survive much longer with him.”

Dave nods, he’d come to the same conclusion. “Can’t imagine what it would be like to be raised by a man like that,” Dave says with a sympathetic shake of his head. “No one deserves that.”

Hotch refrains from nodding or even acknowledging that statement because he knows it’s meant for him. At him. Saying anything is admitting that Dave’s right. 

Clearing his throat, Dave settles his attention back on the road. They’ve got a long drive ahead of them. Plenty of opportunities to have this discussion another time. Aaron’s just starting to hope that’s exactly what’s going to happen when Dave glances over at him.

"When was the last time you slept, " Dave plays his worried glance off by looking in the rear view mirror. Checking behind them. But he doesn't need to be looking at Hotch to know if he's lying or not. The kid looks like shit. He hasn't slept properly in days.

Hotch looks out the window, leaning his temple against the cool glass. "Don't know, " he mumbles. 

Rossi hums. 

"Why?"

Rossi glances at him, for a long hard minute it's a battle of wills. With a raised eyebrow, Dave shrugs. "Just checking in on you, am I not allowed to do that?"

Hotch doesn't reply. He doesn't even look up.

“Kid?”

Dammit. He wants to keep to himself. He wants to just crawl into a hole and act like nothing’s wrong. His childhood was great. His father was a hero. His mother… but he can’t even breathe. Each inhale gets caught in his throat and he can feel panic setting it. He needs to get out of this car. “P-Pull over,” he gasps, fingers going to his noose-- tie. “Pull over!” 

He throws his door open, rushing out and toppling over onto his knees, gagging into the tall grass. A small voice in his head warns of the dangers of a snake, he did grow up in the south, but the way his stomach keeps cramping pushes that thought away. There are more dangerous things than a snake-- he used to live with one.

“Easy,” Dave mumbles from behind him and Hotch realizes he’s now leaning into Dave. Allowing the older man to hold him. “Easy, kid, just breathe.” Through each shuddering breath he pulls in, Hotch can feel Dave rubbing his hand up and down his back. His head is pounding, his ears pulsing. “Tell me next time you’re feeling sick, okay?”

Hotch leans back over, gagging miserably but unable to bring up anything with nothing left in his stomach. 

“Look at me,” Dave asks, handing him a handkerchief to wipe his face off with. “I’m not going anywhere, kid. You can trust me. I’ll always be right here.”

Two months later he retires. Hotch doesn’t even get two weeks’ notice.

___________

He keeps counting. Jason Gideon keeps counting and each time he comes up one short. The radio in his ear buzzes, body counts over and over listed for the personnel looking through the carnage. There are plenty of missing officers, a single swat agent, and-and Jason’s one missing agent. Possible missing agent.

Six agents in… If six agents went in then there should still be-- Aaron. 

Swaying where he stands,  Aaron’s looking at the ruined building before him. His dark brown hair is pushed in disarray atop his head. No amount of gel keeping his crazy hair down. Jason’s always found it an endearing, if not silly, thing for someone so serious to have. But right now he can’t appreciate the cowlicks.

“Aaron,” Jason calls, knowing how the younger man startles when he’s not expecting being touched. “Can you hear me?” The closer he gets the more blood he sees. It might not be Aaron’s. That’s a very real possibility but Jason doubts that the crimson stain on his chest is entirely someone else’s. 

Neither of their luck is that good. 

And Jason knows he’s broken his promise to Dave.

“Watch out for the kid, huh? He…--”

“Get himself into trouble? Yeah, I know. I’ll watch his back.”

Who was watching his back today? Not Jason. He let six agents die. He was stupid. It was a stupid mistake and now everyone else is paying for it.

“Gideon?” Aaron turns to him, confusion pulling his thick brows down. “I can’t--” he looks around them, to the smoke and the building. “I can’t find Morgan. He… I just--” He winces in pain, his left hand touching his abdomen and he pulls it away bloody. He looks up to Gideon, tears in his eyes, “I can’t find Morgan.”

Jason nods his understanding, keeping his slow approach. “That’s okay,” he reassures him. “Don’t you remember? I sent Morgan back to Quantico.” He’s close enough now to touch Aaron and he offers a squeeze to his shoulder. “He’s okay. He’s safe.”

Aaron sucks in a breath, it sounds like a sob but he nods his understanding. His knees start to give beneath him, no reason to keep fighting if Morgan’s okay. 

Jason catches him around the waist just as his knees cave beneath his weight. “It’s okay,” he breathes, shushing Aaron’s incoherent mumble. “You’re okay.” He places his hand over the wound, it’s easy to identify. It’s the only warm place on Hotch’s entire body. The strangled cry that leaves his pale lips rips through Jason. 

His breathing immediately becomes more labored, his eyes slivers. “Hurts…” his face is awfully pale. His skin is clammy. 

“Shh,” Jason looks motions for the medics running towards them to run faster. “I know, I know.” He tries to step back and give the medics room but the moment he moves Aaron grabs his hand. “Alright,” he settles back down, making sure to be out of the way but holding Aaron’s hand back. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.”

The minute he passes out, Jason pulls away. He just can’t do it. He needs to get away.

Hotch spends weeks in the hospital.

Morgan’s there… but that’s because no one else can be. Their unit is dead. They have to start from the beginning. It’s just Derek, Hotch, and Gideon. And Gideon’s off… God knows where. 

The day Hotch is released from the hospital, Jason visits. He stands in the doorway of the room, smiling as Hotch and Derek argue while Haley stands to the side, obviously displeased. He’s always enjoyed Morgan and Hotch’s brotherly friendship. No one was faster at putting the other in their place like the other but let either hear someone else bad mouth them and they’d go down swinging. 

Derek wins the argument and Hotch lets him help him into the wheelchair. When Derek looks up, pushing the feet of the wheelchair so that Hotch can rest his feet on them, he follows Hotch’s eyes to the doorway. “What are you doing here?” he spits.

It’s unkind but Jason’s expecting it just as much as Hotch’s soft reprimand in the form of a Morgan’s name grunted. 

Morgan looks back at Hotch, about to start another argument but they share a glance and before either says anything Haley steps up. “Come on,” she motions for Morgan to follow her. “Just give them a minute.”

Morgan gives Jason the look. It means many things but today it’s a warning. If Jason hurts Hotch, Morgan’s going to do worse to him. Boss or not. 

“How are you?” Jason asks, settling himself on the edge of Hotch’s vacated bed.

Hotch looks down at his hands, nervously picking at his nails. He shakes his head, “I’ll be back at the office in two weeks but they’re not letting me back into the field until at least the end of the month.” He looks up at Jason, “ and I have to pass all the field requirements.”

Jason nods, “that’s good.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “But that’s not what I asked.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, not exactly playing stupid but not playing along either. “Mmm,” he looks back down at his hands, brows furrowed now. “Haley’s pregnant, she--” he looks up at the doorway as if expecting her there. “She wants me to transfer. Go someplace safer.”

Jason takes this in for a moment, looking to the ground. He shrugs, “it’s understandable. You’re going to be a father, Aaron. Of course, she wants you alive.” He looks down at the floor, in shame or contempt, or just vulnerability. “You’ll be safer anyhow, now,” he adds. “If you decide to stay you’re going to be taking the Unit Cheif position.”

Hotch’s head snaps up, “they-” He looks away from Jason, processing the information. After a moment, he looks back up. “They took your job?”

Jason shakes his head, “no.” He nods his head towards Hotch, “they gave my position to a worthy candidate, whose name I put in the ring myself.” He smiles proudly, “and I am going to watch him build a new team as his senior agent.”

Hotch looks up at Jason and shakes his head but he looks away, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. He knows he can do the job. That’s always what he wanted-- hell, it’s what Dave and Jason both wanted. He just wasn’t expecting it so soon. He’s not sure he’s ready for it so soon.

“You’ll be great,” Jason reassures him. He gets off the bed and crouches down beside the wheelchair. Leaving the two men eye-level. “There’s no one that could do this job better.”

Hotch feels pretty adamant about this. 

“Look at me,” Jason requests. “Nothing is going to happen. You’re a natural leader.”

Hotch nods.

“You’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Two years later, as Hotch stands before Strauss knowing that the last year has been an unraveling-- a never-ending list of things that have gone wrong and reasons to fire him-- he wishes Jason were here. He shouldn’t have to deal with all of this alone. And yet he does. 

___________

The world was on fire. Flames licking at the side of his arm and the way his legs refused to properly hold his weight. His knees hitting the gravel and the sting of skin tearing. But he’d sat in something wet. Crimson. 

Morgan was there. He was kneeling beside Hotch, his hand on his shoulder. 

“Agent Hotchner?” He flinches away from the penlight in his eyes. Someone says something and a palm settles across his forehead, this time he can’t move away as the light comes back. “Can you hear me, Agent Hotchner?” 

Morgan stands up from his chair. He pushes himself between the doctor and Hotch. “You’re hurting him,” he accuses hotly. The doctor can’t refute that statement, Hotch is still groaning from the pain spiking through his head. He’s raised his hands to ward off another attack from the light, writhing as he moves his sore body to get away from where he knows it came from.

The doctor sighs. Of course, he understands the proximity of agents. This isn’t his first time dealing with government agents. Things are just becoming tricky. Agent Hotchner’s condition is critical and Agent Morgan understands that a little too well. He just doesn’t understand that his friend’s not going to catch his death with a doctor flashing a penlight into his eyes but he might if his concussion worsens or turns into a brain bleed. 

“Agent,” the doctor says, growing impatient as Agent Hotchner grows more restless. “I understand your concern but your friend needs my help.” He knows he’s won the moment Morgan turns to look at Hotch. “Let me get him something for the pain and we can discuss this some more, okay?”

Morgan looks over to Hotch. 

He’s crying, most likely not even aware of the tears streaming down his face. His hands are pressed over his ears and he’s turned over so that his back is to them. He’s managed to draw his knees to his chest. He’s entirely defensive, his pain is that bad.

“Okay,” the doctor repeats and this time Morgan nods. “Okay.” He steps right up to Hotch’s bedside, gently shaking the agent’s arm. “Agent Hotchner, can you hear me?” He doesn’t shine the penlight in his eyes, he just tries to get some sort of answer out of the other man. 

Hotch manages a grumbled response, it’s too soft for Morgan to catch but the nurse facing Hotch looks up and repeats it. “He’s saying he’s okay.”

“He--” Morgan steps forward about to make sure they understand that’s very much not true but the doctor raises his hand and Morgan stops in his tracks.

“I know, “ the doctor confirms. He leans back over Hotch, “Agent, I’m going to have our very helpful nurse Sarah give you some pain meds, okay?” He pulls at the back of the gown Hotch’s bloodied clothes had been replaced by. He frowns at the road burn he finds but doesn’t comment. “You’ll be feeling a lot better in just a moment.”

The doctor steps to the side and motions for Morgan to follow.

Hotch cracks an eye open, fighting the currents of pain trying to drag him down to watch as the nurse pushing something painfully hot into his arm. It’s clear and his slurred speech doesn’t stop her. She pulls the syringe free and he just watches, that intense warmth working its way up his arm and into his chest. It hurts and it itches but his eyelids start to drop. Impossibly heavy.

Derek appears out of… well, nowhere. Hotch’s eyes move to the left, following the direction from which he appeared but he’s too tired to move his head and really figure out what’s happening. 

“Hey man,” Morgan greets. 

There’s something about the face that Morgan makes as he sits down in the visitor’s chair that sparks a sudden memory. “Kate,” Hotch rasps.

The doctor had just told Morgan that any stress is going to be too much. That Hotch’s heart and body just can’t take it. 

Morgan looks up as the nurse tries to step between them, allowing her through. She places a mask over Hotch’s face, replacing the canal he’d worn just a moment ago. Worse, Morgan recalls, the doctor said he was getting worse. So when he sits down he puts on his best show. 

“Joyner,” Morgan says. “You mean Kate Joyner.”

Hotch manages a small nod.

Morgan has to think carefully about his lie. He’ll have to recall these details later, to make sure the others understand his white lie. More importantly, Hotch has to believe him without a shred of doubt. “She’s downstairs,” Morgan says, which true. He’s just hoping Hotch assumes the E.R. and not the morgue. “You don’t need to worry about her, though,” Morgan says.

Hotch nods, “she’s… she’s okay?”

Morgan pulls in a steady breath, “she’s okay.” He smiles and offers Hotch a reassuring nod. “Get some sleep, man, you could use it.” He reaches over and squeezes Hotch’s hand, making sure he knows he’s not going anywhere.

Hotch can’t fight the drugs any longer. “The others,” he whispers. Morgan can’t hear him. “The others, are they okay?” 

His breathing has become steadily worse and Morgan knows that if he doesn’t shut Hotch up soon they’re going to kick him out. Which may seem like a good thing but they don’t know Hotch. He’ll kill himself trying to get out of bed to make sure no one else is hurt. 

“Everyone’s okay.” 

And Hotch doesn’t need to know any more than that. They’ll catch the terrorist and he can worry about not dying on them. Because Morgan’s not sure he can handle anything but Hotch walking away from this. 

He… He will walk away from this, right?

“Rest,” Morgan whispers. “We’ll handle everything.”

A month later, with ears as healed as they’re going to get and Morgan by his side, Hotch visits Kate Joyner’s grave.

“I’m sorry I…” Morgan can’t look at the gravestone or Hotch so he averts his eyes to the grass.

It takes a moment but Hotch’s voice cuts through the cold air with the thickness of his surfacing guilt. “It doesn’t matter.” 

It did.

___________

Eventually, Dave leaves and Hotch is left with nothing but his previously raised question: what will his son remember about his in ten years? And no answer. 

He falls asleep. It’s not a conscious choice but one his body makes for him. He’s been awake for the upwards of five hours, pushing past the mental fog a little too far. That had always been a problem for him. He could push his body, and he certainly would, but eventually, his brain would catch up. And, just as it had today, would override his determination to keep pushing.

He wakes to the sight of Emily Prentiss. She’s curled up in the visitor’s chair that she’d occupied earlier. Despite the days unraveling, she seems as relaxed as possible. But, then, she’s always held the danger of still water. 

“You should have gone home with the others.” His voice seems caught around his sternum, lower and more agitated in tone than normal. Grumpy. He can’t help it. He’s not sure he could even smile right now if he had to. Not that there’s any reason to. 

He’s completely alone.

She doesn’t pay his tone or attitude much mind but when has she? Given the last two years, he knows she’s grown some traction with the team and… well, they’ve grown closer as well. He knows this with an unfailing certainty when she simply shrugs away his comment. 

Sometimes, they can really test him.

As she does frequently. 

“I did go home,” she clarifies, flipping the page in her book without looking up at him. “And before you ask, I even got a good eight hours of sleep.” 

He rolls his eyes, definitely something he wouldn’t do if not for the hefty amount of strong pain killers being dumped into his bloodstream. He knows he’s been beat, as he often is when it comes to Emily Prentiss, because he can’t disprove she’s slept or went home. 

She reaches up and pulls--what he assumes is coffee-based off of the container-- a cup to her. She sips it and glances up at him. “Besides,” she says, putting the cup back. “I’m taking the first watch. I have to be here even if you don’t want me here.”

He understands well enough. Taking watch is not a new concept but the notion that he’d be on its receiving end is. He also knows she doesn’t mean the Bureau has assigned them to set watch, they’ve decided it amongst themselves. It almost makes the pain in his chest… numb.

He averts his eyes, looking to the ceiling. What’s he supposed to say to that anyway?

“How are you feeling,” she asks, tucking a bookmark in between the pages of her book. She sets it down in her lap, her full attention coming to him, even if he doesn’t want it. “Don’t lie,” she warns. “Your heartbeat is being measured out for me to see and you’re not that good at lying when you’re high.”

Like he’s let his heart rate give away if he was lying or not… besides, they both know lying while high thing is true. He hates that. “Fine,” he mumbles, eyes still on the ceiling.

She hums, “fine.” Sure. He gets stabbed nine times in his apartment after a case sent from hell by a serial killer they have profiled and know will continue to stalk Hotch for as long as possible. His only family has just been sent away for the next to foreseeable future and he’s fine. Just fine.

But what’s she to say. Everything’s going to be okay? She doesn’t know that. Even if they catch Foyet, that’s not going to mean Hotch can still look at himself in the mirror. It’s not going to fix the physiological torture.

She probably shouldn’t but she reaches between the two of them and gently takes his head. “Aaron,” she whispers because this isn’t the time for business casual nicknames. “We’re going to catch that son of a bitch,” her conviction feels misplaced but he can’t even bear to look at her and tell her that. “And you’re not going to lose anyone else.”

He nods, not able to trust his voice. 

He’s exhausted. Too tired to argue with her. 

“Okay.” 

She sits back in her chair and they sit in one another silent comfort. A few minutes pass and she looks up and finds him sleep peacefully. Those brows finally having relaxed and his mouth open. She’ll be right here to keep the demons away and if Foyet decides to show his miserable face? He won’t be ready for the beating she’ll lay on him.

She just has no idea how wrong her promise is. 

Now, she can squeeze his hand and promise him that he won’t lose anyone else. And he doesn’t for a few months. 

Then she finds him crouched over Foyet’s dead body and Ian Doyle claws his way from the grave. 

And he has to bury her. 

He looses her too. 

[commanderserwin]

again.

↦ pairing(s): eren yeager x reader

↦ word count: 2.6k

↦ request by: @bellbee​ - Could you write a scenario about Eren breaking up with his s/o because of Ymir's curse? He doesn't want her to be stuck to him after he die and, knowing that she won't let him, he asks others not to tell and lies to her saying he doesn't love her anymore, but Armin tells her the truth. She confronts Eren with anger, they argue, but resolve everything by idk 😂 i trust you to decide.

↦ author’s note(s): set right after the ending of s3, so the end is kinda vague. thank you for your request and i hope that you like!!!

╍╍╍╍╍╍╍╍╍╍╍

“I don’t love you.” 

“Eren... I don’t understand.”

“How do you not understand? I don’t love you!”

“Eren!”

“We’re teenagers! What do you even know about love?!”

Eren breathed hard, turning away from you as he stared ahead at the night skies, inching away from you. He has started to count his years. He’s worried that the years he has left isn’t enough for him and for you. He gripped the wooden fence, his knuckles turning white as he heard your tiny sobs. He closed his eyes, hoping that his own tears won’t fall. But when he opened his eyes, he whipped around, looking for you, and his heart broke when he already saw you walking away from him. 

╼╾╼╾╼╾╼╾╼╾

The sunlight hit your room through the open windows, shining the shimmer of an another bright new day. But, it wasn’t exactly the brightest day you have. Last night was one of the worst nights that has ever happened. You didn’t want to think that it’ll come to this. As much as you overlooked the signs, the cold-shoulders, the silence, you don’t have it in you to face the truth. What good did it even bring? Now look, you were a crying mess. Swollen eyes, sniffles, and a heavy heart. The most heaviest you have ever felt, it was suffocating, it was as if somebody has curled your heart into their palm, closing in and in, until you couldn’t breathe anymore. 

That was when you cried out loud. No care of who will ever hear you. Placing the your palms over your eyes, you cried laying down, feeling your tears run down through your eyes and ears, as you tried to steady your breathing, but you couldn’t. It just hurts so much. It feels like your heart was getting stabbed repeatedly, until it bled out into cries and tears. It was all too much. 

You pushed yourself off of the bed, feeling heavy as ever. You sat up, gathering every thing in yourself to stand up, as you sobbed quietly. You closed your eyes, taking deeper breaths as you count one to ten. You were already late for the morning call, but you didn’t care, as you struggled to stand up and head to the bathroom. You couldn’t help but cry a little more as you bathe, pushing yourself to go outside, as if nothing has happened. You bit down on your palms to shut your cries when somebody knocked on the door. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice said, knocking softly on the bathroom door, “Everybody is looking for you. Are you all right?”

It was Mikasa. She knocked again, until she heard a little whimper. You inhaled deeply, wiping down the foggy mirror as you examined your blood-shot eyes, wiping away the stray tears, as you smiled softly to see your reflection. The only thing wrong is your eyes, and you could easily say you stupidly rubbed your eyes still with soap, hoping that they’ll believe somehow the stupidest lie. You wiped yourself clean, dressed yourself in your uniform as you dried out your hair. 

Mikasa was still waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed, tapping lightly on her boots. She perked up then her expression fell without fail, as she took your broken down figure. She smiled once more, trying to shake away her thoughts as you smiled gently to her. 

“Sorry!” You gushed, putting your towel away, smiling sheepishly, “I must’ve overslept.” 

She nodded, agreeing as she smiled. “Captain Levi already gave you a punishment.” 

“Punishment?”

“Punishments,” she corrected herself, standing up as you finished harnessing your belts, “Stable duty. Kitchen duty. Laps around until you give up, the usual.” 

Mikasa stood in front of you, holding you by the shoulders, already feeling you crumble down, but you fought to give her back a shaky smile. She nodded, wiping away a tear at your right eye. She patted your shoulders one last time as she stared deeply on to you, “I’ll run with you, don’t worry. But we have to go now because Sasha has been eating more lately,” she smiled, as she pushed you gently to the door, ushering the both of you out, “You don’t want to miss on breakfast.” 

Everybody greeted you with various jabs on how you overslept, joking how they could still see the imprints of your pillow and blanket, but you only rolled your eyes at them, grabbing a plate in the kitchen as Mikasa followed, grabbing another plate as well. You stood outside the kitchen door, examining— looking for Eren. Is he here? 

But there he was. Laughing. Smiling. Joking around at the usual table, as he vividly talked about the experiments with Armin who also laughed. Armin’s eyes caught you for a second, and his expression dropped with Eren following his graze. 

That second feels like the world has stopped for the both of you while everybody’s time moved. There was chatter, there was laughter, banging on the table as they joked, but the second that you shared with Eren felt like eternity. You looked at Mikasa who tapped you on the shoulder, “Do you want to sit any where else?” 

“No!” You lied, biting down on your lip, looking incredulously at her, “What do you mean? We always sit over at our table.” 

Mikasa followed the point of your finger as you walked towards it, greeting Sasha and Jean as Connie continued to babble about, defending Sasha who is just listening intently. She smiled at you, her eyes faltering softly as you sat beside her and Mikasa. The conversation went on as usual, hearing Eren talk at the end of the table with Armin as you answer and nod a little when Jean and Connie are talking. Little by little, their voices faded out, as you idly eat the food, just perking up when Captain Levi barked orders, specifically at you, to start your kitchen duty. 

Everybody cleaned up, helping by doing their part as you headed to the kitchen to begin you cleaning. Mikasa joined you, as well as Armin, who started their conversation, sometimes asking for your opinion to get you to talk. Armin leaned in to your side, turning you around to face him. Mikasa jumped on the counter, listening to what Armin has to say. 

“Eren told me.” 

“Eren?” You blinked, wiping your wet hands on your apron. You shook your head, “Told you what?” 

“The reason he broke up with you,” Armin whispered, jumping on the counter beside Mikasa. He took note of your shaky breaths, and he debated if he should continue or not, but he chose to let you know. Armin gently explained why Eren broke up with you, and you listened, his voice fading out in a whisper as he hurriedly look at the door. 

“Armin,” his voice called out. Eren stood by the door frame, his eyes flitting towards yours and back to Armin, “Let’s go. Jean’s starting a game.”  

Armin nodded hesitantly, as he passed by you, his blue eyes sympathetically saying goodbye. He wanted to ask how you were, considering how Eren was one of the earliest outside the field, practicing his skills, and when he got closer to Eren, that was when he saw that he was crying. Eren immediately wiped away his tears, shaking his head slowly as he practiced again. Armin waited, and waited until Eren dropped to the ground, knees to his chest and arms folded where he rested his forehead on. Armin sat down beside Eren, listening to him sob, waiting if he wants to talk about it. Eren eventually opened up, counting his years left in between his sobs. 

“I can’t do that to her,” he murmured, wiping away his tears as Eren played idly with the rocks next to his feet. “Eight years, Armin? And who knows about what’ll happen tomorrow?”

“There’s no guarantee,” Armin began, turning his full attention to Eren, “But it doesn’t have to end that way.” 

Eren knew about that. But there really is no guarantee. What happens tomorrow? The other day? If worst comes to worst and one you... he couldn’t think about. He’s a coward for thinking like that, but he was also thinking of you. When it comes to you, you were always first for him. He wants you by his side, laughing by your side, training even, smiling proudly when you straddle him, crossing your arms in victory as he was defeated. It’s the little things that he missed, but he was willing to let it all go to save you. 

“Let’s go,” Eren stood up, offering his hand to Armin. He wiped his snot and tears away with his sleeve, and bumped his shoulder to Armin’s. “Just like the usual, huh?” 

╼╾╼╾╼╾╼╾╼╾

It continued on like that. Everybody already suspected, but you paid no attention to them. Eren laid his hands on whoever would snicker away, pathetically joking about your sulking emotion every time you emerged from your room or into the mess hall. 

But every thing changed when there was called for another expedition, just to secure the perimeter, but there was problem when a horde of titans came your squad’s way. There was too many and too little that Eren transformed as he leaped into the air. The rest of your squad followed his lead, branch to branch, and successfully slicing the titan’s neck dead. From jumping on trees endlessly, your gear sputtered loudly, signaling that you’re running out of gas. 

You stopped at a branch, examining the situation as to where you would call on to help. You watched Eren in his titan form fought alongside his comrades, helping them cut off. But he was looking around, turning his head, until he saw you by the branch, checking your gear. He punched a titan on his way and jogged towards you, his arm out for you to grab on. 

You could never get used to Eren in his titan form, but this time, you looked immensely at its form, taking note of his physical characteristics that still reminds you that this is Eren. You jumped from the branch, and Eren caught you delicately with his hand, not missing you punch one titan as it came his way. He placed you on his soldier, as you grabbed on his hair. He turned to look at you while he ran, checking if you were fine. If you were hurt. 

“I ran out of gas,” you shouted over his loud running, clutching to his ear and hair. He nodded and ran, killing titans on the way. 

Once it was done, you leaped from his shoulder, quick enough that he didn’t see you. He knelt down, transforming right back into a human, running after you.

He eventually caught up with you, “[Y/N].”

No matter how far, you’d always hear his voice. You stopped in your tracks, turning around slightly. You didn’t miss the way Eren’s lip turned, as he ran to you. “We need to talk.” 

You wanted to explode, right there and then. Everything that you have tried to bury deep down, the feelings, the love, the hurt— it’s creeping right back up. You couldn’t bare to look at him for one more second, feeling your tears well up. 

“Talk?” 

“I need to talk to you.”

Eren exhaled deeply, as you watched him with wary eyes. You wanted to shut him out, just like he did to you, but the least that you could give yourself was closure. You crossed your arms, standing your ground, eyes away from the other cadets watching, “Talk.” 

“Not here,” he hurriedly said, grasping your arm. “Not here, when we get back to the base. At our spot.” 

You took his hand off of your arm, dropping it to his side. “Fine.” 

“Okay!” Eren nodded, ruffling his hair, “I’ll come and get you-.” 

You looked at Eren, listening to him ramble with furrowed eyes, and you walked away. Just like he did to you. Maybe it was immature of you, but, you wanted for him to know how much it hurts. 

╼╾╼╾╼╾╼╾╼╾

The dark skies and the stars twinkled brightly, the crisp air making your hair flow with the wind as you sat on the ground, picking at the grass. You heard footsteps, and you didn’t too look who it was when you stood up again, folding your arms across your chest. Eren stopped beside you, breathing hard. 

“I came by to your room,” he groaned, breathing deeply as he wiped his sweat off, “You weren’t there.” 

You stayed quiet, turning to look at him. That shut him up. He could already see you eyes tearing up, until you cried silently, your hands covering your face, as you cried. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, but seeing him so close, acting as if things are okay, made you cry. You felt Eren pull you to him, his arms wrapping around your shoulders, his cheek resting on your temple, as he felt you shake and sob in his embrace. He felt himself tear up a little, and when he realize that it hurt you like this. 

Eren soothed your hair, still hugging you as he whispered, “I’m sorry for hurting you.” 

All you could see was red. 

“Sorry?” You pushed away from him, wiping at your tears angrily. “You didn’t think that maybe I wanted to know?” 

“Know?” Eren blinked, wiping his own tears. 

“I know, Eren!” You said angrily, pushing him away, “Ymir’s curse? Eight years?” 

“I didn’t know what to do!”

“You could’ve told me,” your voice cracked, pointing at yourself, “You could’ve told me, Eren. I would’ve listened. I would’ve appreciated it more if you explained.” 

“I would’ve! But I didn’t want you to see me die, deteriorate! Who knows what will happen to tomorrow?”

“Die?” You seethed, “Die? Who told you I wouldn’t want to be with you? Were you even thinking about me? What care do I have of tomorrow if I could’ve had eight years with you?” 

“I wanted to make it easier for you.”

“So, should I thank you, then? Should I thank you for shielding me away from your inevitable death, then beating myself up on where did I go wrong for why you broke up with me?” 

Eren pulled you to him, hands wrapping around your shoulders, as you pushed him away. But he was stronger. 

“I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t love you. I broke up with you, because... I love you. I wanted to protect you the best that I could if I ever have to say goodbye. I couldn’t bring myself to do that to you.” 

You were silent but he filled it again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You pulled away, looking deeply at Eren. There are so many things running through your mind. Not really knowing what else to think the right way. He looked sadly, as you nodded. His apology and reason was the only thing you ever needed. You understood his part. When Armin told you about Ymir’s Curse and the implications of it, it worried you deep down. You weren’t crying anymore for yourself but for Eren. You were crying because he was living in a definite time. You wouldn’t want him to worry any more, even if it hurts. So you stood your ground. 

“Eren,” you whispered against his chest. Feeling it beat hard, fast, as he longed for your voice. You’re thinking of so many things, but you’ve set yourself on this. Maybe this is what you both needed, “Will you come find me, soon?”

Soon, when the time is right. When the time is right for the both of you. 

[kingreywrites]

Even If It Hurts - Chapter 1 - The one they lost

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2029

Summary: There are days when the tears can't help but fall, no matter how much Rapunzel and Eugene don't want them to. There are days when these tears are shed for family; for the one they lost, the one they found, and the one they created.

Note: This is a gift for @unfragilelove !! And also a new way for me to make New Dream cry asdfdhsj There will be 3 chapters, one each day, and I hope you’ll like them!

Read on ao3

1. The one they lost

Sometimes, Rapunzel cries.

It's the most heartbreaking sight that has ever met Eugene because... Because Rapunzel should never look small and defeated. When Rapunzel smiled, the world became brighter; when she laughed, the sound echoed to the confines of the universe, and made it kinder; when she danced, the stars danced with her. Rapunzel changed the world simply by being herself, and she was supposed to stand tall and proud as she finally lived the life she had dreamt about for years. And even when she wasn't happy - even when she was angry, or sad, or even jealous, her emotions were big enough to overturn everything around her, because Rapunzel doesn't try to hide her existence from the world anymore.

Except when she cries.

Rapunzel cries alone. She cries at night, if she can. She hides from everyone and lets her tears fall as silently as possible, trying to contain the tremors of her body as she curls up on herself. Rapunzel cries like someone who had lived with no privacy, and had to hide her tears from the controlling mother that would use them against her - she cries as if she's back to the tower with Gothel, and she's trying to disappear.

Eugene isn't sure she would have let him witness her breakdowns for a long time if he didn't surprise her during one. It... stings, a little, even though he'll never admit it to anyone - but it's the idea that he hasn't made himself safe and trustworthy enough for Rapunzel to rely on him that hurts the most. He wasn't upset with her at all, more with himself, when he stumbled upon her crying, and realised that she would have kept it all to herself if he hadn't. She had hurried to brush her tears away while he was trying to come up with a good thing to say. There was nothing. But he went to sit right next to her, and held her in silence, and somehow, he thinks that was... good. Not the best, but what she needed.

That doesn't mean he's prepared for the next time. Or the next. Or the next.

When he opens the door to her bedroom that night, and sees an empty bed and a worried chameleon looking over its edge, his stomach twists with worry immediately. He knows, before even hearing her muffled sobs, that she's not okay.

"Sunshine," he says quietly, more to announce himself than anything else. She doesn't answer, so he gently pads across the room, to get to the other side of her bed.

She's here, curled up on herself, her head on her knees and her arms circling them. The only thing he can see of her is her dishevelled blond hair, and the pale blue of her night gown, looking almost white in the moonlight.

Eugene sits down softly. He lets Pascal climb on his shoulder, patting his head gently to try and make the worried frog smile. Rapunzel doesn't acknowledge him.

He can hear the jerky sounds of her breathing she can't muffle.

"Sunshine?" he asks. "Can I hold your hand?"

She doesn't move for a few seconds. He opens his mouth to say that it's okay if she doesn't want to, but it's at this moment that she slowly lowers her left arm, and blindly seeks his hand. He takes hers immediately, and feels her squeeze his fingers tightly. Her hand is cold. Shaky.

Eugene scooches over, until his shoulder touches hers. He knows she won't talk if she doesn't want to. He knows it'll still help, to feel that he's right there, and that he won't move, for as long as she needs him.

"You need to breathe, Sunshine," he murmurs at some point. Her intake of air turns into a tiny sob, and the only thing he can do is rub her knuckles with his thumb gently.

Thinking that she could have gone through all of this alone, only to pretend that nothing happened the next day, makes his heart hurt. He's glad, in a way, for forgetting his book in her room. He's glad he hasn't waited for tomorrow to get it back.

Rapunzel's voice is so muted he may not have heard it, if he wasn't listening closely. "Can you..." she murmurs, trailing off for a few seconds. "Can you try to distract me?"

It's as close to asking for help as Rapunzel can allow herself. Eugene smiles, knowing she can't see it, and softly starts to hum a melody. He doesn't remember the face of the kid who used to sing lullabies when Eugene was still part of the younger kids; but he does remember her voice, and the lyrics. He feels a little silly singing. He hasn't done so in a long while, and though the lyrics aren't nonsensical, they're not that deep either - it's about someone knocking on their neighbours' doors in the middle of the night, asking for a quill.

As ridiculous as he feels, he doesn't stop. Rapunzel uncurls her legs quietly, and leans over so her head can rest on his chest. He passes his arm around her waist, and grabs her hand again with his other one, holding it on his lap as he rests his head on the top of hers. He keeps singing, his voice the only sound in the quiet, her tremors the only thing he can feel. It's not hard for him to make up a new verse on the fly, and so he keeps the story going, imagining how each new neighbour would react.

Rapunzel laughs wetly when he messes up a rhyme.

"Still not the best poet in Corona, am I?" he smiles.

"You're amazing." Rapunzel sounds too raw as she says this; he doesn't think she's talking about his poetry skills. She hesitates. "How does the story end? Do they find a quill?"

"I'm sure they do. Though, I've always wondered why anyone would need a quill so late in the night."

"Maybe… Maybe they had a bad dream," Rapunzel says morosely. "Maybe they needed to pai- write their thoughts to feel better, but they couldn't find a quill."

Eugene squeezes her side gently for a moment, wishing he was in a better position so he could kiss her forehead. He knows that when she's upset, kissing her hair will only make her feel more scared.

He starts singing again, and makes the last verse about a nice neighbour, finally opening their door. They give the person singing a quill, and invite them to stay for the night, so they don't have to be alone.

"Thank you, Eugene." He thinks she's smiling as she says that, so he smiles too.

"Of course, Sunshine. Do you want me to keep going? I still have a lot of rhymes in store, like… cheese and bees." That makes her laugh, but she shakes her head, and they fall into silence for a moment. Rapunzel isn't crying anymore, and as long as she's comfortable, Eugene doesn't mind.

"I didn’t even fall asleep," she whispers. Her voice is always really quiet when she's sad; he thinks it's because she doesn't want anyone to hear her. It breaks his heart. "I was… I thought about Gothel."

She doesn't keep going. He squeezes her hand, and asks if she wants to talk about it. She nods, but the silence stretches on for a little bit longer.

"I was talking with my mom about cakes this morning," Rapunzel chuckles weakly. "I was telling her about how much I loved baking, and… I… Gothel is the one who taught me how to bake," she whispers.

She shifts, and he hugs her closer, hearing how fast her heart is still beating. She's shaking.

"Gothel was… She wasn't a good mother, even though I never really understood that back then. But she wasn't always… She- learning to bake is a good memory," Rapunzel says, sounding frustrated. "She doesn- didn't have much patience, but she helped me make my first cake, and told me it was a good first attempt and- and-"

"Hey," he breathes, before letting go of her waist so he can turn and look at her. He gently moves her hair back, his hand on her warm cheek, and there's no mistaking the new tears running down her face. "Hey, Sunshine-"

"Why do I miss her?"

Her voice trembles and breaks when she asks that, and her shoulders start to shake again, even though she desperately tries to restrain herself. Suddenly, she's throwing herself in his arms, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, and he can't do anything but hug her back tightly.

"My real mom was right in front of me, and all I could think about was her," Rapunzel keeps going, gripping onto his shirt tightly. "And even now, I can't- I can't stop this feeling, despite how much I want to. I shouldn't- I…"

"Rapunzel, you… Gothel was your mother, for eighteen years," Eugene says. He's deathly afraid of telling her something he shouldn't, something that would hurt her, but the idea of Rapunzel blaming herself for the feelings she can't help is an even scarier perspective. "You loved her. You loved her, because you've always had so much love to give, and you've always given it without any condition. And that…"

Softly, he pushes her, and she lets go easily. He touches her chin, and guides her head up, until her bright and shining eyes meet his.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, Sunshine."

Her lips tremble, but this time, she doesn't try to hide the silent tears falling from her eyes. Cupping her face, he brushes one away with his thumb, before pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. She melts in his arms once again, but… but she doesn't hold back her sobs anymore. And it hurts, it hurts to see Rapunzel break down, it hurts to hear the tired and pained sounds she makes, but it's a relief too, because at least, she's allowing herself to be heard.

She's allowing herself to feel, without trying to punish herself for it.

"I wish I never had to think about her again," she mumbles against his skin, knowing that he's listening to her no matter how quiet she's being. "I- I- Sometimes I wish she had been an awful monster to me all the time, so I could simply… hate her. I don't want good memories."

"Good memories don't mean that your anger or hurt are less real Sunshine. Good memories don't mean that what she did to you wasn't awful. I- I can't imagine how you feel right now," he admits, "but I know that you don't have to meet a quota of bad things to have the right to feel like you do. And… And missing her, missing the good moments of your childhood, it's as normal as being angry, no one will ever fault you for it."

This part is harder to say for him, because there's nothing but hatred for Gothel in his heart. He'll never forgive her for what she did to Rapunzel, and he- he might not have planned killing her when he cut Rapunzel's hair, but he never regretted it. His feelings aren't what's important here however. What's important is that Rapunzel needs love, and support, and he'll always give it to her. Of course eighteen years of emotional abuse weren't entirely composed of suffering - thank god they weren't! But as confusing as these memories might be, they were part of Rapunzel too.

There was no part of her that was unlovable.

"I'm worried missing her makes me a bad person," Rapunzel whispers.

"I think it simply makes you human." 

She laughs softly at his answer, and stays quietly in the warmth of his arms, one hand laying above his heart. He doesn't mind at all. He'd die for her in a heartbeat if she asked it of him; spending the night holding her is nothing in comparison. She's his everything.

"I've got another song if you want," he smiles, and when she nods, he starts humming it, happy to feel her settle more comfortably against him.

[havenoffandoms]

Eskel & Ciri  May I Have This Dance (Gen)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: “Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.”

Pairing: Ciri & Eskel (Gen)

Read on AO3.

Eskel and Ciri share a special bond, despite rocky beginnings. Even though it took Ciri considerably longer to warm up to Eskel - and get over her fear of his scars - the two formed a unique bond, or so Eskel likes to believe. Geralt is like a father to Ciri, that much is undeniable, and over the years Lambert adopted the older brother role rather than uncle. Come to think of it, Ciri never used the moniker ‘uncle’ for Lambert. He was always just Lambert. 

Eskel guesses that him being promoted to the role of uncle may have had something to do with the fact that he and Geralt are as close as brothers, even though they aren’t related by blood. Ciri picked up on that early on, which is probably the only reason she started seeking Eskel out more only a couple of weeks after she first arrived at the keep. At first, she would only come find Eskel if Geralt wasn’t around, or was otherwise occupied. As time passed, however, Ciri came to Eskel just for the pleasure of his company, and the two soon bonded over their shared interests - animal care, signs, embarrassing stories about Geralt… Eskel had a lot of those in his repertoire, and they always end with Ciri doubled over with laughter, tears running down her face. 

Eskel likes to indulge the child in Ciri. Just because she’s training with the witchers doesn’t mean that she should be deprived of a childhood. Eskel, Geralt and Lambert never got to be kids, never had the chance to play and have fun. For them, it was always very much about training, getting their skills up, preparing them for the Trials. It doesn’t have to be like that with Ciri, and Eskel will always encourage her to play and have fun whenever she can spare a moment from her training. Eskel often finds her crouching behind a door waiting for him to step into the room so she can scare him. It never works, not really, but Eskel pretends it does for her sake. It builds her confidence. 

Ciri and Eskel like to play hide and seek together. That usually happens in the evening, in the time frame between bath time and dinner, when Eskel is not on cooking duty of course. Ciri will often find Eskel in his room or in the library, nose buried in a book, mending his armour, or whetting his swords. She’ll saunter into his room, her vibrant green eyes sparkling with the promise of mischief. Eskel will look up from whatever task he’s busying himself with and manage a lopsided smile, knowing full well what the little she-devil is up to. When she’s close enough, Ciri will reach out and slap Eskel’s comparably massive hand before uttering a quick ‘tag, you’re it’, and disappearing in a flash. Of course, Eskel could find Ciri easily by following her scent, or by listening to the rapid fluttering of her pulse. 

But what would the fun in that be? 

Eskel and Ciri will spend ages playing hide and seek, usually until the others call them down for supper - in which case their game of hide and seek turns into a race to see who can reach the dining hall fastest, regardless of where they are inside the castle. Eskel often wins those races, which has Ciri huffing, but the little devil is getting faster and faster each time. Besides, she never stays mad at him for long. 

One evening, Eskel finds Ciri crying in her room late at night, long after they had retreated to their rooms for the night after dinner. The girl is clearly trying to be quiet about it, but there’s no fooling a witcher’s enhanced senses. Eskel knocks on her door softly and steps into her room, where he is met with the sight of his niece crying pitifully into her pillow. 

“Go away,” she mumbles miserably, though the usual heat in her voice is absent. Eskel goes to sit on the bed next to Ciri, the mattress depressing under his weight. His large hand nearly spans both her shoulder blades as he rests it soothingly on her upper back. He can feel the way Ciri’s petite body shakes with the force of her sobbing. 

“’s alright, pup. It’s alright.” 

“I miss her.” The heartbroken declaration is followed by wet sniffles that tug at Eskel’s heartstrings. “I miss grandmama. She always knew what to say when I had nightmares.”

“What would she say?” Eskel asks, his hand rubbing up and down her back. It takes Ciri a little while to calm down so she’s able to answer Eskel’s question. She manages to sit up and shift onto the mattress until she’s pressed against Eskel’s side. He wraps his arm around her body and pulls her closer. 

“She’d say… that she’d never let anything hurt me. Because I’m the Lion Cub of Cintra, and she is… was … the Lioness. And no one touches the Lioness’ cub.” 

“Hm. Your grandmama was a wise woman. Strong, too. And fiercely loyal to the people she cared about.” Eskel leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of Ciri’s head. “And just like the Lioness of Cintra would never let anythin’ happen to her cub, so the wolves of Kaer Morhen will always protect their pup.” 

Ciri cranes her neck and manages a grateful, albeit teary smile. Eskel returns the gesture fondly. 

“Grandpapa said that the Tuirseach bears would also watch over me. When I was small, he used to carry me around my room and dance with me. He taught me how to dance like they do on Skellige.” Ciri perks up at the memory, like she’s suddenly struck with an idea. Her green eyes meet his amber gaze, and Eskel recognises the now familiar spark of excitement in them. “Eskel, can you dance?”

A warm chuckle rumbles from deep within Eskel’s chest. 

“Afraid that is not a skill we were taught here.” 

“I’ll teach you,” Ciri declares, her sorrow long forgotten as she slips off the bed and stands between Eskel’s legs, “it’s only fair. You teach me how to fight, so I’ll teach you how to dance. It’s really easy.” 

“Ciri, it’s late-”

“Please, uncle Eskel?” Ciri’s lip juts out pleadingly, her eyes growing teary once again, and Eskel is unable to resist that look. He heaves a resigned sigh, which Ciri correctly interprets as him agreeing to her idea, if the wide smirk that graces her features is anything to go by. 

“Fine. I’m all ears, lil pup.” 

“So first,” Ciri extends her hand, knuckles up, in a very familiar gesture in noble circles, “you ask the lady if she’d like to dance with you.” 

Eskel’s lips curl up into a fond smile, but he happily obliges his niece and gently lifts Ciri’s extended hand to his lips, where he presses a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. 

“Your Highness, may I have this dance?” 

Ciri giggles, then nods her assent and pulls Eskel off the bed. She’s tiny compared to him, a fragile-looking little thing, but Ciri is growing physically stronger by the day. There is no doubt in Eskel’s mind that the child is mentally stronger than most people on the Continent - after what she’s seen, after what she’s been through, Eskel can only admire how resilient Ciri is in the face of tragedy. The Lion Cub of Cintra, the Wolf Pup of Kaer Morhen… 

Eskel lets Ciri stand on his feet, barely feeling her weight. She’s holding onto his right hand and wraps her left arm around his waist for balance. Eskel’s left hand is pressed against Ciri’s back, supporting her as she gets into position. 

“Now you move around the room. It’s very simple. Two steps to the left, then two steps to the right.” 

Eskel follows Ciri’s instructions, letting her take the lead and guide him through the steps. It’s a moment which will remain branded in Eskel’s memory for many years to come and which will keep him warm on the cold nights spent out on the Path. Ciri wormed her way into Eskel’s heart easily, effortlessly, and if Eskel never understood the bond between parent and child before, he does now. To an extent, obviously. Ciri isn’t his daughter, but Geralt’s. But she’s collectively their wolf cub, and Eskel will rather die than let anything happen to her. 

But enough of that now, he tells himself as he focuses on enjoying this tender moment. How often will he get the opportunity to dance with a princess, anyway? 

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Take this thing I wrote a while ago, it was inspired by an ask I saw about Alya getting stressed about having to edit videos of Panthera getting hurt. Uh, TW for trauma and violence?

———— Alya desperately hits the pause button on the video she’s editing and buries her head in her shaking hands. It doesn’t help much- the image of Panthera Noire getting pinned to a wall by a pole impaled through her shoulder has been seared into her memory since it happened earlier that day. Nobody else really seems to understand how much the heroes- Panthera in particular- get hurt. There’s no evidence after the fight thanks to the Miraculous Cure, but Alya has watched Panthera get stabbed, exploded, crushed, thrown through walls- you name it, Alya has seen it happen. It’s part of why she stopped live-streaming most fights in favor of recording them. She needs the option to edit some things out. It kills her as someone dedicated to the truth and keeping the people informed, but… Alya looks through her fingers and stares at the image frozen on her screen. …Does she really have to show this to people? Their heroes aren’t invincible. They feel pain. They get hurt- frequently. So do civilians. Alya doesn’t have to unpause the video to know what happens next- she was there after all. Ladybug had to leave to recharge a minute ago. Panthera, pinned to the wall looks up at the akuma, eyes wide with pain and panic as it turns it’s attention towards a civilian frozen in fear nearby. As the akuma winds up an attack aimed at the civilian, Panthera grits her teeth and yanks the pole out of her shoulder with a sharp movement. She lunges forward and clumsily deflects the attack with the blood covered pole held in one hand- the other arm hangs limp and useless from her shoulder. Even as her shoulder bleeds out, she stands tall and grins cockily, distracting the akuma as the civilian finally flees. It would strike an inspiring image, if it wasn’t so horrifying. Alya lets her head sink to her desk. It all seemed so much simpler a year ago. She was ecstatic to live in a world of super heroes and magic, to be at ground zero of something so incredible, to be able to witness history in the making first hand- and she still is, most days! She loves her self-assigned job, she couldn’t stop herself from running into the fray to record and share and inform. But some days… She peeks up at Panthera’s desperate expression again. Some days she hates everything about this. Alya chokes back a sob and realizes she’s crying. She pulls out her phone with a shaking hand and hesitates before pressing one of her contacts. Alya tries to bring her breathing back under control as the phone rings. “Sounds like you’re up late editing again.” Alya inhales shakily. “Hey Nino.” She croaks. Nino’s voice immediately grows concerned. “Hey- what’s wrong? You okay?” “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Alya rubs her eyes. “I’m just… editing the video from today’s attack. I’d call Mari, but you know how she is with…” “…It was another bad one?” “Yeah.” Alya tears her eyes away from the image of the cornered hero still frozen on her screen. “Yeah. It was bad.” She whispers. Nino sighs. “Alya…” “I-It doesn’t happen too often, but sometimes it’s just… it’s just so obvious that they’re barely staying afloat- at least to me it’s obvious, no one else s-seems to notice?” Alya can’t stop herself from rambling. “Most akumas are fine, they’re fine, Ladybug and Panthera Noire can handle it, but sometimes they get really hurt Nino-” She pauses to inhale raggedly, “-A-and it’s bad enough that I have to see it happen, but then I have to watch it over and over again and decide how much of it to show people…” Alya cuts herself off to breathe for a moment. “…I know.” “And they can’t be much older than us, Nino, they’re just teenagers like us, and they’re getting maimed and thrown through walls every week-” “I know.” “And they they do their best but they aren’t the only ones that get hurt- I-I’ve nearly died before, Nino! Other people have died before! I know they came back and no one talks about it, but they have to remember what that was like!” “…” “And freaking Hawkmoth! No one can feel upset anymore without also being terrified of getting akumatized-!” “Hey, slow down! Alya, breathe.” She realizes she’s started pacing at some point. “You’re hyperventilating.” Alya collapses on her bed and curls up, hugging her knees with one arm and staring unseeing across the room at the computer monitor. Nino talks her through regaining control of her breathing for a few minutes. It’s not something she would have expected him to be good at, but, well… She’s also learned how to talk people through panic attacks over the course of the past year. It’s become a necessary skill- not just for trying to prevent akumatizations, but for helping people cope with the extreme violence that’s become so common place. “…They need help.” She finally whispers. “I know.” “I hate this. It’s been over a year, and people are still getting hurt, and I hate this.” “I know.” He sighs. “Me too.”

————

Oh god,,,, that was incredible,,, I’m in pain,,, I love it thank you so much