#maybe they’re just so lucky they avoid the monsters

[melonnade]

the new pjo tv series has got me thinking about pjo again,,,, augh I want to make another OC now

imagine a child of tyche whose whole thing is just video gaming. like, they’re just unnaturally lucky. the rare 0.01% drops that people spend hours grinding to get? they find them first try. playing genshin and trying to wish on a particular banner? yep, first try. they’re doing a minecraft speedrun and dig down and immediately find a stronghold.

[nothomegal]

"Nothing, just (Y/N)"

(Pyramid Head(s) x GN! Reader NSFW)

Minors do NOT interact!

Summary: wondering through abandoned semi-ruined places is great to hide and get lost, and in your case the latest happened. But don't worry! Because you were lucky enough to bump into your lover... Or not. Whoever, or whatever this is, it really looks like your monster, yet it's different at the same time... Huh, I wonder what will happen when these two do meet face to face... Huh, I wonder what verdict awaits you.

Warnings: non-con touches at first, brief mentions of nipple play, oral (Pyra receiving), references to double penetrations (but you can interpretate it differently since the reader is gender neutral).

Word Count: 3.9k

This idea popped up after I remembered that Pyramid Head has two different designs (one that appears in DBD and Silent Hill 2, and the other one from the movie and Silent Hill Homecoming, y'know where he has a more pointy helmet and exposed torso)

I usually describe the DBD/original version (though my dummy self been using gifs with the other design hashsha). But still, why don't we present our lil' (Y/N) the other one? 🤭

They’re lost. (Y/N) let out a long tired sigh as they keep walking through the long dark hallway of what appears to be a school.

They begin to regret their decision of going deeper, it probably would’ve been smarter to just chill in one of the classes until the ‘newcomers’ leave the area, buut… Uh, last time they hid in a room they ended up kidnapped by the group they tried to avoid so yeah… Not really a fan to repeat that experience.

The school was dead silent most of the time, apart from the sound of their footsteps or the occasional shuffle or hiss from a Creeper. For anyone new, this would be an unnerving place, but for (Y/N)? Oh they’re chilling with the peace n’ quiet around them. Sure, silence is not always associated with safety and there is always the possibility of something lurking in the dark and waiting for the perfect moment to attack. But in (Y/N)’s case it’s not possible, no creature is dumb enough to even get close to them, not to mention hurting. They can’t help but to chuckle to themselves, they’ve been in this place for quite a while, probably months, maybe even a year! Or two? And no matter how much time passed or will pass, they still can’t believe the fact that one of the most fearsome creatures of Silent Hill took them under his wing, keeping them safe and making them feel something more than just a piece of flesh to use or kill.

Sigh, they probably have the dumbest lovesick face they’ve ever made, like some teenager thinking about his crush, but can you really blame them? Who the hell wouldn’t get all giddy with a creature like Pyra? And speaking of him, they probably should find an exit faster before he gets tired of looking for them and just tanks his way through the building-.

Or maybe not, because the sound of metal scraping the old tiled floor of the school and the erratic heavy footsteps resonated from one of the hallways. Huh, each day they start to believe that they somehow summon Pyra just by thinking about him for long enough.

With a little smile (Y/N) makes their way towards the sounds, happy to have their lover back with them after him completing his hunt and punishment.

–”Hey big guy! Sorry for the trouble of having to look for me in here. Just wanted to avoid the incident from the last ti- ”–

(Y/N)’s voice died and they froze in place when they met the source of the sound. Yes, it was the known pyramid headed beast, but… It wasn’t their pyramid headed beast, it wasn’t Pyra.

The monster in front of them was different; his vest, which appeared to be stitched,  was only covering everything below the waist, leaving the torso completely exposed. The helmet was different too, it was more… Pointy? The edges were sharper and the shape was more triangular and detailed with additional metallic pieces.

This other beast and (Y/N) remain completely still, staring at each other in heavy silence, the monster’s metallic breathing being the only audible thing. (Y/N) gulps nervously, both confused and afraid. What the… Who is this creature?! Why does it look almost like Pyra?! Is this another executioner? Wasn’t Pyra the only one? Are there more monsters like him? Then why did they never see it before?!

Their internal freak out paused then the other beast let out the familiar low metallic rumbling, which wasn’t as low and deep as the one Pyra emitted, but that fact didn’t make the sound any less intimidating, especially when the monster seemed to grip the handle of his large knife tighter.

–”W-Wrong executioner, m-my bad!”– you peep out before taking off running.

They sprint down the hallway, their adrenaline skyrocketing when they hear the known bulky footsteps and scraping noises behind them. They haven’t felt this much terror since being chased by Pyra himself. Sure the group of shady men was scary too but their demise was inevitable. In the case with Pyra… Well, if the executioner chooses you as his target, there is no chance to escape your fate, only delay it.

But- But this time it will be different, right? Their Pyra is still somewhere around, right? It’s unclear what they're hoping for, or what they want to happen when both beasts face each other. All (Y/N) knows is that the true safety has always been in Pyra’s arms, and they have no other option but to go there if they want to have the slimmest chance to survive this chase.

Despite trying to find the exit, it feel like they only get themselves deeper into the building, all hallways and rooms appear to get darker and more rotten, it's like they're decending deeper into hell, closer to their demise, further from their salvation...

But the light of hope was recandled when while turning a corner (Y/N) bumped face first into a firm and broad torso, which didn't even budge at the impact while they already had landed on the floor right on their butt. They rub their nose after the impact and shoot their gaze up, their heart almost jumping through their rib cage after recognizing the known pyramidal shape of the creature’s head, thinking that the beast chasing after them somehow outsmarted their panicked brain. But when the creature kneeled down they instantly relaxed as relief flushed through them, despite the monster’s large form menacingly towering over them and engulfing their smaller frame with its shadow.

–”Pyra!”– you exclaim both happy and relieved as you scramble right into his arms.

The monster instantly wrapped his large arms around (Y/N), his own body tensing up, as if feeling the distress of his human and knowing they’ve been chased by something, fact that clearly angered him. When the sounds of metal scraping the floor and slow heavy footsteps began to resonate from afar, (Y/N) tensed up even more.

–”Th-There it comes… It- That thing, it looks like you!”– you warn him as you grip his vest tighter.

Pyra remains still for a moment as the noises get closer. After a while, he slowly stands up to his full height, lifting (Y/N) with him and putting them back to their feet to then gently push them behind him. The mentioned person carefully peeks from behind his large form, both afraid but also curious to see if it’s really another creature like Pyra and it actually exists or they just officially went coconuts and somehow imagined it all. Their doubts were dissolved once the other creature appeared from around the corner, his pace slow and unhurried. The monster froze in place as he stared at them, Pyra froze too and stared back. The atmosphere suddenly turned… Weird, not tense and heavy as one would expect, just odd and bizarre.

Still, (Y/N) didn’t feel at ease at all. There is a reason humans fear the unknown, and that’s the main factor that keeps the mentioned person on high alert. They have absolutely no idea of what to expect to happen next, are these two about to fight? Will the other creature turn around and leave? Will it somehow change Pyra’s mind and he will kill them? Are they in danger? Should they run? Wait? Pray?

A breathless gasp escaped their lips when the other creature began to move, slowly making his way towards them two. What freaked and confused (Y/N) even more is the fact that Pyra doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, he remains still in his place with absolutely no intent to stop the other monster.

When the second beast got way too close for their liking, and Pyra was still doing nothing about it, (Y/N) let out a shaky breath out and stepped away from their lover to then begin to back away on their own.

–”No. N-No stop, that’s-...”– you swallow nervously as you shoot a pleading glance to your beast. –”Pyra…”–

But he doesn’t react to their pleas, he doesn’t even look at them… And when the other beast was right next to him is when he finally does move, slowly turning around, and just like the other executioner, he begins to slowly walk towards (Y/N) in the same menacing manner, not like they’re his lover, but another victim to punish…

This scene broke (Y/N)’s heart into numerous tiny pieces, is… Is that it? Is Pyra really going to just… Kill them here and now? After all this time they’ve been together he… He’s just going to throw all that away like it’s nothing? Like they are nothing?... Silly them, of course he will, he’s Pyramid Head, the executioner, an immortal and eternal being created to punish and kill. Who are they to him?... They are nothing, just a little meaningless human… Just (Y/N).

The moment their back collides with a wall, their survival instincts kick in. Even though deep down they knew that their fate is practically written on their forehead, their mind was focused on the most primal desire that a human can have in case of facing danger; run away.

And so they do, they obey their instincts. When they notice an opening between the other monster’s large body and a wall to squeeze through, they bold forward with no care in the world and miraculously dodging his arm that attempted to grab and stop them from escaping. They let out a breathless chuckle out of shock that they actually managed to dodge that by ducking, such a silly maneuver actually wor-.

Suddenly something gets a hold of the back of their shirt and yoinks them back, right against Pyra himself. He holds them tightly against his chest, one arm being more than enough to keep the panicked human in place despite all the desperate struggles to break free. (Y/N) is beyond terrified now, they feel Pyra’s arm tighten around them while the other one gets so close that he ends up pressing his body against their front. Now being basically sandwiched and completely immobile, (Y/N) is feeling like passing out at any second. In any other occasion they’d be so flustered and aroused by this, but now? Oh their poor mind is being flooded with terrible images of how the two executioners will end them, the newer thought worse than the previous one. They’re shivering like crazy, eyes shut tightly, waiting for the wave of pain to come as the monsters will begin to skin them alive…

But after nothing happening for a solid minute, (Y/N) gathers enough courage to finally open their eyes and see what’s going on and why these two beasts are not doing anything. The instant they peek up, the two monsters let out that famous amused rumble, which due to the closeness, made (Y/N)’s whole body vibrate, super weird (and kinda pleasant) feeling.

(Y/N) was about to yell in anger, thinking that these two are seeing their fear and pain of the betrayal as something funny, but such chance was lost the moment they began to feel big hands roam around their body, caressing and feeling every curve through their clothes. The gesture wasn’t aggressive or mocking, but affectionate and loving, just like Pyra’s actions towards them on a daily basis.

Now (Y/N) is confused and quite dumbfounded. Didn’t these two have the intention to murder them? Why is this other monster suddenly so docile? Are they truly safe? Wha-

A shiver ran through their body when the executioner in front of them managed to slip his hand under their shirt, tracing the rough yet warm skin of his bare palm through the softer skin of their abdomen and chest. They let out a surprised squeak when the hand reached higher and brushed against their nipple, the contact causing (Y/N)'s body to shiver, and it only got worse when the beast began to rub it as it let out an amused purr. Another whimper escaped their mouth when Pyra’s hand made its way through their inner thigh, squeezing and rubbing their flesh gently until it stopped right between their legs, his movements getting progressively bolder and suggestive with each little sound that left that pretty mouth of theirs. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as they realized what the two monsters are trying to initiate.

–”Wa-Wait no-! I- I’m- I’m n-not ready for th-this!”– you stammer nervously as you try to clumsily wiggle out their grasp, face already red and flustered. –”You- You two s-sto-!”–

They have no chance to even finish the sentence as something warm and wet suddenly entered their mouth, making contact with their own tongue, which suddenly turned the action into some very sloppy kiss. Their struggles also lead to nothing, both monsters only squeezed them tighter against each other, reducing (Y/N)’s mobility even more. This continues for a couple of seconds, until the "kiss" finally stops and (Y/N) is finally allowed to breathe again, their mouth completely wetted with their and Pyra’s saliva. As they pant like a dog, trying to recatch their breath, they feel Pyra’s hand travel up to their face and wrap his hand around their face, rubbing their cheek lovingly as his tongue playfully wiggles in front of them.

(Y/N) suddenly gasps shakily as they feel something hard being pressed against their front and back, and by the way both monsters growled, they knew exactly what it was and what’s about to happen.

They shouldn't want this, they should try to get away and put a stop to this, they really should… But it’s hard, it’s hard to think straight when their mind has been poisoned with their own arousal and lust. Their logic side is saying no, but their whole body and most of their mind is screaming yes.

As if reading their mind, both monsters made a pleased sound and the next thing they know is that their body was swung over Pyra’s shoulder and taken somewhere... But it didn’t mean they wouldn’t get completely blown up in a moment, and Pyra’s big hand squeezing their ass and thighs is a reminder of that. They’re then brought into one of the classrooms of the school and their body is placed on one of the tables, just like the little delicious treat they were.

From their spot, (Y/N) stares at the two beasts with half lidded eyes and lovesick gaze. It’s like being under some sort of spell whenever things get heated between them and Pyra, and now that there are two of them? Oh, it’s like being hypnotized to act like a slave of their own lustful desires.

The two monsters were kind enough to actually undress (Y/N) (instead of destroying their clothes). And now, fully exposed and being in all fours, they silently observes as both executioners position themselves. The other beast is right behind them, one hand placed on their hips and the other one pulling down his vest, revealing an already fully erect and hard cock, tip brushing along their skin, making them shiver in anticipation. Pyra was right in front of them, vest fully opened and pants pulled down too, his cock just as erect and needy for his sweet lover, one gloved hand placed under their chin as his thumb rubs their cheek and lips lovingly, as if saying “you’ll do such a good job drear”.

The calm lasts for a couple more seconds… And then the whole world goes down without a warning. The beast from behind slams his whole length almost and ones, barely giving (Y/N) time to adjust to his size. Pyra also nearly choked them when he pushed the tip and part of his cock into (Y/N)’s mouth, but he was kind enough to wipe their tears of pain and pleasure.

This was both a torture and a treasure, the roughness and feral neediness of these monsters made (Y/N) feel a certain type of way. The knowledge that two powerful beings craved for them, THEM, so so badly made them feel both very special and flustered, just what did the executioner see in them to make him want their body and soul so much? Crave for them both sexually and emotionally, want nothing but to be close to them and keep them to himself, not just like a trophy or a pet, but as something worth to worship.

And they did, they really felt oddly worshiped despite being absolutelly destroyed by them. Feeling the one from behind dig his fingers into their flesh as he pushes into them, trying to bring them closer to his own body with each thrust and the distorted rumbles and groans he makes when the contact between their skins is missing, even for a brief second, only proves how much he wants them close. Pyra was too showing the effect they had on him, saliva actively dripping from that little hole in his helmet where the tongue would come out, hand placed in the back of (Y/N)’s head as he fucks their mouth and throat, and the fact that he’s not thrusting with more force also proves the care he has for them. They both could be rougher, they both could be more selfish, they know they totally could destroy them if they really wanted to… But they actively chose not to, because even in this feral and lustful state they’re in, they care for them, they care for their little sweet (Y/N).

The action doesn’t last too long, as (Y/N) is barely holding themselves back from coming ,and eventually it got too much. The second the monster from behind felt their release, he let out a growl and quickened his pace. (Y/N)’s body began to shiver, wobbly limbs barely supporting their own weight due to the overwhelming feeling of fullness and the lack of oxygen, air they can hardly get since Pyra’s pace got faster as well. When they eventually collapsed, their body miraculously remained in place and it all thanks to the beast behind them, who caught them and held them up with a single large hand placed on their chest.

It was hard to keep up, hard to keep themselves from coming again, but they must refuse, must holdup, must wait for the two monsters fucking their brains out to come before allowing their own sweet release again. And just as they reached their absolute limit, so did the two beasts. The taste and the sensation of their release drunken (Y/N) completely, eyes rolling as they let out a weak muffled moan as they're sent both to heaven and hell at the same time, their inside burning and their skin shivering under the cold sweat.

Once done, Pyra takes his still hard cock out of (Y/N)’s mouth, allowing them to take all these needed gulps of air as the white liquid drips from their mouth and down their chin, even after trying to swallow it they still got messy, a picture that their lover absolutely adored.

Though (Y/N) was quite tired, they know this is not the end, this is just the beginning˜.

They let out a yelp when their body is suddenly lifted and their back is pressed against the solid and warm exposed torso of the beast behind them. The table they were previously on had been flung across the whole classroom with great force and the next thing they know is that they’re completely immobilized again by Pyra’s body pressing their form against the monster behind. And soon enough, (Y/N)’s mind is being turned into mush again when the beasts begin to move again, their thrusts strong and hitting all the sweet and most sensitive spots of theirs.

Their movements were unnaturally coordinated, knowing exactly when to thrust and how to move so their helmets won’t collide. It was both freaky and fascinating to see, which left (Y/N) thinking if Pyra is really as simple as they initially thought, or is he the embodiment of something way more sinister-.

Their thoughts melted into a mass of letters and blurry shapes at the sensation of the rough fingers of the beast from behind rub their sensible nipples again, sending violent jolts and shivers with the mildest movements. Now (Y/N) was a complete panting and moaning mess, though their sounds were slightly muffled by Pyra’s broad chest, even slightly suffocating them at times with how close he got (not like they mind it). They always cringed at how vocal they can get during sex but they also knew better than to try to quiet the noises after learning the hard way how much their monstruous lover adores to hear them.

This fucking continued for a good ammount of time, (Y/N) already lost count of how many times they came, they have absolutely no clue! All they know is that they’re like in heaven, seeing stars and impossible colors of light flash before their eyes with each release just to then fall back into their mortal body and suffer the consequences of all the overstimulation and the generally overwhelming sensations. How are they still awake and breathing? They have no idea, but it did kinda boost their ego to know they’re tougher than they thought.

Eventually, the thrusts come to an end after the two monsters came one last time, causing (Y/N) to hide their face deeper into Pyra’s chest as they sink their fingers into his flesh and scratch his scarred skin with their nails. Even after coming and filling them up real' good yet again, the executioners remained in place, not pulling away from (Y/N) and still holding them against each other.

After regaining part of their breath, (Y/N) pulls back and their eyes wide at the sight of all the marks they left along Pyra’s broad chest and abdomen, both scratch and bite marks. The executioner from behind also received some lovely scratches on his body as well, when did they even manage to make these? None of the monsters seemed bothered by the marks though, and their hands roaming over (Y/N)’s body is a clear confirmation of that, showing just how pleased they are with their performance, even if they didn’t really do anything.

Now that the heat is slowly dying (Y/N) should feel cold, yet the warm skin of the beasts keep them perfectly warm and comfortable, their big hands traveling around their body, soothing the growing soreness in their muscles and worshiping every inch of their soft and tender skin, despite it being covered in sweat and drops of their load.

(Y/N) wanted to cry, but not out of pain, but of how loved they felt in that moment. The surprisingly gentle and affectionate caressing, the soft purrs and rumbles that at times resembled praises, and the overall atmosphere among them three felt so overwhelmingly comforting and loving, nothing like the heated lustful air from moments before.

Tiredness and exhaustion made itself known and they began to slowly doze off. Luckily, they didn’t have to worry about having a pillow, the chest of the two monsters were a perfect replacement, so warm and kinda soft now that their bodies and muscles relaxed a bit.

Unknowingly to (Y/N), a little smile formed on their lips. Yes, they're still pretty much nothing compared to a creature like Pyramid Head, but the fact that this same creature, or in this case, creatures, are all over them, a simple little human, makes (Y/N) feel this alien thrill and warmth.

They're still just (Y/N) though.

Their (Y/N).

Ţ̴̡̤͕̝̱̙͎̗͓͎͔̤͍͍̺̖̣̥͇͔̺̖̬̑̅͆̅ͅͅ ̷̨̢̢̡̡̡̧̨̬̲͈̹̦̤̻̬̳͎̳͔̬̘̤̤͚̮͇̪̗͍̺̟̦̯̙͇͔͓͈̫̾̾̂̂̚͠H̸̪͇͚͙̫͇̯̆̚ ̵̧̜͔͎̙͈̦̥̣̥͕̅̆́̆̑͗̈͛̇̓̾̏̇̌͛̾̓̉̀͛̓͆̈́̇̃́̄́̑̊͐̎̍͊̂̈́͆̕̚͘͘͝͝Ȩ̵͈̟̜͓̥͙̣͙̲̤̰̫̟̭̲̪͔͖͇͉̩̗̩͕̮̲̳̼͖̜̳̙͗͒̓̀̊̊͋̿̉̿͜ͅͅ ̷̘̦̜̻͓̒̽͛̚͝Ì̴̡̧̡̧͓̭̝̥̱̻̦̻͔͙̜̳̘̣̘̻̗̫̮̬͖̝͕̬͕͕͐͋͋͆̔̂̍͌͑̏̌͌̚̚ͅ ̵̨̜̻̬̲̬̩̤̹̩̮͈̮̭͈̙̦̪͕͕̭̠̝̝̀̿̓̀̌̌͊̅ͅR̶̫̯̬͚͚̝̦͋͌͒͐̀̄͌̃̓̌̈́̉̄͐͆

[arkhammaid]

 — ˚₊‧⁺˖ THE (DENDRO) BIG THREE AND HOW YOU FELL FOR THEM.

fandom. genshin impact

pairing. alhaitham x dancer!gn reader, baizhu x anemo!gn reader, kaveh x architect!gn reader

content warnings. none, written in lowercase

word count. 1.6k

notes. i wrote this when baizhu and kaveh leaks dropped and actually finished it in a day. i justify the long wait because i didn't have the pngs of them back then LMAO ty sophie for proofreading 🫶

 — ˚₊‧⁺˖ alhaitham. 

as a dancer and singer under the zubayr theater, you generally dislike everyone from the akademiya

maybe that wasn’t the nicest, nor the right, thing to do, but every student and official scholar has mocked you and your fellow artists, trying to shut down the theater

you keep your dislike, the almost hateful feelings you have, silent, no matter how problematic those scholars are. after all, you try not to create more problems and you don’t think nilou would forgive you for being so mean to others, even if they’re mean to you

it was not until the maddening mission of freeing the dendro archon you met him. the scribe. you’ve heard about him, of course you have, and of course you already had your thoughts about him

when he joined the group to celebrate the successful mission, you avoided him, keeping close to nilou and the traveler, distancing yourself and paimon with food and keeping an eye out on him

just because he helped to free the dendro archon didn’t mean you trusted him. you would rather trust the general mahamatra with your life than him, the feeble scholar and now acting grand sage

instead of thinking about the handsome scholar, you busied yourself with learning new dances for the next performance. like nilou, you owned a vision, but you used it only on the stage

your cryo vision could create the most beautiful forms and shapes, entrancing your audience while you danced with twirling arms and complicated steps. and it was then, in the middle of the most important performance of the year, when you caught the acting grand sage, alhaitham himself, in the audience, following your movements with an intense gaze

you almost stumbled, the ice you created cracking and your body hesitating, but you had to focus. you had to focus, while alhaitham kept his eyes on you and only you

“i see you have joined the festival, acting grand sage,” you muttered politely. nilou had nudged you to talk with some of the scholars who visited and witnessed the performance, stating it will be good for both sides to talk. 

“i have,” he smiles, tall body towering over you. “and i especially enjoyed your performance. it was truly magical. i’ve known nilou is a great dancer, but i didn’t know there is someone who can surpass her.” his sudden compliment made you blush and you stutter a thanks, completely blown away by his honest words. a scholar, complimenting you? 

and then he smiled at you, eyes earnest and dendro vision glittering, his element suddenly filling the space between the both of you. 

“i’ve heard it’s tradition to gift flowers to the actors and dancers after their performance. will you accept them?” with wide eyes you slowly take the beautiful bouquet, still showing traces of his element. 

“thank you, alhaitham.” the moment you utter his name, he gives you another smile, making your heart race and face. how dare he be so nice to you!

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ baizhu. 

you’re a merchant and a collector of liyue, having built a small business with three other people. you supply those in need with herbs and flowers, especially from liyue but also from sumeru and mondstadt

it’s hard work and keeps your days busy. trekking through the lands, defending yourself from hilichurls and other monsters, all while trying to collect the flowers and seeds you need

but, in the end, it’s rewarding work because many will pay big amounts of mora for herbs since they’re so hard to gather. lucky for you, you received an anemo vision many years ago, rather easy to collect the rare plants

your business is split up– while you founded and technically also own it, it’s your dear friend who acts as the main merchant and seller. you supply them and the other two make sure to gather other herbs in more distant places, traveling on horse to deliver them faster

but then your friend falls ill and you have to go out and sell your gathered herbs. selling them is not a problem, the people in liyue would fist fight to get the amount of herbs you offer at a fairly reasonable price

yet your friend recommends you to the bubu pharmacy, telling you that the doctor is currently in need several herbs

you’re surprised, since you know hat the bubu pharmacy is technically self sufficient, but you pack your things and climb the many stairs to the building

meeting the doctor, who immediately introduces himself as baizhu… is an experience. he’s a very handsome man and his smirk has you hiding your sudden blush

you try to tell yourself it’s just the warm weather, or your sudden shyness and inexperience in dealing with customers

it’s really not. because then you start running more often into baizhu, eyes wide when he stops whatever he’s doing to greet and talk to you. his kindness, no matter how much he teases you, is something unexpected and maybe that’s why you fall for him

“ah- hello, my dear. i was just thinking about you. do you have another batch of qingxin? it seems that my inventory is currently suffering,” he sighs, shaking his head and already worrying about the many orders he received. 

“the current cold that’s going around is eating up my reserves. do you know how long it took me to build such an impressive amount of treatments?” but you don’t listen to him, too busy repeating those two words he just uttered without any care in your head. 

my dear, my dear, my dear- he called you his dear!

“uh, yes- j-just a moment,” you stutter when he glances up from his papers, a questioning gaze heavy on you after you didn’t answer him. “i think- we should have some left, but i don’t know if it will be enough…” 

“fuck,” you can only mumble when baizhu turns his back to you again, leaving you with your thoughts screaming in your mind. did you really fall for him? a teasing smartass? 

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ kaveh. 

as a fellow architect, you can recognize kaveh’s talent, even if you would never say it out loud. there has been a rivalry brewing between the both of you, with neither of you showing any signs of stopping

the two of you fight for clients, reputation, and especially partners, which are your fellow scholars. the rivalry goes so far that many of them don’t even want to work with any of you anymore, fearing their lives and, even worse, their own reputation. but neither of you notice, too bullheaded and blinded by the unofficial competition you have going on

yet during all those years of this serious competition between two architects, you’ve never exchanged a friendly word. not even a greeting. oh no, it’s always spitting insults and spiteful remarks that often end in a screaming match

it would’ve probably never stopped if it weren’t for alhaitham. he had enough of the pettiness and decided to sit you down, have both tighnari and cyno watch over you and locked you in the room. the two other vision owners were here to ensure no one would end up dead;, but that wasn’t needed

silence filled the room for almost an hour, until kaveh cracked and asked how you were doing. you, of course, snapped at him, telling him you had much better work to do than sitting here with him

“listen, i’m really sorry… about everything. neither of us stopped and so i just continued,” he started speaking and you lean back, eyes wide and trying to hide your gasp. kaveh apologizing? that was really something new.

“i’m sorry for stealing your clients and saying all those stupid things about you. now that i think about it, it was petty and we should’ve just talked it out and act our age,” he continues, not looking at you, all the while apologizing for being an ass to you. it surprises you, silent as you are, but there is a sudden desire to apologize to him as well. 

“you don’t have to say anything. i know it’s a bit much, but i hope we could try out as friends? i mean, you’re so talented and your commissions and works are absolutely beautiful! if we work together… we could create masterpieces.” kaveh finally looks up and notices your wide eyes, your whole body frozen in your seat. with a sigh, he stands up and nods to the two other men in the room and makes his way to leave. 

but before he knocks on the door to ask for alhaitham to let him out, he turns back once more with a smile and says “i would love to call you a friend of mine, such a fierce person,” a chuckle escapes his mouth and he shakes his head. 

“let me know when you’re up for my offer.” 

and you can only stare after him, the man who had tormented you for years offering friendship and even partnership. furiously, you try to hide your blush that’s spreading, noticing once again how handsome he is. stupid kaveh with his stupid smile. 

taglist. @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @keqism , @kamiiyaka , @venexus , @stellumi , @wanderersbell , @uraqtttt , @spiriteddreams , @lxvebun , @ineshapanda , @baeshijima

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ARKHAM MAID 2023

[mikkaeus]

5.17 the social contract really gave us everything huh. the pt with the frontal lobe disinhibition who starts saying his thoughts with no filter and driving away his wife and kid, house seeing himself in him, wilson yelling at him about trying to pry into every aspect of his life — and right afterwards when the pt asks him to do the incredibly dangerous surgery to maybe fix the frontal lobe issue he goes to chase and when chase asks him why, he actually has a genuine, vulnerable moment that he leaves be instead of immediately turning around and making a joke or deflecting as he’s done in the past

When he leaves here, he's going to lose his family. He's gonna alienate the people he works with. And if he ever finds a friend who's willing to put up with his crap, he'll be lucky. Until he drives them away too.

and then just like. house actually volunteering to go to new york with wilson when he meets his brother to support him!! (though he gets caught up in a case and misses the big moment, it’s a big fucking leap nonetheless). their conversation about wilson feeling responsible for what happened to his brother (his villian niceness origin story. which is actually pretty fucking heartbreaking. So you made your one effort to live a normal, selfish life, and the universe immediately smacked you down. And because we're wired to find meaning in semi-random events, you decided never to be that careless again.) and house isn’t a facetious asshole for once. it’s his own brand of comforting, as a wilson-proclaimed ‘reality junkie’. which is capped off by the final lines of the episode:

Wilson: Do you think things will work out with my brother? House: No. But when it does go wrong, it won't be your fault. Wilson: Thanks, House. ← THIS WAS GENUINELY FUCKING HEARTFELT please kill me

and we also get this excellent articulation of why they WORK

House: Does it bother you that we have no social contract? Wilson: (laughs) My whole life is one big compromise. I tiptoe around everyone like they're made of china. I spend all my time analyzing: What will the effect be if I say this? Then there's you. You're a reality junkie. If I offered you a comforting lie, you'd smack me over the head with it. Let's not change that.

and that’s not even getting started on the secondary plotlines of 

- house being shocked and upset when wilson says he’s just been pretending to like monster trucks?? and his need to reaffirm that that was a lie in the aftermath??? like although he obviously didn’t take it at 100% face value he was definitely worried that it was true, that wilson had been putting on a front for him as he does for the rest of the world 

- house’s reaction to thinking that wilson’s got cancer ± SI. (yeah i know what’s coming unfortunately despite me avoiding spoilers like the plague. i foresee many tears in my future) (man all the fake cancer scares so far hit fucking different when you know the ending)

- house’s reaction to thinking that taub is hanging out with wilson. pls he’s so jealous. 

[sapphicsaints]

that's when she knew she lost her

Tamar Kir-Bataar x f!Reader

Word count: ~3.4k

Warnings: Character death

A/N: This is based on the books! nsfw version here

Summary: She saw the look in Tamar's eyes when the Sun Summoner took her second amplifier, and that's when she knew she lost her. Not that she was hers to keep in the first place.

Kostya’s wind carries her, and she lands on deck with a thud grunting before rolling out of the line of fire, breathing out a sigh of relief. She made it off the whaler, back on the volkvolny. Her relief is short-lived as Tamar yells, “He’s up.”

The Darkling’s shadow monsters rise up from the deck of the old whaler. She curses but takes position, listening for Sturmhond’s whistles and orders. The next minutes go by in a blur, she doesn’t have time to think, no time to mourn, just barely enough time to breathe and take the next action. Her hands move rapidly to manipulate the water surrounding them. 

She collapses in exhaustion once they’re out of range, she notices there’s only two tidemakers left, including her. The others must’ve been up on the rigging. 

Her breaths come heavy, but her skin is glowing with the tell-tale flush that comes with using her powers. Her back is up against the rails, the cool metal digging into her spine, when Tamar leans up next to her. Her hand clasps her shoulder. 

“I’m glad that's done.” She says. 

Y/n turns to look at her, “Thanks the saints. I never want to see him again. Maybe his dead body.”  

“Maybe we’ll get that lucky.” 

“It’ll take more than luck.” She mumbles. Tamar’s arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. The action feels strange after so many weeks without any contact, but her arms wrap around her lower back, pressing herself into her. Tamar always runs hot, and her heat is welcoming this time. 

“We’ll celebrate later.” She says, her voice low enough so only y/n can hear. Her cheeks flush pink and her heart beats rapidly, the promise is enough to make her nerves tingle. She remembers the last time they ‘celebrated’ together.  

Flashback

They’d finally dropped the last of the slavers they’d captured off in Kerch and set sail again. Tamar practically dragged her back to their room and she was laughing the entire way. The laughter stopped when the door shut behind her, her body slammed into it. Her eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip out of nerves. Tamar’s thumb brushed lightly across her lip, tugging it free from the bite. Y/n’s eyes gaze to the floor, nerves starting to get the best of her. Tamar’s thumb presses under her chin, tilting her head up so their eyes will meet. 

“Are you nervous?” she asks

“No.” She replies a little too quickly, and grimaces, remembering Tamar can always tell when she’s lying. “Maybe a little.” 

“Why?” 

Y/n sighs, her palms coming up to rub at her eyes. “I don’t know.” Tamar tugs her hands away, and pulls her away from the door, yanking her flush against her chest, moving them towards the middle of the small room. Her breath catches and she freezes. Slowly she moves her arms so they’re wrapped gently around Tamar’s shoulders. She studies every inch of her face, but still avoids eye contact. 

“Look at me.” Tamar’s tone tells her it isn’t a question. She tears her eyes up from her lips to meet hers. “You’re fine. We don’t have to do anything tonight. Or ever.” 

Her eyes narrow at the last two words, and her hands come up to cup her cheeks, pressing their lips together with urgency. Tamar’s hands dig into her lower back, drawing their hips together. Y/n has a feeling this is the reaction she wants, and she gives right into it. 

End Flashback

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” The grin on her face is infectious but thankfully hidden, her face pressed into Tamar’s chest. Once her heart has calmed a little she pushes back. “We should get back to work.” 

“Probably.” Tamar sounds reluctant but presses a kiss to her forehead, and heads back to talk to Sturmhond. 

Y/n presses two fingers to her forehead, the spot where Tamar just kissed. She hears a snicker from behind her and whips around. Kostya, one of her closest friends on the ship, is laughing at her. She sends a spurt of water to his face, and that knocks the laughter off of him. He retaliates with a small gust of wind. 

“Oi.” Privyet’s voice comes through, “Quit that.” 

They start laughing, both looking slightly chastised. They stand to the side as the sea whip is hauled on deck. Her hand drifts nervously to her left wrist, the space where her amplifier hides. Taking a second amplifier sounds like absolute insanity to her, but thankfully that’s something she doesn’t have to worry about. She doesn’t move when the scales are offered, just exchanging a small glance with Kostya. Scales still freak her out somewhat and she shudders. For once, he doesn’t make fun of her and she’s grateful for it.

–

She knows her jealousy is stupid, but it’s reasonable to be upset that she’s kicked out of her room with barely any notice. Not to mention, nobody bothered to ask her, just “Tamar’s sharing with the Sun Summoner.” And now she’s in one of the old closets normally saved for less welcome guests. Her one bag is moved over quickly enough. At least she has her own space now, and doesn't have to listen to Tamar snore or sleep talk. In her opinion that’s a weak consolation prize, and not really much of a prize at all. Her things are quickly shoved away and she heads up to grab her rations while she can. There’s only two tidemakers now, and she has a feeling her schedule is about to get a lot more packed. She stops after a few drinks, keeping herself sober enough to post a reliable watch. 

The first half is quite calm. She missed the quiet ease on the Volkvolny, the relative safety of knowing you’re surrounded by people you trust. The waves are gentle, the ship gently bobs side to side. Y/n pinches her cheeks a few times to stay awake, making small talk with her partner. The lanterns and voices on deck catch her attention. Alina’s taking the amplifier. Her eyes widen, and her heart beats a bit faster - hopefully this won’t be what kills her, there’s much more poetic ways to go out. Her eyes immediately find Tamar standing next to Tolya, the two of them looking the part of solemn sentries. Sentries for a Saint. 

The power and light that burst from her is undeniable, and y/n finds herself taking deep breaths to find her calm again. She’s lucky she didn’t fall off the rigging. Her face feels like it’s been freshly sunburnt. As always, her eyes search for Tamar first. And that’s when she knew she’d lost her. The look in her eyes. Y/n didn’t know exactly what it mean’t, just that Tamar belongs to someone now. Well, Tamar never belonged to her in the first place, and theres a strong chance she’s reading into this too much, but she’s always been particularly perceptive, and her hunches usually turn out to be right. Angry tears prick the corner of her eyes.

‘You’re a mercenary,’ she thinks to herself, ‘not a jealous, petty school girl.’ She takes a deep breath and schools her features back into a look of awe, before anyone can catch on. Someone replaces her and she takes up post at the stern, ready to help move to ship along. It’s likely someone spotted the light show Alina put on, and the best they can do it get as far away as possible. 

–

The next few weeks go by quickly, and she barely sees Tamar. Well, she sees her everywhere, but rarely interacts with her. Is y/n avoiding her? Or is Tamar avoiding y/n? They never got to celebrate. Whispers say that they may be leaving to do something with the Sun Summoner and Nikolai. Saints, she feels like a whiny child. She resolves to find out more on her next watch with Tolya. 

Later that day

“Do you think you’ll go with him?” She asks, staring out into the horizon, keeping her voice just loud enough so he’ll hear. 

“With who? Where?”

“Captain. To Ravka, with Alina.” 

Tolya’s eyes are alarmed, like he didn’t expect her to know what was going on, or what was to happen. 

“Saints Tolya, i’m not stupid.” 

“Nobody called you stupid.” 

“Maybe someone should’ve. That’s besides the point.” She turns to face him, taking her eyes off the water momentarily. “Are you going with them?” 

He sighs. “Keep looking.” 

She rolls her eyes but listens. She’s surprised when he keeps speaking. “You’re not asking about me. You’re asking about Tamar.” 

“Well, you both go everywhere together.” 

“He thought about asking you along.” Tolya says. He’s talking about Sturmhond. Or Nikolai. Depends on the situation. I know they’re going to Ravka, but to do what i’m uncertain. 

“Really?” I hummed, trying to sound as disinterested as possible, it’s not working. 

“But after we lost Hendrik and Dmitri.” 

It feels like an iron fist is gripping her heart, and she chokes out her next breath. The other Tidemakers lost against the Darkling. It’s only her and one other now.

Tolya pauses. “After we lost them, you’re needed here.” 

“Needed.” I let the words roll around my tongue. Needed here. But wanted? What if I want to be somewhere else? “Thank you for the heads up.” She gives Tolya a terse smile, trying her best to look content. I can tell he isn’t convinced, but he does smile back. 

End Flashback.

–

Three nights later, Tamar finds her. It’s dusk, and she’s sitting up on deck, deep in conversation with Kostya. She feels a tap on her shoulder, and doesn’t turn around and hesitates before turning around. Kostya glares at her and she finally does. Tamar’s standing behind her, one hand outstretched. 

Tamar doesn’t miss the side eye y/n sends to Kostya, but chooses not to comment. It shouldn’t feel like she’s headed to the gallows, but somehow it does. She takes her hand, and lets her heave her up to her feet. She shakes her hand off as soon as they stand up, and sees the hurt flash through Tamar’s eyes. It’s enough to make her start chewing on her bottom lip, 

“Come on.” She says, taking the initiative and leading them below decks to somewhere more private. They end up in her room this time, and she chooses to stand on the opposite side of the small room, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck. For once, Tamar doesn’t speak right away, instead it seems like her eyes are taking in every inch of her - memorizing every detail. Y/n keeps avoiding eye contact, leaning up against the wall and tilting her head up to stare at the overhead. 

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” Tamar says finally. 

Her heart jumps, and the same tears from a few weeks ago threaten to prick her eyes, “are you excited?” She asks, keeping her eyes trained on the ceiling. 

Tamar sighs before crossing the room. Her hands cup her cheeks, guiding her back down to try and meet her eyes. “Why don’t you ever look me in the eyes?” She murmurs. Y/n doesn’t have a good answer, what’s she supposed to say?

‘I’m scared i’ll cry if I do. I know you don’t feel the same way. I’ll quite literally get lost in your eyes. It’s too intimate. It scares me.’ Instead she doesn’t say anything. 

“Give me something, please.” Tamar says, this is the most desperate she’s heard her voice. She cringes at herself when the desperation gives her a sick sense of satisfaction. Give her something? It’s been weeks and they’ve barely exchanged a word. If she wants something she can have her fury and pain. The sting that comes with feeling abandoned, discarded, tossed aside for the next big thing.  

“You want something?” She spits out through clenched teeth. Tamar takes a step back, her eyes widening slightly at her tone. Normally y/n is level-headed and calm, it’s rare to see strong emotions leak into her voice. “Weeks. You’ve rarely spoken to me. Granted I didn’t try very hard, I know you’ve been busy with your new Saint.” She struggles to keep her tone kind. “I’m happy for you, by the way, that you’ve found a purpose. And I get it, your life has changed. That doesn’t mean you had to …” Her voice breaks and she can’t finish her sentence. 

“Leave please.” She croaks. Tamar doesn’t move and y/n opens her mouth to tell her to go again, but instead she’s wrapped in a bone-crushing, enough that she can barely breathe, let alone move her arms and hug back. She doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t complain, relishes in the touch and contact. Her body melts into her, leaning slightly. Just one hug and she melts. ‘Pathetic.’ she thinks to herself. ‘You’re being pathetic.’ 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, pulling back, and running a hand through her short hair. Y/n’s never seen Tamar like this, lost for words or confused. She always seems so self-assured, so strong in her conviction, fearless. 

“Sorry for what?” She knows the answer, but she wants to hear it - needs to hear it. Hear Tamar admit it, validate what y/n felt these last few weeks. 

“Neglecting you. I’m sorry that we didn’t get to celebrate.” 

Y/n laughs, not an amused chuckle or a happy belly laugh, one of disbelief. “If you think that’s all I cared about then you’re much less perceptive than I thought you were.” She tries to put the emphasis on ‘cared’, but it doesn’t come out that way. Care is more accurate, she still cares. 

Tamar seems confused, “I don’t understand.” Her tone is genuine and honest. Y/n feels herself soften more, a little bit of the ice melts away. She finally meets her eyes. 

“I care about you dimwit.” Tamar’s eyes narrow at the insult, but she doesn’t break eye contact. “I wanted … I still want more for us. I want to get to actually be with you, beyond just ‘celebrations’, and the occasional hug or kiss on the forehead when you remember.” 

“Why haven’t you said anything before?” 

Her voice raises slightly, “because you outrank me and I don’t want to be fired, because I thought it was obvious, because I thought you’d have said something by now.” The outranking part is true - not that it matters too much on the ship, but enough for her to be nervous. Rogue Grisha have difficulty finding safe employment in this world. Safe in the sense of nobody forcing her to serve an army or enslaving her. Her job isn’t safe by any means, but it's freedom.

“Quiet.” Tamar hushes her. 

She takes a deep breath before speaking in a normal tone. “Tell me I'm delusional.” She’d have laughed at Tamar’s expression if the situation was different. “Tell me you never wanted me. Tell me you’re leaving and not coming back.” Tamar reached out and held one of her hands. 

“You’re not delusional, I do want you, I am leaving, but I don’t know if I’m coming back.” 

“Three out of four, not bad.” 

Tamar huffs, evidently tired of the argument, before pulling her into a bruising kiss. It catches y/n by surprise but she returns the same energy.

Later, they're cuddled in her hammock together as Tamar whispers sweet things into her ear. Y/n is lost in her own world, but a pinch to her side brings her back.

“Hm?” She mumbles. 

“You need to get dressed.” 

She groans but stands up, getting some new clothes for herself. One hand braces against the wall to keep herself steady, she looks into the small mirror, her neck and chest are covered in small but deep purple bruises. Her jaw drops as she turns to look at Tamar, who just laughs at her. 

“Sit. I’ll heal them.” 

She jumps up on the chest, scooching until the back of her knees hit the edge. 

Her hands are gently as she grazes over the spots on her neck, and chest, leaving just one behind. Y/n rolls her eyes, it’s typical of her to do that - leave one in an area she can easily conceal. She heals the bite on her hand as well. The silence after becomes uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know what to say.” The words come out before she can think twice. 

“I’ll say I don’t regret a single moment of this. Of anything.” 

She lets out a small, sad smile. “I don’t either.” And brings her arms up to pull her into a gentle kiss. Nothing else needs to be said, they’ve come to an understanding. They both know it’s a goodbye kiss - a goodbye for now. 

–

The next early morning, she’s on watch as they leave. 

“Saint’s willing, we’ll meet again one day.” Her words came out low, almost like a whisper or prayer. They thankfully went unheard, and she waved to the dark sky as Tamar flew off in the hummingbird. 

Kostya clapped a comforting hand on her shoulder, “They’ll be alright.” 

She turns back, giving them a terse smile. He’d mistaken it for worry, probably a good thing. 

The crew makes themselves scarce for a while, keeping careful tabs on every hint of the Darklings location. If they were caught by him they likely would not survive, and likely would come to very painful deaths, something none of them were particularly interested in. She wonders if he would spare Grisha, she hopes not - if they were to be captured she’d rather get the same treatment as the rest of the crew, as morbid as that sounds. 

The next few months go by pretty quickly, and when she gets offered the chance to go to the Spinning Wheel, she takes it. A break from the seas will do her good. The idea of seeing Tamar doesn’t cross her mind, surprisingly. She’s become a memory - a good one, but a memory. 

– 

Spinning wheel 

It’s strange being with her crew on land. Everyone's the same, but a bit more tense. There’s a certain safety at sea - it’s more difficult to be ambushed. She’s surprised when Alina remembers her - even her name, and cheers along with the rest when she cuts the top of a mountain off. 

Y/n noticed the connection between her and Nadia almost immediately and it didn’t hurt like she thought it would, she offered her congratulations instead. 

An argument starts when Sturmhond tells her she’s going on the mission to hunt the firebird. Well, asks her, he knows he can’t really tell her to do anything. She supposes she should call him Nikolai now. 

“You’re the best tidemaker we have.” Nikolai says. 

“They could bring anyone else.” 

“Tamar asked for you.” 

“That’s the problem.” She whispers. 

He sighs, walking around the table to clasp a hand on her shoulder. “I know you two have history, but I’d feel better knowing you’re there. Tamar asked for you for a reason, and I doubt it’s to have a sordid tryst in the middle of the night.” 

Y/n’s eyes narrow and she glares at him as he laughs. “They’re taking Ana.” Ana is another friend from the Volkvolny, a Materialki that put the last amplifier on Alina. Her eyes light up, and the look on his face tells her he knows he’s won.

“Fine.” She says reluctantly. “I’ve always wanted to visit there.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“No, but it makes me feel better.” 

“Whatever it takes” he winks before leading them out of the room. 

The ambush surprises them all. She takes another look at the crew, a tidemaker isn’t completely essential, and there’s too much weight already. She can tell Nevsky is thinking the same thing. Despite her being Grisha, they became fast friends. 

“One last time?” he whispers to her. Not that they’d had times before, but she guesses he likes the dramatic effect.

“Lets do it.” She replies. He says something quiet to Alina before yelling, 

“For the 22nd.” He leaps over the side with his soldiers. 

“For Sturmhond.” She whispers before following them. Tamar’s scream is lost in the noise. 

[quibbs126]

So I think earlier today, I saw something about both Cookie Run and Resident Evil, and since then my head’s been coming up with this idea for a Cookie that’s basically like the lone survivor in a town turned zombies, or at least that’s the trope they’re based on

The other townsfolk probably aren’t literal zombies, just have been turned into something equating that. I’m not sure by what means yet, like the town got hit with some new unknown disease that turned them this way, the town was put under some sort of curse for whatever reason, a potion gone wrong, some artifact from space, a pharmaceutical company testing their new bio-weapon, or some other reason. I know in canon we have the Jellywalkers, but they seemed more like a worldwide event, and this is just one isolated incident in a town. Also I feel like if you’re gonna have Jellywalkers, you need to also have Energy Drink and Wasabi, and those two don’t really fit in to me for this story. Maybe it could be some proto form or variant of the Jellywalker virus though

But yeah, basically the idea for this guy I have is that they’re the last remaining survivor in the town, desperately trying to survive and find a way to get rid of the zombies, likely by curing them in some way. They weren’t initially the only survivor, they weren’t just the lucky one while the rest of the town got infected, there were others, they’re just the last remaining by this point. But they’ve been stuck in this situation for a while, and they’ve gone a bit paranoid as such, always having to keep watch and try to avoid being turned into one

The story event they come with is some group of Cookies going into the town (which I imagine is isolated from most of the world, hence why the virus hasn’t spread too far) for whatever reason, then getting attacked by zombies but then get saved by this survivor Cookie. Then the plot is them trying to figure out a cure and ultimately by the end, the town is saved of the infection

I also imagine this would be some sort of Halloween update, since you know, it’s a zombie invasion, a pretty popular horror trope

I want to make this Cookie myself, but I don’t know what ingredient to make them. I imagine it to either be something that wards off zombies or other monsters (all I know is garlic, but that’s vampires), or something that’s like some sort of survivor food. Like it’s something easy to make when you don’t have much, or it’s something that’s used in an apocalypse, like how apocalypse bunkers are usually filled with canned beans. I’m not really well versed in that sort of stuff. But what I do know is that the Cookie has been eating nothing but that for a while now, and it probably doesn’t taste that great

Also they probably have a shotgun

But yeah, I just wanted to share that character idea

[hinatastinygiant]

51 | Essex

Pairing: Tokyo Revengers x Fem!Reader

Wasteland Masterlist

Later that night, after you’ve reconvened with the rest of the group, you sit down just before the Ferris Wheel. Your stomach rumbles as you watch a few of the others grabbing food from somewhere you haven’t noticed yet. Lucky for you, Kakucho approaches you with some food without you even needing to lift a finger.

“Hey, are you hungry?” he asks as he sits beside you.

“Starving,” you reply honestly.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asks as he hands you a plate of chickpeas and rice.

You think back to the morning before you talked to Hanma about leaving. “Breakfast,” you then respond.

The two of you then devour your meals before you share another word.

“God, that was amazing,” you hum as you press your hands into the grass behind you. “Did you make that?”

“No, actually Taiju did,” he grins.

“You mean that huge guy with the muscles and the vein popping out of his head constantly? He knows how to cook?” you think aloud.

“Yeah, I think they’d surprise you,” he nods.

“Not that I’ll ever get the chance to know them. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one here who actually likes me. I can’t ever say what Sanzu is thinking,” you grin at Kakucho.

“Why do they dislike you?” he hums as though he’s put some serious thought into wondering why.

“Oh, I guess I just keep getting in their way of killing me,” you smile as you nudge him in the arm. “But I guess that just means I’m smarter.”

“Can’t say I don’t agree,” he smiles back.

“What’re their numbers by the way?” you then ask. “One of them has to have over a hundred after all.”

“Where should I start…” he hums as he looks out at the group not so far off from the two of you. He’ll have to keep his voice down to avoid suspicion. “I suppose you’ve seen Sanzu’s.”

“No,” you shake your head. Maybe that’s why he had you blindfolded before. “He, uh, didn’t let me get a chance to look. Is it over a hundred?”

“Hmph,” he scoffs. “It’s technically closer to two hundred. He’s got one hundred fifty-four.”

“Shit,” you whisper as you watch him laugh and down a bottle of saki. “Who’s got the most?”

“Well, from what I can recall, Taiju has one hundred forty-seven, Izana’s got one hundred sixty-two, and South’s got one hundred eighty-one.”

“Fuck! Are you serious? South’s got the highest count out of all of ‘em?” you whisper while watching the vein bulge out of South’s head from thirty feet away. What the hell could he possibly be pissed off about now? Someone disrespect his meal?

“That leaves the Haitani brothers. Ran’s got more. One hundred forty. Rin has about nine less,” he explains. “But they’re relatively new. That’s pretty much the only reason why their numbers are low.”

“Low?” you scoff. “Jesus, what is yours then?”

When Kakucho doesn’t answer, you look down at his arm and gently reach for it. You allow your hand to intertwine with his as you gently flip it over. The number 152 reveals itself in bold.

Kakucho looks at you almost nervously while watching your reaction. However, you don’t really know what to say.

“What’s yours?” he gulps dryly.

With your fingers still interlocked with his, you rotate your wrist so he can see the thirty-five inked onto your skin.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he shakes his head as he slaps his free hand over your wrist. “Why the fuck did you come here? You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Nobody knows!” you insist. “Well, I don’t think Rin and Ran know. Sanzu probably does though…”

“Lucky for you, I’m pretty sure Sanzu would take your side over theirs. As for Izana, he and I have a bit of a history so I could swing him to side with us,” he whispers softly as he lets go of your arm.

“What are you suggesting?” you hum curiously as you notice him start to get uncomfortable.

“I’m just saying if something happens, you’d have a few people on your side. And I know Taiju and South look like monsters but they’ll go with the majority,” he then nods.

“So as long as I’ve got Sanzu on my side…” you think aloud.

“Then you’re gold,” he finishes.

This is perfect, you think. If you can get the majority of them on your side, you really could take Kisaki down!

“Then don’t mind me,” you hum as you watch Sanzu sitting in a nearby lawn chair and sipping saki, “but I’m going to make sure I’ve got nothing less than gold on my side.”

You smirk to yourself as you stand up and walk over to Sanzu. “Hey,” you say sweetly as you sit down on his lap and swing your legs over one of the arms of the lawn chair.

“Hey, baby,” he grins before kissing you. You can feel heat take over your body when he does. You don’t know how he does it, but he makes you crazy for him when he’s nearby. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out hunting a bit before bed,” you whisper hotly in his ear. “It’d give us another chance to be alone together, too.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he smirks. “Grab what you need and meet me near the entrance in ten. I’ll get you a gun too, don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you smile, kissing him once more before walking off. You can see Kakucho in the same spot as before, shaking his head at you as he watches you walk away.

Less than an hour later, you and Sanzu have got a group of exactly ten people trapped inside of a small cinema. All of them are sitting ducks while you approach them with the gun Sanzu gave you. You did make sure to bring your knife, too, not that you need it. It’s like a cakewalk while finishing them all off.

By the end of the event, your measly thirty-five increases by ten. And Sanzu’s does, too. He even shows you the 164 proudly on his wrist before kissing you roughly.

You can feel yourself stumble over the warm bodies on the ground while Sanzu leads you to the back of the cinema. Yet somehow, he both guides you through without falling and slides his tongue against yours until you drop your guard completely.

Wasteland Masterlist

Taglist: @pikagirl2001330 @romaka344

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO MARE COSMIA, REBECCA "BECKS" PONDO. 🌓

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: payton

age: 23

pronouns: they/them

ooc contact: bethjohanssen (tumblr) or cospayton (twitter)

other characters in XC: Parker Davis, Jimmy Smith, Adder, KJ Smith

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: Rebecca “Becks” Pondo

age: 21

pronouns: she/her

series: OC

canon point: A few days into fantasy-1966

app triggers: murder, loss of autonomy, forced transformation

personality:

You know what they say about dogs, they’re man’s best friend. Becks, in a way, is no different— Happy to go with any flow (as long as it’s before the hours of 8pm-8am), sweet, loyal, and just a smidge naive. She’s a people pleaser through and through, maybe a bit of a pushover, but even the kindest dog can still bite when provoked.

(And of course, though Becks will never admit it, throwing a stick for her to chase is the easiest way to get on her good side.)

Becks, though she doesn’t know it yet, absolutely adores any form of self-expression. Hair, makeup, fashion, music, piercings… Anything that marks her out as an individual and separates from her “condition.”

something your muse struggles with:

Despite her go-with-the-flow attitude, even she has her limits. Becks’ one hard line is nothing to do with the nighttime or any werewolf-isms. She’s vehemently strict about her schedule, about never seeing the moon, and has a staunch stance on peace and love. Becks hates violence in any form, especially against innocent people.

However, Becks can be selfish when it comes to her routine. She would rather ruin a night out, someone's day, or a location if it meant gaining safety from the moon. There is no greater fear for Becks Pondo than being caught up in a full moon and by extension transforming into the monster she tries so hard not to be. She claims it's for everyone around her's safety, and maybe she's right, but when it comes to avoiding the moon she's entirely one-track-minded.

your muse’s greatest strength:

When living with such… complications as Becks has she’s learned to take things as they come, never putting up a stink about something she can’t change. Rather, Becks will put in the work to adjust her life to manage these changes.

Becks takes every new challenge as an opportunity to learn. When thrown into 1966 she was quick to assimilate into the culture, embracing everything the future had to offer.

history / background:

Life is quaint in 1690. A 21-year-old Rebecca (Soon to be “Becks”) Pondo lives on a nice homestead with her family. Her free time is spent making dresses, tending to her loved ones, and of course dealing with constant nagging about her refusal to abide by her family’s one, sacred, lycanthropic monthly tradition. 

…Oh yeah, did I forget to say the Pondos are a family of werewolves?

The first full moon after your 13th birthday is where it all begins– your first transformation. There’s a ceremony and everything, but the life of a werewolf isn’t all it’s cracked out to be… Literally cracked. One can feel their bones break, shift, and reform; every little change is a sharp surge of pain. Older generations treat it as a gift, something to behold. Being a werewolf is an honour, after all. Yet Becks sees it as a curse. To turn into something inhuman, a passenger in your own body. Helpless to stop whatever this creature chooses to do with your body. Bloodshed and violence are simply a monthly “inconvenience” that werewolves must get used to.

Becks’ first kill was at 15, barely two years into her monthly transformations. She would attempt to chain herself to the barn, treating her werewolf transformation like an unruly pet with extra energy to get out. However, this night she wasn’t as cautious. She lost track of time, of the day, and before she knew it it was too late. Four innocent humans lost their lives that night and yet her family claimed that she should be lucky she didn’t know them. Somehow it was supposed to be “easier” that way.

Ever since Becks swore never to let herself transform again. When a full moon came she would hide in the darkest corners of her homestead, breathing shallow and quiet as if somehow the moon could listen, would know where she was and make this time particularly gruesome. Now seen as the Pondo’s biggest disappointment, Becks was relegated to the lowest of household tasks. As the years went by, the unwillingness to accept this part of her began to manifest as various features. First, it was a little extra hair here and there, then a dog’s nose… ears… A tail. Though it’s easy to hide some of these traits under hats and long skirts, it would soon be the least of her worries.

With a flash of light, there was a stranger in Becks’ garden. One who Becks didn’t quite understand as he spoke, but was dressed in such garish and bright clothes. He merely looked around, muttered a “fucking time travel— shitfuck!” and disappeared with another flash of light. However when this wayward time traveller arrived at his proper destination, 1966, it seemed his proximity to a certain werewolf caused her to be dragged along with him.

Confused and scared, Becks pleaded to the stranger to take her back to her homestead. She wouldn’t tell a soul about what magic spell he had cast, she swore! Even so, the time traveller merely shoved her off, hailed a taxi, and left her life for good.

Now stuck in 1966, Becks Pondo is forced to forge a new life for herself. Alone and terrified, surrounded by technology, fashion, and lifestyles the likes of which she has never seen… It surely can’t get worse, right?

powers / abilities:

Werewolf Transformation

On the full moon each month, any exposure to the moonlight will cause Becks to turn into a large, imposing, inhuman creature.

Rebecca is conscious during this, remaining as a passenger to her own body as the creature rages. Werewolves in her world are bloodthirsty, aggressive, and downright terrifying.

She hates it and avoids the full moon whenever possible.

inherent abilities:

“Recovering Werewolf” side effects

These impact Rebecca’s appearance and her abilities as a direct result of her refusal to submit to her monthly transformations.

Enhanced day and night vision, hearing, and strength.

items / weapons:

Bow and silver-tipped arrows

Special silver-tipped arrows are for EMERGENCIES ONLY!

Wooden bead bracelet

Given to Becks by her late brother Ralph. Worn from time and constant wear

starting ability: Werewolf Transformation

starting item: N/A

extra:

Hobbies include dressmaking/mending, archery, and drawing.

Her second time in XC! This time with a completely reworked backstory, yay!

She’s Irish but was living in England. Learned about the Beatles and was so confused why a bunch of bugs have become “much foretold across the land.”

discord id: beckspondo

[raincitygirl76]

Kristina insisting on Wilhelm seeing a therapist totally backfired on her. She didn’t bank on Boris being more interested in the well-being and emotional stability of his patients than in stabilizing the image of the monarchy. Or in ensuring the queer Crown Prince STAYED in the closet after his parents and the royal court had manipulated him back into it. Boris treated Wilhelm like any other patient, and his stress over family expectations like any other patient’s family stress.

But I can see why his parents and Jan-Olof didn’t foresee him going rogue at the jubilee. Thing is, whenever they put Wilhelm in front of cameras before, he ALWAYS knuckled down. He’d argue, shout, and maybe even yell beforehand, trying to talk them out of it. But once the cameras were rolling and the microphones were live, he invariably sucked it up and read out the speech.

Even though it was never his own ideas or even words, just some PR person at the palace writing and him reading off a teleprompter or cue cards. Even when it was lies from start to finish. Kristina, Ludvig, and the royal court thought he was an unreliable and erratic teenage brat in general, but they trusted him to do whatever they told him in front of the media.

Him telling the truth about that horrible voyeuristic video and his relationship with Simon on live TV was totally unpredictable, given all his prior behaviour. He’d never defied them in that particular way before, so they never saw it coming. And once he’d gone totally off script in a televised speech, he became much harder to shove back into the closet than the previous December.

Yup, got to send that boy to therapy so he’ll learn to avoid emotional outbursts. And oh look, here he is, not having an outburst. He’s just outing himself on live television. Quite calmly and without shouting, doesn’t really count as an outburst. Except for the explosive content of what he said when he decided to stop reading out the speech and improvise. No hiding him now.

P.S. I bet they don’t schedule him to make another televised speech until he’s THIRTY! They’ll be scared to let him anywhere near the media at all.

P.S. #2. They’re goddamn lucky Wilhelm didn’t go even more off script. He told the truth about himself, but he protected his parents and their courtiers. They think it’s a crisis he outed himself to the world. It would’ve been a significantly worse crisis if he’d also told the world the truth about his mother covering up for a child pornographer.

And all because Kristina knew if Wilhelm found out it was August who’d secretly filmed and then leaked the video of him and Simon, he would never agree to give the speech where he lied and said he wasn’t in the video, and was straight. She prioritized her heir’s false image of heterosexuality and protecting an extended family member (a sex offender). It was more important to her than protecting her ONLY SURVIVING CHILD (the minor that sex offender victimized).

P.s. #3. Sorry, still not over Kristina’s bloody negligent parental actions in 1.06, or Ludvig backing her up. I’m actually working on a post about how I think that situation came about. Which will be much more sympathetic to Kristina. Because even though I think she made a terrible decision in 1.06 which endangered her son, I can see how it came about. Not an excuse for her actions, but a reason that makes them easier to understand (even though it was still a shitty thing to do).

But work is crazy this week, so I might not get that post finished up until the weekend. Because I don’t think Kristina’s a monster, and I don’t think she’s realized just how bloody negligent her actions were of her son’s safety. There’s a lot happening that means she reacts as a monarch first and a mom second. Sometimes a very distant second. And some of it is within her control and some isn’t.

I'm wondering like, what were the queen's thoughts when sending wilhelm to therapy? Like, oh my boy, who's got some outbursts of anger should go the therapy to control them, so he won't cause a scene in public, which will affect our image once again?

Cause, yeah, ok, it helped him with that, but at the same time, my boy came out in front of everyone at hillerska and basically to the whole world

I love how he started telling the speech, and how proud the queen was, but when he stopped following the script, you could clearly see the panic on her face

Like, that's the biggest fuck you, from wille to her and the whole institution, so far at least. Is this wille's revolution? I want him to bring down the whole goddamn monarchy

In this season, he was like, Move, I'm royalty, and made August's life a nightmare. In the next season i want him to be, Move, I'm gay and Be gay do crimes, but this time it's the queen and jan olaf's lives that will be a nightmare, trying to save whatever can be saved from Wilhelm's chaotic energy

[hotwings0203]

Idk what this is but the thought of you being scared of Bakugos quirk is so hot to me

Tw:noncon, predatory behavior

“I swear he’s getting to be more and more like a villain every time I see him,” you giggle with Mina as you two walk out of the class. Bakugo had yet again exploded at one of your shared teachers for correcting him in his pronunciation of a word, and as usual it was quite a scene to behold. Chairs were almost thrown, his friends had to hold him back from leaping up while others egged him on, itching for amusement in their mind-numbingly dull class.

“Maybe Shigaraki was right,” your pink-haired friend snorts and you both collapse in wheezes, clawing and slapping at each other’s shoulders as the ludicrous image of Shigaraki being unable to reign in Bakugo comes to mind.

“Hey ladies, what’re you two laughing about?” A lilting and charming voice comes right at your ear, and you turn to see Denki, Kirishima and…Bakugo walking next to you.

Just because of his proximity and how you were literally just talking about him two seconds ago, you jump away from Bakugo’s glowering face and not so subtly hide behind Mina in a half playful jest.

“Huh? Whatcha ya jumpin’ around for?” Kirishima laughs and you exchange an embarrassed look with Mina.

“Oh nothing, we were just talking about how Bakugo’s quirk is totally villainous. We’re lucky he’s on our side,” Mina singsongs, but you slap her arm in alarm.

And well placed alarm at that, because Bakugo’s scowl deepens as he turns his head to you in a death-glare. You swallow hard seeing his expression and try to nervously laugh.

“But, uh, we were just joking. Right Mina?” You give her a pointed look and she deflects it happily.

“Nope! At least you weren’t, you’re half scared to death of him, isn’t that right Y/N?”

Denki interrupts before you can sputter in horror.

“Honestly, who isn’t scared of this dude?” He claps the other blond on his back and yelps when Bakugo’s hands start curling with smoke.

“Watch it dumbass.” He cranes his head to meet your eyes, but when he finds that you’re still avoiding eye contact with him he starts moving around his friends to better talk to you.

“My quirk isn’t that scary you idiot. It’s not like I care enough about any of you to blow you up-“

But with the smoke still curling form his hands and with the permanently intimidating scowl on his face reading closer and close to your, you can’t help but squeal and scrabble around him to sink your nails into Kirishima’s shoulders for protection.

“Okay, I get it! You don’t have to come any closer, I can see fine from here.” Your voice comes out too high and strained to be deemed as joking, but nonetheless everyone laughs at your dramatic show.

Everyone but Katsuki. Because he can see you’re actually scared, he’s seen it a hundred times on civilians who try to pretend they’re fine but still have that panicked glint in their eye.

“Jesus Y/N, with a reaction like that maybe he really is a villain. Bakubro, want us to send you back to Shigaraki’s place? Maybe you should reconsider his offer.”

And finally at Denki’s quip everyone including you this time laughs again in playful agreement, but yet again Bakugo’s blood starts simmering further.

Why the fuck were you being so obnoxious? He didn’t do anything to you before, right? So why the hell were you embarrassing him in front of all his friends and making him out to be this bloodthirsty monster?

Well, whatever. If a monster is what you want, then a monster is what you’ll get.

And so he waits for you after school, trailing behind you a couple hundred feet yet still keeping you in sight. He curses when you giggle with your friends, no doubt in his mind that you’re still throwing dirt on his name and he swears under his breath when you talk to Deku and his dweeb friends.

Of course when you hang around ditzy dorks like Deku he’s gonna look like a psycho in comparison.

But at one point you’re by the vending machine alone in a deserted hallway, fumbling with your coins and trying to quickly get a soda before your friends up ahead leave.

Too bad for you, because when he’s done with you they’ll never want to be seen with you again for their own safety.

You’re shoving money in the slot when he silently walks up a couple feet behind you.

“No friends around to gossip about me?”

You shriek and jump a good foot in the air at the sudden voice behind you. Clutching your heaving chest, you whirl around to see who it is.

Your blood runs cold. It’s Katsuki Bakugo, the absolute last person you want to be alone with in a deserted hallway.

Your feet move a step back.

Wrong move.

His nostrils flare and his eyes widen at your insulting retreat. You know he doesn’t take kindly to it, but with an expression like that how could you not?

“Uh, w-what do you mean?” You chuckle nervously.

He doesn’t laugh. In fact, he does something worse.

He matches your steps and moves forward a little bit.

At this you fully take a stride backwards and clash with the vending machine behind you.

He keeps advancing, slowly getting closer and checking you out, his head tilted as his eyes roam up and down your vulnerable body.

“Don’t move back. Why the fuck did you move away from me? That’s rude, we were just having a normal conversation.”

You surprise yourself by sounding level-headed in retaliation. “‘Kinda hard not to be a little uncomfortable when your conversation sounds so accusing.”

He lunges forward and you actually scream this time, throwing your hands up above your head in instinct to protect yourself from his proximity.

Bakugo doesn’t touch you but you can still feel his breath puffing on your head, can still feel the heat from his hands on either side of your body.

“You got a smart mouth don’t you? Is that why you embarrassed me earlier in front of everyone?”

“Embarrassed you-?” You squeak but immediately cut off when he thrusts his face right in front of yours, a manic look on his face as all his facial features stretch into a irate leer.

“I guess we’ll have to fix that tongue of yours. Put it to better use than to talk shit about me, right?”

Vermilion irises move from your face down your body, lingering on your chest and at the apex in between your legs.

Bile rises to your throat as he licks his lips and lets his lips ghost over yours, oh so close yet not touching.

And in the second before he descends, you shove him off with nothing but pure adrenaline feeling your fear and race past him, blindly running down the halls as fast as you can.

Surprisingly, you don’t hear anyone behind you. That doesn’t mean you don’t stop running though.

The real reason you don’t hear anyone behind you is because Katsuki Bakugo has an eerie smile on his face at your bolt. He languidly stretches his arms above his head and relishes in the popping of his joints, and in succession the popping of sparks in his hand. He kicks one leg out, then the other just to ensure you get a fair head start.

You’ve just made this so much more interesting.

He sets off at a light jog, and even in his carefree pace his strides are enough to eventually catch up with you, instinct like an animal’s guiding him through the winding halls and ending up catching a glimpse of your feet as you turn into another lane.

You’re panting, sweat pouring down your eyes as panic makes it hard to breathe or think rationally. The adrenaline that was pushing you is now dying down but at the worst time.

You take a quick glance back and your rapidly beating heart falters as you see him with a grin on his face as he practically jogs leisurely behind you. You’ve seen this same face on him when he’s in the battlefield, blasting through enemy hearts and blowing up heads as if they were fireworks.

He’s bloodthirsty. He wants you.

“Running away again? That’s not very heroic of you babe,” he calls out, and it’s terrifyingly infuriating how he’s not out of breath.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you half scream and sob, trying to run faster but failing miserably.

You see a bathroom sign out of the corner of your eye and frantically stumble towards it.

Katsuki knows you know he’s even you take a turn and he laughs to himself at how boringly easy this is.

Maybe he was scary.

He shakes it off and continues his hunt after you, coming forth until he faces the bathroom door in which you were cowering behind.

There’s a small window, and no other door. Just a couple of stalls, a terrified girl, and a psycho with the taste of revenge practically palpable on his lustful tongue.

He knock with faux politeness. “You wanna come out and do this the easy way or you want me to barge in and take you myself?”

You sob and wheeze in response, desperately pushing against the flimsy door in a pathetic attempt to keep him out. Bakugo merely crosses his arms and leans against the door, staring intently at it with a smile still on his face.

Judging by the weight pushing more at the bottom of the door, he can tell you’re probably sitting down in an effort to catch your breath.

You both know he can come in at any time he so well pleases, but he decides he’ll play by your rules for a bit longer, indulge you a little before your inevitable downfall.

He hums loudly and slides down to join your parallel position on the floor.

“I’m tryina be nice here, y’know. You acted so scared of me when I never even bothered you before. Aren’t I being nice right now by letting you choose for yourself?”

He sounds so conversational, as if he were talking to one of his buddies. You stay silent but your silence speaks volumes.

It serves as nothing but a means to piss him off further.

The two of you sit in silence for seemingly hours, even though it’s only around 20 minutes. Every second you feel like he’s going to break down the door any second and blast your face off, but miraculously he doesn’t.

You don’t know what you’d rather prefer: for him to prolong your strained agony by letting you be so close yet so far from him, or to end your suffering and get it done with.

But you needn’t sit in silence stewing in your own fear any further, for at the exact moment you begin to doze off with the dying of the light the weight on the other side of the door lifts and you startle awake at the scuffling on the other side.

You blink a couple of times and blanch when you see through the window the purple light indicating that you really have been here longer than you thought.

Bakugo cracks his knuckles and rolls his head, popping a few more kinks in his neck before breathing out and bracing for impact.

“Ready or not little bitch, here I come.”

“Bakugo, wait-!”

But your plea doesn’t last for more than two words. The door bangs open with such a sound that you actually think he’s blasted it straight off his hinges. You gasp and shield yourself, jumping backwards and covering your face.

“‘Thought I made it clear by now that you can’t run. So why’d you try to leave? Huh? Think you’re smarter than me? You think you’re stronger than me?”

He’s stalking forward again, and you’re left tripping back over your feet and whimpering at his salacious intent as he backs you up and corners you into a stall.

He already knows the answers to his rhetorical questions but he wants to hear you say it. He wants to hear that scornful conviction in your voice about how big and bad he was that you used earlier.

With you tripping backwards into the cramped stall, his approach quickens in hunger at feeling you, feeling the fear radiating off your body.

Bakugo presses up against you against the wall and takes up the space around you, invading your personal bubble. He’s everywhere, growling in your ear, hands gripping your waist so tight you’re sure bruises sprout from his touch, his erect penis grinding on the inside of your thigh.

Your trepidation and terror rises to an insurmountable height as he smothers you.

When he suddenly grips your chin and forces your head to face him you gasp. His touch is even more callous than you thought.

“You lookin’ here bitch? Good.”

His palm is raised towards you and before you can even widen your eyes in realization his appendage starts sparking madly. You shriek and try to throw him loose as little bits of embers fly out and made your face, his voice rough as always yet dangerously low and soft.

“S’not so scary after all is it? You’re reacting better to it than I thought.” Bakugo Blanca you mocks your writhing figure as you desperately try to evade the mini explosions.

“Okay, I get it, please stop I don’t like it!” You shrilly cry out but his hand moves from your jaw down to your neck, and squeezes the last remnants of opposition out of you.

“Yeah? Good, I’m glad you get it. But honestly, I don’t care if you don’t like it.

Because I like it. I fucking love this quirk, ‘specially when you cower so prettily under it like you did earlier.”

You choke and try to scrabble at his hands but it’s like a butterfly’s touch to him, barely producing any fruition.

“I kept wondering to myself: why do I care if she’s scared of it? And then I realized,” he leans in and lets his lips brush over your ear, lets his hand lessen ever so slightly so that your main focus is his words.

“You just looked good enough to eat when you know you’re beneath me. When you know how dangerous I am.”

He pulls back and assesses the look on your face. “Makes you look good enough to eat.”

And without further ado he lowers his hand and starts rubbing his alit palm on your clothed pussy, his erection getting harder as your screams wilt into whines.

Your legs flail uselessly as he burns a hole through your pants and his fingers hook aside the band of your panties.

Bakugo thrusts his hips forwards and grinds his straining cock on your moist lips, taking in your blubbers and teary eyes.

You can’t even speak, you can only cry out like a child as he thrusts harder and harder, so hard that your back hits the wall painful and the stall walls rattle behind you.

“You-pant-fucking scared-pant-now slut?” He rasps, his head bobbing on rhythm with yours as he practically lifts you off your toes to match his pace.

Your clit is caught between the fabric and rolled cruelly pleasurable as his tip leaks precum, staining your own panties in the process.

With your attention rapt on his now-uncovered dick sliding in and out of your folds, he takes this opportunity to take his other hand off your neck and blast the wall next to your face.

The second you open your mouth in shock as bits of tile rain down on your face he slams his steaming palm over your lips, burning the soft flesh as you weep openly.

He sets off two more near your sides and another above your head, his own face aligned right in front of yours so you can see the mean smile on his face all the while he sets your heart racing at an alarming speed.

When the smoke clears and you can start feeling glass and tile imprint on your once-smooth face, he positions his dick up so that it prods at your hole and yanks your hair back.

His eyes practically glow with the mini fires preserved in the walls with his blasts, the impact of the air rushing around him makes his hair even spikier, his body is taunt and even more imposing than before.

His teeth gleam with the orange and red light next to you. His chest doesn’t heave, because he’s at ease with your terror.

“You think you know fear?”

With one swift movement he shoves up into you, but this time he doesn’t cover your mouth.

“You haven’t met me truly yet.”

[random-ln-stuff]

Do you ever think about how the Little Nightmares Kids are on a time limit?

Like when they hit adulthood (so either 18 or 20), it’s over for them. Whatever protection that they have from this world and it’s corrupting affects will be gone.

If they’re lucky they’ll end up retaining enough of an identity to retain some sort of personality and become something like the teacher or the doctor, but this may be considered a fate worse than death, as they still lose everything that they once had and become the same aggressive monsters that they’ve spent their entire lives avoiding. They loose their humanity with age and in its place gain a constant irresistible urge to harm and kill any child they encounter.

If they’re unlucky, they’ll end up as something like a viewer, permanently bound to whatever addicting force permeates the nearly area. Mindless and barely able to comprehend anything but what they’re ensnared by. A fate far, FAR worse than death.

Maybe that’s why we never see any teenagers. When a fate worse than death is inevitable like that, there’s only one solution that comes to mind.

Headcanons under the cut.

We see that some adults DO seem to be able to resist these urges, but they all have reasons for being able to do so.

The Janitor, the Hunter aren’t actually resisting these urges as much as you think. They aren’t killing children IMMEDIATELY, but they are still killing them. They just have some ulterior motives that come first, and then they kill the child later.

The Janitor watches over children in the Maw, but he’s also the one that kills them and sends them to the kitchen and will kill any child he finds trying to escape.

Plus he’s also kept in check by the Lady, an extremely powerful adult that, when you look at how she treats her other employees like the Craftsman and Butler, may have been the one responsible for Roger’s blindness. Blinding him either to prevent him from escaping, to prevent him from harming as many children, or as punishment for something (possibly for seeing something that he wasn’t supposed to see).

The Hunter doesn’t kill Six immediately, but that’s because he wants to either taxidermy or cook and eat her later, locking Six in his cabin and waiting until she’s the right size to properly taxidermy/cook Hansel and Gretel style. He’s still going to kill her, but he needs to wait a bit first because his own goals come just a bit before his killing urges.

The Lady, the Broadcaster, the Ferryman and the North Wind are all Lords. They hold dominion over entire sections of this world and are some of the most powerful adults in existence. The retaining of some humanity and control over themselves seems to come with that.

And children can’t just become lords with age or luck. The existing lords have something that no current child has: They most likely became lords (and gained their powers) though the Eye.

The Lady gained her powers though a deal with the Eye and later sought out and took over the Maw with them to guarantee a steady supply of souls to consume (and also because the Broadcaster took over the Pale City where she originally lived).

The Broadcaster gained his powers and his tower though the Eye and sought out Mono and created the loop to power it.

The Ferryman definitely gained SOMETHING from a deal with the Eye given how he’s able to tango with entities like the North Wind and the Lady, and his powers were either that something or came with that something.

The North Wind was most likely directly created by the Eye and came into existence whenever it was that the world went to shit.

The Butler not only has his hands bound (preventing him from escaping and making it harder for him to bring harm to the Pretender), but is also fully aware of what happens if he angers his boss. The Craftsman in the attic serves as a constant reminder. The Lady, like mentioned before, is one of the most powerful adults in the world and the Butler refuses to harm the Pretender because he may as well be signing his own death warrant by doing so. Plus, the Butler has done this at least four times before and at most five times before. He has practice with keeping his child killing urges in check and is aware that harming this specific child means death for him.

The Thin Man recognizes Six and Mono and despite recognizing Six, doesn’t kill her. Instead of killing Six, the Thin Man locks her in the signal tower with a copy of her music box. He doesn’t care about the fact that Six is being distorted by the signal, but he also doesn’t want to kill her despite everything she did to him. He also seems to recognize Mono and may have been attempting to speak to him through the transmission, only for the two of them to cause disruptive interference and cancel each other out. His awareness and ability to resist his urge to kill can be attributed to what exactly he is.

The Thin Man isn’t the lord of the Pale City, that title goes to the Broadcaster, but he is a major part of the transmission, with the signal tower twisting his natural signal powers into the eldritch transmission that chokes the airwaves of the Pale City. The transmission surrounds and permeates the Thin Man, as he is a key part of it. Basically, the transmission constantly running around and through the Thin Man gives him a bit more awareness and humanity than the typical adult. Like some sort of pseudo-lord. The (somewhat) retained humanity of a lord (along with a few childhood memories) with none of the other benefits.

But even those that retain some of their humanity and/or know how to fight their urges are still aggressive child hunters. That urge is still there and strong, the adult just knows how to fight it for a bit for their own benefit. And they really don’t see anything wrong with harming a child. Nothing wrong with it at all. To them, it’s just a fact of life. Adults feel the urge to kill and see no reason to ignore it.

[monodipita]

i love you, but i can’t tell you without wanting to hurt someone

pairing: mikey (manjiro sano) x gender neutral reader

word count: 1,128

warning(s): yandere content, general dark themes

       "You know, [Y/N].  I think this is the longest Mikey's ever dated anyone," Draken casually remarked, folding his elbows as he leaned back, resting them atop the park bench. The spring sun beat down on your skin, but the sea breeze felt nice. "You should be lucky."  He glanced up toward you, which, in turn, you merely laughed.  "Lucky?"  You shrugged your shoulders and looked away in the direction that Mikey walked away in.  You stared at his back dreamily while your hands went under your chin. "I'd hardly call it that. Maybe just... stupid."  You chuckled.

        Willingly getting into a relationship with someone who stalked you... yeah, it was so stupid.  You hardly understood what that meant for you.

        That day was a figment of your past.  Times were better, and people were happier.  Mikey wasn't the monster everyone would slowly know him to become.  Maybe you could've avoided these atrocities if you'd broken up with him earlier, but why, you didn't know how that would happen. You were too scared to openly talk to Mikey about anything now, even if he adoringly stared at you with those empty eyes, even if his lips spilled out words that said, "you can tell me anything," with such confidence that if you didn't know any better, you almost would've believed him.  You couldn't believe him.  Blood was on his hands because of you... no, you couldn't believe him.

        "You're harmful to [Y/N], Mikey,"  Draken glanced over to him.  It was fall, and yesterday marked your third month of being together.  The same park bench, the same people...except for Mikey.  Why no one could realize just how possessive his hold on you was would be a mystery to this very day.  It changed him into a desperate man who would do anything to maintain his hold on you - and everyone, even you, was powerless to stop it. "Stop treating them like an object.  And don't even get me started on what I caught you doing the other day,"

        "Don't tell me what I am and what I'm not.  You don't speak for [Y/N]."  Mikey calmly replied while his dead eyes wandered over to his best friend.  Oh, God, it was that look.  The same look he'd given that person who bumped into you by accident while the two of you were walking on the sidewalk just a few weeks ago... what was he going to do?  You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing could come out. All you could think...please, please, don't hurt Draken.

        Mikey's silence struck a nerve with both of you.

        You were afraid of what was going to happen if you spoke against either of them.  Mikey was... unpredictable, and Draken was a respectable man who would speak up for his beliefs, no matter what.  Draken noticed, and scoffed. "Tch!  Look at you.  They're too afraid to even say anything, Mikey."  He turned to face him. 

        Mikey stared at Draken for just a moment, before he turned his head to look at you. You could do nothing more but turn your head away from him and rub your arm. 

        The mistake you made was now the burden you'd bear for the rest of your life. 

        "I love you, but I don't know how to express it without wanting to hurt someone."  Mikey admitted.  It was spring again, reminiscent of the first ever date you'd gone on with him. You stared at him in silence, unsure of what to even say in response to that.  Were you supposed to be happy?  Happy?!  This past year, you'd been living in fear of your life and the lives of others!  It didn't even matter that he was gang-affiliated, he was dangerous!

        "Y-you hurt them anyway,"  you uttered after a moment, before you looked away from him. "You're hardly a boyfriend.  You're more like a monster who uses me to hurt others..."

        ...oh fuck... it slipped!

        "..."

        Mikey's feet shuffled, and in your peripheral vision, he'd completely disappeared.  It was only a moment later when you felt cold steel press to your temple, causing your heart to flutter with fear.  You wheezed out, feeling tears spring from your eyes and fall in tiny rivulets down your cheeks. "Mikey," you weakly called his name. "What are you doing?"

        "Are you trying to break up with me?"  He asked.

        "W-what does that have to do with this?!"  You snapped, "you're—you're holding a gun to my head!"

        "I'll kill you if you ever talk like that again."  He was so calm with his words that it shredded your nerves more than the gun pressed to your temple did.  "I'll kill you if you try to leave.  I'll kill the person you're talking to, and then I'll kill you.  Do you understand, [Y/N]?  You're mine."

        Two years after the disbanding of Toman, and two years into your relationship now in the present, you were now nothing more than his lapdog.  You couldn't speak to anyone without fear that they'd get hurt because of you.  If you had to liken your situation to something else, you'd compare yourself to a doll in a glass case. A prisoner who donned lavish clothing, and never moved from their spot. Everyone could look, but no one could touch, no one but Mikey. 

        And in this time of being forced to stay by his side, you came to realize that it wasn't all that bad.  He willingly took you from a terrible place, a terrible family, and gave you the attention you didn't want, or need.  You had all you could ever want, and all you had to do was just ask him.  He was your best friend, and you were his...even if you were blind to everything around you, and what he was doing to find the money to give you these expensive things.

        You could feel his hands sprawl over your sides to reach your back before he pulled you onto his lap.  The rain outside started to pick up, making you realize you'd been daydreaming this entire time.  His hold on you felt... nice.  His hands stroked down your back while you instinctively curled up to him.  His touch... it was so nice. 

        "It's nice, finally having someone who can watch your every move, isn't it?  Under my eye all the time, having nowhere to go because I'm the only place you can go,"  He asked, his tone cheerful, his words still anything but.  You simply nodded your head and curled closer to him with your arms wrapping around his smaller frame.  "But I shouldn't have to worry about you," he chuckled, "you'll never leave my side."

        "No, Mikey, I won't," you purred weakly. "I'll never leave your side."

[heliads]

Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

masterlist

You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

[mysyerious]

CIGARETTES & DIOR 3

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beta read by my beloved @raelwrites

—enemies (?) steve harrington X reader, follows along with 'the flea and the acrobat' and 'the monster'

[if anyone wants to be tagged let me know]

 When 1983 entered November, there weren’t very many things you expected to occur. Some fights perhaps, a date if you were lucky, academic pressure. What you weren’t planning for, and surely what none of residents of Hawkins were planning for, was a funeral.

 Sure, you had a reason to wear the all-black suit you had at the back of your closet, but it also meant having to acknowledge that something was seriously wrong in Hawkins.

 “This is where we know for sure it’s been, right,” Jonathan said, tilting the paper he held at an angle so that both you and Nancy could see without moving from your crouch behind the concrete.

 “So, that’s…” Nancy points at one of the red crosses.

 “Steve’s house. And that’s the woods where they found Will’s bike, and that’s my house.”

 “It’s all so close,” you whisper, and Jonathan agrees,

 “I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it’s… it’s not travelling far.”

 “So that means there’s gotta be some, like, place it rests, right? Because if no one has seen the thing yet apart from us…”

 “You want to go out there,” Nancy states like it’s obvious.

 “We might not find anything,” Jonathan says, though Nancy is quick to defend,

 “We found something.” She tilts her head at you, and you grimace as the creature flashes through your mind. “And if we do see it… then what?”

 “We kill it.”

 You snort. “What, with our hands? Gonna strangle it to death?”

 They stay silent before Jonathan stands up, folds the makeshift map up and walks away with a purpose.

 “Wh— hey! Jon—” you cut yourself off with a groan, standing to follow.

 You stop at the edge of the cemetery, where the cars are parked and watch as Jonathan stands to rifle through the glove box of one of the cars.

 “What are you doing?” Nancy questions.

 “Just give me a second.”

 You look around, noticing a few faces turn back to look at you three. “We’re lookin’ real suspicious I won’t lie, that second better end soon Jonathan.”

 “Are you serious?” Nancy suddenly exclaims and you turn around only to be met with the sight of Jonathan moving a gun from the compartment to his jacket pocket.

 “Oh, what the— how do you even have that?” you gawk, looking around a second time to make sure no one was close enough to see nor hear.

 “What? You wanna find that thing and take a photo? Yell at it? It’s like you said, we need weapons.” Jonathan slams the door shut but Nancy voices her disagreement,

 “This is a terrible idea.”

 “Nance, c’mon, realistically, we need weapons. Sure, I don’t really want to know how Jonny here actually has a gun, but I’m glad he does.”

 He nods at you. “It’s the best we’ve got. What? You can tell someone, but they’re not gonna believe you. You know that.”

 “Your mom would.”

 “She’s been through enough.”

 “She deserves to know.”

 You move over to Nancy and place a hand on her shoulder, squeezing enough to grab her attention. “We’ll tell her, Nance, but… maybe not right now.” You gesture lightly at the cemetery behind you.

 “We’ll tell her when this thing is dead.”

 “Woah! Hey— watch where you swing that thing, damn!” you jump out of the way of Nancy’s swing, narrowly avoiding a bat to the stomach.

 “Sorry, —” she grunts your name, stepping into another swing, “just practising.”

 You laugh lightly, skimming your fingers along the other wooden accoutrements by the wall only to jump again when an unfortunately familiar voice shouts, “Woah, woah, woah! Hey, woah, woah…”

 Steve fucking Harrington. You sigh.

 “What are you doing here?” Nancy asks, out of breath.

 “What are you doing?” he deflects.

 “Nothing.”

 “I hope that’s not meant for me.” Oh. You grin and grab a golf club.

 “Ah, fuck, you figured it out.” You hop closer, golf club in hand. “It was gonna be a surprise, but now we can’t trash your car now that you know.” You frown.

 “What?” Nancy’s head swings around to you before she shoves you slightly. You giggle and move the club into a swinging position to the right and behind your head, posing. “No. no, I was just… thinking about joining softball.”

 Again, you giggle. The club now rests on the floor, being used by you as a cane.

 Steve kicks the club and you stagger. Fuck you too, then.

 “Well, uh… listen I’m really sorry. I mean, even before you threatened me with the baseball bat.” He leans against the car. “I panicked and… I mean, I was a total dick.”

 You snort and fumble with the shovel on the wall behind you. Understatement of the century.

 “Did you get in trouble with your parents?”

 “Totally, but… you know, who cares? Screw ‘em. Any news about Barbara?”

 The shovel slips from your hands with a loud clang. You make no move to pick it up.

 “Parents heard from her? Or?” Steve continues after a glance at you.

 You pick the shovel up with shaking hands, hanging it back up before turning around to face the couple with what you hope is a straight face.

 “Hey, listen. Why don’t we, uh, why don’t we catch a movie tonight, you know? Just kinda pretend everything’s normal for a few hours. All the right moves is still playing. You know, with your lover boy from risky business?”

 You snort but stay silent. The invite was for Nancy.

 You haven’t been invited to watch a movie since March.

 “Yeah, I know.”

 “You know, Carol thinks I actually kinda look like him. What do you think?” Steve turns his face side to side before bursting into song, “just take those old records off the shelf, I’ll sit and listen to them by myself.” The urge to run and grab a camcorder increased ten-fold.

 You shuffle closer, hands in your pockets stifling the trembles.

 “I just, I… I don’t think I can. I’ve been really busy with this whole funeral thing and… with my brother, it’s been really hard on him.” You can practically hear the soft emotional music that should be playing right now.

 “Yeah, sure. Sure, yeah, yeah.” Steve’s face falls. Fuck, he looks like someone just kicked his puppy.

 “So…”

 You groan, throwing your head against Nancy’s shoulder. “I’ll go with you…” you finish with an exaggerated sigh.

 Steve stares at you, his eyebrows slowly raise. “You’d— yeah? I thought you hated me.”

 “Well, you look about as pathetic as a wet puppy right now, so yeah, I’d go with you.”

 You glance at Nancy but she’s grinning. It doesn’t fill you with confidence.

 “I think that’s a great idea. You guys can bond.”

 Hold on. Nobody was meant to agree here.

 “Er— what time, then?” Steve asks, looking moderately less sad.

 Okay, minimise the damage. Let him down gently. Tell him you were joking.

 “If you drove here, we can go right now.”

 Wait a minute.

 “Alright then.” He starts to walk backwards, staring at you.

 Fuck.

 Amongst the list of idiotic things you’ve done, getting into the same car as Steve Harrington— getting into Steve Harrington’s car, has got to be at least top 5.

 “I’ll be honest though; you have a hell of a nice car.” you run your hands across the dash. “Permission to pilfer?” you point to the glove compartment.

 He laughs. “Thanks, yeah sure, it’s only mixtapes in there anyway.”

 You flick the latch quickly and pull some of the tapes into your lap.

 “Right, lets see here— dude, whats with the ABBA?” you put back a few of their tapes and continue, whispering the names as you go, “Springsteen, Bowie… Madonna?”

 “Nance’s.”

 “Sure.”

 You give up and push a random tape into the receiver. As good as new starts to play and you chuckle when you recognize it as an ABBA tape. Voulez-vous.

 The album reaches the beginning three ‘ah’s’ of Angeleyes when Steve pulls into the theatre parking lot.

 “You’re grabbing the tickets; I’ll get the popcorn and drinks. We meet at the entrance to the screens.” Steve nods at each instruction.

 You shove your hands into your jacket pockets and quickly enter the building. The smell hits you first, the noise follows. Thankfully, the queue for the concession stand is a total of two people so when Steve walks in, tickets in hand, you’re already waiting for your popcorn to be made and your drinks to be filled.

 “Ready?” he asks when the buckets and drinks are placed on the counter.

 You sigh as you grab your ticket, food, and drink. “As I’ll ever be.”

 You groan with relief as you walk out of the double door entrance. Sitting in the dark for an hour and a half will never be as bad as sitting in the dark for an hour and a half next to Steve Harrington.

 “That was like, the most boring movie I’ve ever seen. And you actually wanted to watch that crap? It’s just a jock movie where nothing happened.” You jab a thumb behind you at the theatre,

 Steve laughs at your pain and grabs your bucket to pour his leftover popcorn into. “Nancy likes the lead; thought she’d want to see it. Didn’t know what you’d want to, so I just got tickets for it.”

 You shrug. “Don’t really get to go watch movies all that often, last time was like a good couple months back so…”

 Steve makes an inquisitive hum, and you look over as he chews through a handful of popcorn. “Well, we’ve got to fix that. Next new movie we’re gonna go watch it, yeah?”

 “Aren’t you sweet.” You snort but don’t answer. “Pass the popcorn.”

 “No. Not until you agree.” He holds the bucket as far away from you as he can, taking a further few steps away.

 “Oi—” you move closer, making a grab for the bucket to no avail. “Just— pass the bucket!”

 “I already said no. C’mon —” he grins as he says your name, “I know you want to say yes.”

 You try not to think about how right he is.

 “Just pass the corn dumbass— oh fuck, watch out!” you try to warn him but it’s too late and Steve walks backwards into a passer-by. The bucket is juggled between his hands before you quickly reach over and save it from falling.

 “Sorry!” you both apologise and speed walk away, shoulders shaking from barely contained laughter.

 “Fine, fine. Yeah, we’ll go watch the next release.” You snort when Steve fist bumps the sky. “Why’d you have to park so far away, dweeb?”

 “The car is literally in front of you.”

 “Yeah, but it could have been in front of me about 5 cars back.” You get in the passenger seat and cradle the popcorn bucket in between your thighs.

 “Alright, then, Stevie. Next stop, my house. I’m pretty sure I have some popcorn at home to top the bucket up if you want.” When he doesn’t reply, you look over.

 He’s about as red as a strawberry.

 “Uh— Steve? You good?”

 The teen nods, hums, and starts the car.

 ���Yeah, yeah— hey, listen… I’ll uh, I’ll drop you home but I gotta go— got a uh, got a thing with Tommy and Carol soon.”

 “Next time, then. Theatre popcorn is better anyway.”

 On Saturday you wake to frenzied pounding on your front door. You groan, turn over to the other side of the bed, and try to chase the fading dream.

 When the knocking escalates from voiceless disturbance to frantic shouts of your name between knocks, you huff and stumble out of bed. A discarded sweater gets tossed on on the way to the front door.

 “Did you know?!” is the greeting you get the second you crack the door open. You squint against the bright morning light and the face of Steve Harrington becomes slightly less blurry after you rub your eyes.

 “Mh… did I know what, Harrington?” you step aside to let the teen in, closing the door on the November chill.

 “Nancy and Jonathan,” he practically spits the names out.

 “Doesn’t help, angel eyes, what about them?” you yawn.

 “They’re— they’re fucking sleeping together.” Your mouth snaps shut.

 “Uh, excuse me? Did I hear that right?”

 “Yeah. Nancy— that fucking bitch, she’s sleeping with Byers,” He says through gritted teeth.

 “Okay, one, don’t call Nancy a bitch in front of me, and two, how the fuck do you know this, exactly?” You slap Steve’s arm as you walk past him.

 “Fucking saw that freak cosying up with Nancy in her bedroom.” His words have you pausing.

 “Last night?” you resume your walk to the kitchen. Steve follows.

 “Yeah.”

 “Jesus… eggs or pancakes?”

 “What?”

 You turn to him. “Eggs or pancakes, Harrington? It’s a simple question.”

 “Um, pancakes?”

 “Good choice.” You rifle through the cupboards for mixing bowls and a whisk. “If I’m getting through this conversation, I’m making food.”

 You hear Steve sit down as you grab the ingredients from the fridge. He clears his throat.

 “Did you know?” it’s a whisper, but you hear it clear as day in the relatively quiet kitchen.

 “Mhh, no… well, it depends. Did I know they were hanging out? Yeah, I was there with them half the time. But did I know that my best friend was apparently a cheater? That one’s a no.” You ladle the batter to distract yourself. “What did you even see?”

 Steve groans in his seat at the table, shuffles around a bit, and hits his head against the wall behind him. “Byers was practically all over her.” You can hear the disgust in his voice. “It was just— they were… arh! Hold on…”

 “You sure they weren’t just, I don’t know, talking? Friends do that too, you know.”

 When you hear his steps moving to you, you turn, only to almost collide your body against his.

 “Woah— hey now… hot pan behind me. Careful.” You move away, laughing a little to ease the pang of something that shot up your spine.

 “Okay, so—” Harrington just moves closer when you step away. “If you picture me as Byers, you as Nance…” Steve presses his side into yours, leans even closer to whisper in your ear, “would you talk to your friends like this?”

 You freeze.

 “Uh—” this can’t be happening. “Not, uh… no. Not usually.” You whisper back.

 He moves away. You catch yourself before you can sway towards his body heat.

 “That’s what I thought.” Steve scoffs. “Bet that’s why she blew me off yesterday. Too busy blowing Byers to watch a movie with her boyfriend.” You snort at the alliteration.

 “Yeah, sure, alright. Well, if you want—” you push a plate of pancakes towards Steve. “We can go confront her about it later— eat.” You drop a fork onto the plate. “And if she says nothin’, you can go bully Jonny for an answer or something.”

 “Jonny?” Steve whispers.

 “Everyone’s gotta have a nickname, angel eyes. Syrups in the cupboard next to you.”

 When you hear shouts from the alley in front of you accompanied by Nancy’s voice, you start running.

 “Hey! What the fuck, guys?” you shout, sprinting down the alley when you realise you recognise the two idiots fighting. “Nance, Nancy what— what the hell happened?” you pant, wincing whenever you hear a fist connecting with skin.

 “Me and Jonathan, we were just— we were in the store and, Jonathan, stop! Stop! You’re gonna hurt him!” Nancy attempts to explain but quickly overlooks it in favour of attempting to move closer. You quickly grab her by the shoulders to hold her back from the swinging fists.

 “Guys! Jesus, Jonathan, stop!” you move away from Nancy and grab at Jonathan, but as Tommy grabs a hold of Steve, Jonathan manages to push you away.

 Nancy pulls you out of the way when police officers run down the alley. One continues after Tommy, Carol, and Steve and the other gets punched by Jonathan.

 “I got this one!” the officer shouts to his partner, having eventually subdued Jonathan against the car and cuffed him.

 “Jesus, when I said bully Jonathan, I didn’t mean fucking fight him…” you huff, and when Nancy throws you a confused glare, you backtrack quickly, “Steve didn’t talk to you?” she shakes her head. “Yeah, alright. Fuck, I’ll tell you later.”

 “What are you even doing out here, —?” Nancy questions.

 “I could ask you the same thing, c’mon.” You wrap an arm around her and pull her to follow the officer. “You’re not hurt, right? They didn’t do anything to you?”

 She shakes her head. You sigh in relief.

 “Tommy just said some things, and then Steve said stuff, and it just— escalated.” You don’t ask for further explanation. If Jonathan beat Steve bloody, it must’ve been bad.

The short ride to the station is a quiet one. You ache to strike up a conversation but whenever you glance at Nancy’s crestfallen expression and Jonathan’s dejected stare at the cuffs, the words die in your throat.

 When you reach the station, you and Nancy are redirected to the nurse for ice. Since neither of you actually did anything apart from be witnesses, you could escape talking to the cops right now.

 As the lady pulls a tray of ice cubes out of the fridge and a towel out of the desk drawer, Nancy asks, “Do you think we’ll be out of here soon?”

 “You, yes. Him, no,” she responds, “he assaulted a police officer.”

 “Well, how long are you gonna keep him?”

 “You and your boyfriend have big plans, do you?”

 You choke on your spit.

 “He’s not my boyfriend,” Nancy says quickly.

 “I think you better tell him that.” You thank every god you can that Steve ran away.

 At Nancy’s confusion, the lady continues, “only love makes you that crazy, sweetheart. And that damn stupid.”

 She places the towel of ice in Nancy’s hand and the teen quickly takes her leave. You follow with only a nod at the lady.

 Jonathan looks about as pathetic as you had left him at the desk, and you pat his back lightly when you pass.

 “Found some ice,” Nancy says, lifting the make-shift ice pack to rest against Jonathan’s face.

 “Everything okay?”

 You say nothing. Observe the pair. The lady’s words echo in your head, tangling with the encounter with Steve in the morning.

 “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

 No, Nancy, everything is most certainly not fine.

[sapphicsaints]

that's when she knew she lost her

Tamar Kir-Bataar x f!Reader

Word count: ~4.4k

A/N: This is based on the books! I've posted this one previously but here's the full nsfw version, minors dni! sfw version here

Summary: She saw the look in Tamar's eyes when the Sun Summoner took her second amplifier, and that's when she knew she lost her. Not that she was hers to keep in the first place.

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, praise kink, oral sex, fisting, rough sex, power dynamics, character death

Kostya’s wind carries her, and she lands on deck with a thud grunting before rolling out of the line of fire, breathing out a sigh of relief. She made it off the whaler, back on the volkvolny. Her relief is short-lived as Tamar yells, “He’s up.”

The Darkling’s shadow monsters rise up from the deck of the old whaler. She curses but takes position, listening for Sturmhond’s whistles and orders. The next minutes go by in a blur, she doesn’t have time to think, no time to mourn, just barely enough time to breathe and take the next action. Her hands move rapidly to manipulate the water surrounding them. 

She collapses in exhaustion once they’re out of range, she notices there’s only two tidemakers left, including her. The others must’ve been up on the rigging. 

Her breaths come heavy, but her skin is glowing with the tell-tale flush that comes with using her powers. Her back is up against the rails, the cool metal digging into her spine, when Tamar leans up next to her. Her hand clasps her shoulder. 

“I’m glad that's done.” She says. 

Y/n turns to look at her, “Thanks the saints. I never want to see him again. Maybe his dead body.”  

“Maybe we’ll get that lucky.” 

“It’ll take more than luck.” She mumbles. Tamar’s arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. The action feels strange after so many weeks without any contact, but her arms wrap around her lower back, pressing herself into her. Tamar always runs hot, and her heat is welcoming this time. 

“We’ll celebrate later.” She says, her voice low enough so only y/n can hear. Her cheeks flush pink and her heart beats rapidly, the promise is enough to make her nerves tingle. She remembers the last time they ‘celebrated’ together.  

Flashback

They’d finally dropped the last of the slavers they’d captured off in Kerch and set sail again. Tamar practically dragged her back to their room and she was laughing the entire way. The laughter stopped when the door shut behind her, her body slammed into it. Her eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip out of nerves. Tamar’s thumb brushed lightly across her lip, tugging it free from the bite. Y/n’s eyes gaze to the floor, nerves starting to get the best of her. Tamar’s thumb presses under her chin, tilting her head up so their eyes will meet. 

“Are you nervous?” she asks

“No.” She replies a little too quickly, and grimaces, remembering Tamar can always tell when she’s lying. “Maybe a little.” 

“Why?” 

Y/n sighs, her palms coming up to rub at her eyes. “I don’t know.” Tamar tugs her hands away, and pulls her away from the door, yanking her flush against her chest, moving them towards the middle of the small room. Her breath catches and she freezes. Slowly she moves her arms so they’re wrapped gently around Tamar’s shoulders. She studies every inch of her face, but still avoids eye contact. 

“Look at me.” Tamar’s tone tells her it isn’t a question. She tears her eyes up from her lips to meet hers. “You’re fine. We don’t have to do anything tonight. Or ever.” 

Her eyes narrow at the last two words, and her hands come up to cup her cheeks, pressing their lips together with urgency. Tamar’s hands dig into her lower back, drawing their hips together. Y/n has a feeling this is the reaction she wants, and she gives right into it. 

End Flashback

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” The grin on her face is infectious but thankfully hidden, her face pressed into Tamar’s chest. Once her heart has calmed a little she pushes back. “We should get back to work.” 

“Probably.” Tamar sounds reluctant but presses a kiss to her forehead, and heads back to talk to Sturmhond. 

Y/n presses two fingers to her forehead, the spot where Tamar just kissed. She hears a snicker from behind her and whips around. Kostya, one of her closest friends on the ship, is laughing at her. She sends a spurt of water to his face, and that knocks the laughter off of him. He retaliates with a small gust of wind. 

“Oi.” Privyet’s voice comes through, “Quit that.” 

They start laughing, both looking slightly chastised. They stand to the side as the sea whip is hauled on deck. Her hand drifts nervously to her left wrist, the space where her amplifier hides. Taking a second amplifier sounds like absolute insanity to her, but thankfully that’s something she doesn’t have to worry about. She doesn’t move when the scales are offered, just exchanging a small glance with Kostya. Scales still freak her out somewhat and she shudders. For once, he doesn’t make fun of her and she’s grateful for it.

–

She knows her jealousy is stupid, but it’s reasonable to be upset that she’s kicked out of her room with barely any notice. Not to mention, nobody bothered to ask her, just “Tamar’s sharing with the Sun Summoner.” And now she’s in one of the old closets normally saved for less welcome guests. Her one bag is moved over quickly enough. At least she has her own space now, and doesn't have to listen to Tamar snore or sleep talk. In her opinion that’s a weak consolation prize, and not really much of a prize at all. Her things are quickly shoved away and she heads up to grab her rations while she can. There’s only two tidemakers now, and she has a feeling her schedule is about to get a lot more packed. She stops after a few drinks, keeping herself sober enough to post a reliable watch. 

The first half is quite calm. She missed the quiet ease on the Volkvolny, the relative safety of knowing you’re surrounded by people you trust. The waves are gentle, the ship gently bobs side to side. Y/n pinches her cheeks a few times to stay awake, making small talk with her partner. The lanterns and voices on deck catch her attention. Alina’s taking the amplifier. Her eyes widen, and her heart beats a bit faster - hopefully this won’t be what kills her, there’s much more poetic ways to go out. Her eyes immediately find Tamar standing next to Tolya, the two of them looking the part of solemn sentries. Sentries for a Saint. 

The power and light that burst from her is undeniable, and y/n finds herself taking deep breaths to find her calm again. She’s lucky she didn’t fall off the rigging. Her face feels like it’s been freshly sunburnt. As always, her eyes search for Tamar first. And that’s when she knew she’d lost her. The look in her eyes. Y/n didn’t know exactly what it mean’t, just that Tamar belongs to someone now. Well, Tamar never belonged to her in the first place, and theres a strong chance she’s reading into this too much, but she’s always been particularly perceptive, and her hunches usually turn out to be right. Angry tears prick the corner of her eyes.

‘You’re a mercenary,’ she thinks to herself, ‘not a jealous, petty school girl.’ She takes a deep breath and schools her features back into a look of awe, before anyone can catch on. Someone replaces her and she takes up post at the stern, ready to help move to ship along. It’s likely someone spotted the light show Alina put on, and the best they can do it get as far away as possible. 

–

The next few weeks go by quickly, and she barely sees Tamar. Well, she sees her everywhere, but rarely interacts with her. Is y/n avoiding her? Or is Tamar avoiding y/n? They never got to celebrate. Whispers say that they may be leaving to do something with the Sun Summoner and Nikolai. Saints, she feels like a whiny child. She resolves to find out more on her next watch with Tolya. 

Later that day

“Do you think you’ll go with him?” She asks, staring out into the horizon, keeping her voice just loud enough so he’ll hear. 

“With who? Where?”

“Captain. To Ravka, with Alina.” 

Tolya’s eyes are alarmed, like he didn’t expect her to know what was going on, or what was to happen. 

“Saints Tolya, i’m not stupid.” 

“Nobody called you stupid.” 

“Maybe someone should’ve. That’s besides the point.” She turns to face him, taking her eyes off the water momentarily. “Are you going with them?” 

He sighs. “Keep looking.” 

She rolls her eyes but listens. She’s surprised when he keeps speaking. “You’re not asking about me. You’re asking about Tamar.” 

“Well, you both go everywhere together.” 

“He thought about asking you along.” Tolya says. He’s talking about Sturmhond. Or Nikolai. Depends on the situation. I know they’re going to Ravka, but to do what i’m uncertain. 

“Really?” I hummed, trying to sound as disinterested as possible, it’s not working. 

“But after we lost Hendrik and Dmitri.” 

It feels like an iron fist is gripping her heart, and she chokes out her next breath. The other Tidemakers lost against the Darkling. It’s only her and one other now.

Tolya pauses. “After we lost them, you’re needed here.” 

“Needed.” I let the words roll around my tongue. Needed here. But wanted? What if I want to be somewhere else? “Thank you for the heads up.” She gives Tolya a terse smile, trying her best to look content. I can tell he isn’t convinced, but he does smile back. 

End Flashback.

–

Three nights later, Tamar finds her. It’s dusk, and she’s sitting up on deck, deep in conversation with Kostya. She feels a tap on her shoulder, and doesn’t turn around and hesitates before turning around. Kostya glares at her and she finally does. Tamar’s standing behind her, one hand outstretched. 

Tamar doesn’t miss the side eye y/n sends to Kostya, but chooses not to comment. It shouldn’t feel like she’s headed to the gallows, but somehow it does. She takes her hand, and lets her heave her up to her feet. She shakes her hand off as soon as they stand up, and sees the hurt flash through Tamar’s eyes. It’s enough to make her start chewing on her bottom lip, 

“Come on.” She says, taking the initiative and leading them below decks to somewhere more private. They end up in her room this time, and she chooses to stand on the opposite side of the small room, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck. For once, Tamar doesn’t speak right away, instead it seems like her eyes are taking in every inch of her - memorizing every detail. Y/n keeps avoiding eye contact, leaning up against the wall and tilting her head up to stare at the overhead. 

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” Tamar says finally. 

Her heart jumps, and the same tears from a few weeks ago threaten to prick her eyes, “are you excited?” She asks, keeping her eyes trained on the ceiling. 

Tamar sighs before crossing the room. Her hands cup her cheeks, guiding her back down to try and meet her eyes. “Why don’t you ever look me in the eyes?” She murmurs. Y/n doesn’t have a good answer, what’s she supposed to say?

‘I’m scared i’ll cry if I do. I know you don’t feel the same way. I’ll quite literally get lost in your eyes. It’s too intimate. It scares me.’ Instead she doesn’t say anything. 

“Give me something, please.” Tamar says, this is the most desperate she’s heard her voice. She cringes at herself when the desperation gives her a sick sense of satisfaction. Give her something? It’s been weeks and they’ve barely exchanged a word. If she wants something she can have her fury and pain. The sting that comes with feeling abandoned, discarded, tossed aside for the next big thing.  

“You want something?” She spits out through clenched teeth. Tamar takes a step back, her eyes widening slightly at her tone. Normally y/n is level-headed and calm, it’s rare to see strong emotions leak into her voice. “Weeks. You’ve rarely spoken to me. Granted I didn’t try very hard, I know you’ve been busy with your new Saint.” She struggles to keep her tone kind. “I’m happy for you, by the way, that you’ve found a purpose. And I get it, your life has changed. That doesn’t mean you had to …” Her voice breaks and she can’t finish her sentence. 

“Leave please.” She croaks. Tamar doesn’t move and y/n opens her mouth to tell her to go again, but instead she’s wrapped in a bone-crushing, enough that she can barely breathe, let alone move her arms and hug back. She doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t complain, relishes in the touch and contact. Her body melts into her, leaning slightly. Just one hug and she melts. ‘Pathetic.’ she thinks to herself. ‘You’re being pathetic.’ 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, pulling back, and running a hand through her short hair. Y/n’s never seen Tamar like this, lost for words or confused. She always seems so self-assured, so strong in her conviction, fearless. 

“Sorry for what?” She knows the answer, but she wants to hear it - needs to hear it. Hear Tamar admit it, validate what y/n felt these last few weeks. 

“Neglecting you. I’m sorry that we didn’t get to celebrate.” 

Y/n laughs, not an amused chuckle or a happy belly laugh, one of disbelief. “If you think that’s all I cared about then you’re much less perceptive than I thought you were.” She tries to put the emphasis on ‘cared’, but it doesn’t come out that way. Care is more accurate, she still cares. 

Tamar seems confused, “I don’t understand.” Her tone is genuine and honest. Y/n feels herself soften more, a little bit of the ice melts away. She finally meets her eyes. 

“I care about you dimwit.” Tamar’s eyes narrow at the insult, but she doesn’t break eye contact. “I wanted … I still want more for us. I want to get to actually be with you, beyond just ‘celebrations’, and the occasional hug or kiss on the forehead when you remember.” 

“Why haven’t you said anything before?” 

Her voice raises slightly, “because you outrank me and I don’t want to be fired, because I thought it was obvious, because I thought you’d have said something by now.” The outranking part is true - not that it matters too much on the ship, but enough for her to be nervous. Rogue Grisha have difficulty finding safe employment in this world. Safe in the sense of nobody forcing her to serve an army or enslaving her. Her job isn’t safe by any means, but it's freedom.

“Quiet.” Tamar hushes her. 

She takes a deep breath before speaking in a normal tone. “Tell me I'm delusional.” She’d have laughed at Tamar’s expression if the situation was different. “Tell me you never wanted me. Tell me you’re leaving and not coming back.” Tamar reached out and held one of her hands. 

“You’re not delusional, I do want you, I am leaving, but I don’t know if I’m coming back.” 

“Three out of four, not bad.” 

Tamar huffs, evidently tired of the argument, before pulling her into a bruising kiss. It catches y/n by surprise but she returns the same energy. Normally Tamar’s a tease, takes her time, taunts her, but this time everything moves fast. She lets out a moan as her neck and chest are covered in small bites, she’s being loud but doesn’t care this time. Two of Tamar’s fingers are shoved into her mouth, and she sucks them eagerly, gagging slightly but that just makes the other girl’s fingers dig into her mouth further. Her shirt is ripped off, thrown halfway across the room, followed by her bra and her knives tossed into an open chest. Normally she’d throw a fit about that, but right now she doesn’t care. Y/n reaches for the bottom of Tamar’s top, starting to tug it over. 

“No.” Her voice is low and firm. Y/n’s eyes widen slightly before she removes her hands. Tamar flips her around, pushing her hands up against the wall, her body flush against it. The cool wood digs into her nipples, causing them to stand on edge. She moans as a hand comes around to rub circles into her clit. She shifts to try and reach for the other girl but Tamar’s body pushes forward to pin her back against the wall. 

“Did I say you can move?” Her lips graze across her ear. 

“No.” She gulps. 

“Are you going to stay still?” 

“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper. 

“And quiet?” 

She nods. 

“Good girl.” 

Y/n swallows a moan, biting harshly on her lower lip, as two of Tamar’s fingers push into her from behind, setting a brutal pace. She pants, her breaths coming rapidly. Another finger pushes into her, it’s taking most of her energy to hold back a scream. All she wants is to beg, beg for more, tell her how good it feels, but she knows if she opens her mouth it’ll stop. She’s nearly over the edge, her walls starting to tighten around Tamar’s fingers when she stops. A small whine escapes her lips. 

“Can you take my whole hand?” Her voice is back in her ear. Y/n’s breath catches. She’s done it once before, and it was incredible, but left her legs shaking for nearly an hour. She wants it, Saints she wants Tamar so bad that she’ll take her in any way she can. She nods. 

“Words.” 

“Yes please.” “What’s our safeword?” 

“Butterfly.” It comes out without hesitation, this is a routine they’ve danced several times before, and she loves the question. Something else pops into her head, and she turns over her shoulder to look at Tamar. The expression on her face surprises her, it’s full of lust, want, and maybe something mournful? She ignores the last part. 

“Can I do something first?” 

Tamar looks surprised but nods. As quick as she can on shaky legs, she turns and drops to her knees in front of her. There’s a small pain as the wood digs into her bare knees, but she ignores it, tilting her head up to make eye contact. Tamar’s jaw drops. Y/n had never gone on her knees without prompting before, and it isn’t something she loves, except with her - not that she’d ever admit it. 

There’s no hesitation as her clothes come off. One hand braces herself against the wall, and the other cups the back of her head to guide her forward. Y/n’s hands grip her thighs and her tongue comes out slowly, licking up and down her folds, savoring every taste. Tamar is soaking wet, and it makes her smile. She sucks lightly on her clit and Tamar moans quietly above her, Y/n has her coming undone quickly, she knows exactly what she likes, and one finger stroking the space just behind her pussy sends her over the edge, her hand twisting violently in her hair. She feels herself soaking, leaking slightly onto the floor. As soon as the other girl’s finished her orgasm, she yanks y/n back to her feet, barely giving her time to steady her legs underneath her, before giving her a rough kiss. One of her hands moves to slam her wooden chest shut, and she gasps as she’s bent over it. 

She bites her hand to keep back a moan when her fingers slam into her without hesitation. “You are so fucking good.” is whispered in her ear and she bites harder. 

Another finger goes in, that’s four now, “so good for me.” 

She whimpers, already feeling her legs going slack, her entire body weight shifting to lean on the chest. 

“Almost there love.” Her final finger slips in and she feels like she might cry from ecstasy, Tamar moves slowly giving her time to adjust. Y/n doesn’t want it, and breaks the rules - breaks her silence. Part of her is a brat after all. 

“Saints Tamar fuck me like you mean it.” One hand fists her hair, pulling her up so she’s looking right at the other girl. 

“Say one more thing and I'll leave you on edge for the rest of the night.” It’s an empty threat and she knows it but she nods anyways 

“Good girl.” Shivers run down her spine, and her toes curl. Those two words have so much power over her. Tamar’s hand releases her hair, letting her head rest back on down the chest, her fist pushes in and out of her brutally, and y/n draws blood on her hand from biting down so hard. One hand reaches back to try and grab Tamar’s free hand. She didn’t say not to move after all. She reaches it and grips it like a lifeline. Tamar rubs circles into the back of her hand. How is it she can hold her so gently with one hand and fuck her brutally with the other? 

Her walls pulse around Tamar’s hand and she finishes violently, her back arching and screams muffled by her hand. Y/n doesn’t move, knowing her legs would immediately give out from underneath her. It doesn’t phase her when Tamar moves and y/n hears the sounds of her dressing, and the door closing behind her. Part of her fears she’s just left completely, but she comes back with a bucket of water and a rag, and makes quick work cleaning them up. Her hands gently scoop her, wrapping around her stomach, and lift her into the hammock so her head is resting on her chest. 

She whispers sweet things into her ear, the words seem to blur as she’s lost in her own world. It could’ve been ten minutes or ten hours when Tamar’s pinch on her side brings her back. It must’ve been closer to an hour because her legs aren’t shaking quite as violently anymore. 

“Hm?” She mumbles. 

“You need to get dressed.” 

She groans but stands up, getting some new clothes for herself. One hand braces against the wall to keep herself steady, she looks into the small mirror, her neck and chest are covered in small but deep purple bruises. Her jaw drops as she turns to look at Tamar, who just laughs at her. 

“Sit. I’ll heal them.” 

She jumps up on the chest, scooching until the back of her knees hit the edge. 

Her hands are gently as she grazes over the spots on her neck, and chest, leaving just one behind. Y/n rolls her eyes, it’s typical of her to do that - leave one in an area she can easily conceal. She heals the bite on her hand as well. The silence after becomes uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know what to say.” The words come out before she can think twice. 

“I’ll say I don’t regret a single moment of this. Of anything.” 

She lets out a small, sad smile. “I don’t either.” And brings her arms up to pull her into a gentle kiss. Nothing else needs to be said, they’ve come to an understanding. They both know it’s a goodbye kiss - a goodbye for now. 

–

The next early morning, she’s on watch as they leave. 

“Saint’s willing, we’ll meet again one day.” Her words came out low, almost like a whisper or prayer. They thankfully went unheard, and she waved to the dark sky as Tamar flew off in the hummingbird. 

Kostya clapped a comforting hand on her shoulder, “They’ll be alright.” 

She turns back, giving them a terse smile. He’d mistaken it for worry, probably a good thing. 

The crew makes themselves scarce for a while, keeping careful tabs on every hint of the Darklings location. If they were caught by him they likely would not survive, and likely would come to very painful deaths, something none of them were particularly interested in. She wonders if he would spare Grisha, she hopes not - if they were to be captured she’d rather get the same treatment as the rest of the crew, as morbid as that sounds. 

The next few months go by pretty quickly, and when she gets offered the chance to go to the Spinning Wheel, she takes it. A break from the seas will do her good. The idea of seeing Tamar doesn’t cross her mind, surprisingly. She’s become a memory - a good one, but a memory. 

– 

Spinning wheel 

It’s strange being with her crew on land. Everyone's the same, but a bit more tense. There’s a certain safety at sea - it’s more difficult to be ambushed. She’s surprised when Alina remembers her - even her name, and cheers along with the rest when she cuts the top of a mountain off. 

Y/n noticed the connection between her and Nadia almost immediately and it didn’t hurt like she thought it would, she offered her congratulations instead. 

An argument starts when Sturmhond tells her she’s going on the mission to hunt the firebird. Well, asks her, he knows he can’t really tell her to do anything. She supposes she should call him Nikolai now. 

“You’re the best tidemaker we have.” Nikolai says. 

“They could bring anyone else.” 

“Tamar asked for you.” 

“That’s the problem.” She whispers. 

He sighs, walking around the table to clasp a hand on her shoulder. “I know you two have history, but I’d feel better knowing you’re there. Tamar asked for you for a reason, and I doubt it’s to have a sordid tryst in the middle of the night.” 

Y/n’s eyes narrow and she glares at him as he laughs. “They’re taking Ana.” Ana is another friend from the Volkvolny, a Materialki that put the last amplifier on Alina. Her eyes light up, and the look on his face tells her he knows he’s won.

“Fine.” She says reluctantly. “I’ve always wanted to visit there.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“No, but it makes me feel better.” 

“Whatever it takes” he winks before leading them out of the room. 

The ambush surprises them all. She takes another look at the crew, a tidemaker isn’t completely essential, and there’s too much weight already. She can tell Nevsky is thinking the same thing. Despite her being Grisha, they became fast friends. 

“One last time?” he whispers to her. Not that they’d had times before, but she guesses he likes the dramatic effect.

“Lets do it.” She replies. He says something quiet to Alina before yelling, 

“For the 22nd.” He leaps over the side with his soldiers. 

“For Sturmhond.” She whispers before following them. Tamar’s scream is lost in the noise. 

[contemplativepancakes]

Geralt is possibly the least interesting vampire in the world. Jaskier is strangely okay with that. 4k, G. read on AO3 here!

for @theamazingbard (:

Geralt holds up two ties in front of the mirror, comparing the fabrics against his suit. By now, he’s used to the headless suit that reflects back at him in the mirror. Geralt’s never been one to overly question things, so he couldn’t tell you why vampires don’t show up in mirrors, but really, that’s fine. A relief, even.

He’s not sure he wants to know what he looks like. He knew once, before he was turned. He wasn’t exactly a looker then, and he highly doubts he is now.

Geralt chooses the black tie with the tiny dots instead of the black tie with the stripes, and clips it on to his suit. What? He can’t be expected to tie a tie every single day. He smooths it down over his chest. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed to tie his dress shoes. Reliable double knots.

He walks down the hall to crouch in front of the refrigerator, pulling out one of the bags of blood he keeps there. He pauses to look at the label. It’s his favorite, AB. He tucks it into his lunchbox, then pauses to rip one open and dump it into his travel mug. He pours some protein powder in it to make the blood coagulate. He can definitely see the appeal of this boba tea the humans have been drinking recently.

As he heads out the door, he darkens a little as he looks at his neighbors’ decorations. He hates Halloween. A time for people to get everything wrong about monsters. They live with them, the least they could do is be a little considerate and do their research.

No, they can’t repel Geralt with garlic. He scowls at the thought.

Geralt’s distracted from his thoughts as a young man runs by him out of seemingly nowhere and falls on the sidewalk just in front of him, his knee splitting open.

Geralt rubs a hand on his neck as the man looks up at him beseechingly.

“Uh. Do you need any help?”

“My, you’re ever so kind,” the man says, extending a hand that Geralt uses to pull him to his feet.

“Probably want to get that cleaned off,” Geralt says. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Oh, dear! You’re right. Would it be possible for me to use your sink?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

Geralt squints. “I...guess?”

“Oh, thank you!”

Geralt unlocks his door and leads the man into his bathroom, graciously pretending not to notice the man looking around the apartment in wide eyed fascination. He must not know that Geralt is a vampire, then, or he wouldn’t be so quick to ask Geralt for help. People around here avoid Geralt for the most part.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man says, as he bends his leg so his knee is right under the faucet. Geralt politely looks away when he notices how the motion makes the material of his pants stretch right across the seat of his ass.

“Geralt,” he replies, watching Jaskier closely for a reaction.

There’s none, so Geralt kneels down and looks under the sink for his hydrogen peroxide. When he finds it, he hands it to Jaskier wordlessly.

Jaskier flashes him a winning smile. “I guess it was my lucky day to run into you, hmm?”

Geralt doesn’t think anyone has ever said that about him before. “Anyone would do what they could to help you avoid infection,” he says dutifully.

Jaskier deflates a bit. “Well, there must be some way I can repay you. How about coffee?”

“Oh. I don’t really...drink coffee.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to get it. It’s not like monsters like him are uncommon, per se.

“How about dinner, then? A steakhouse.”

“Sure,” Geralt says, surprising himself. He blinks. His brothers are always telling him he needs to make more friends. And a steak does sound particularly good. He rarely lets himself indulge in things like that.

Jaskier brightens. “Hey, would you mind putting a band aid on this for me? I can never get it to stay.”

“I’m not sure that applying band aids is exactly rocket science,” Geralt says, but he does it anyway, his nose twitching at the scent of the fresh blood.

Geralt is centuries old, though, so it’s not like a little blood is the end of the world. Maybe when he was a fledgling, but those days are long past him.

He gives Jaskier’s knee a tiny pat. “Looks like those pants are done in for,” he says inanely.

Jaskier shrugs. “A worthy sacrifice.”

Geralt doesn’t respond to that, and Jaskier lets the silence linger. Geralt clears his throat. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Before he leaves, Jaskier insists Geralt give him his number so that he can arrange their dinner. “I’m very much looking forward to it,” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt gives him a hesitant smile, looking at the clock. He really does need to get a move on.

Jaskier seems to get the hint and lets Geralt usher him out the door.

In the end, Geralt’s not late, but he is grumpy that he only arrived five minutes early instead of his customary fifteen. It throws his entire day off, and the numbers seem to swim before him on his computer screen like never before.

Geralt scowls. He should have picked the tie with the stripes.

-

Jaskier contains his pout as he walks along the sidewalk, away from Geralt’s house. He practically offered himself up on a platter to be ravished, and Geralt was completely unaffected. There was blood right in front of his nose!

Jaskier doubts his information for a second, but Priscilla was the one who told him in hushed whispers that the word was that Geralt was a vampire. If Valdo had been the one to tell him, then he would have had a few more qualms, but Priscilla wouldn’t lie to him like that.

She knows how the idea of being partners with a monster makes him feel hot under the collar.

Jaskier resolves to be better. If a cut knee wasn’t enough, he’ll just have to step up his game for this dinner. And surely, if Geralt didn’t want to be seduced, he would have sent Jaskier on his merry way after bandaging his knee instead of bandaging it for him, for gods’ sake.

Maybe Geralt wants to be the one being chased after for once. Well, Jaskier is happy to oblige.

-

When Geralt gets home from work, there’s a text waiting for him. How about Friday night for our little get together?

It’s not like Geralt ever has any plans that might get in the way besides his weekly meeting, so it’s not like he has to check his calendar before he replies. Sure.

Great! I’ll pick you up at 8! :D

Geralt frowns. This doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t made a new friend in possibly fifty years, and now one literally falls into his path?

He hums to himself as he does his nightly routine, pushing on the gum above each fang to make it pop out so he can properly brush it. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all that. Actual dentists that weren’t just going to try to pull out his teeth have only been around for less than the majority of his life, so it’s habit to take good care of them.

Geralt strips off his clothes until he’s left in just his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. No, he doesn’t have a coffin or hang upside down like some sort of bat. Geralt’s not sure where all that nonsense got its roots in the first place.

There’s so many things that humans seem to have no qualms believing about monsters, though, and Geralt frowns as he punches his pillow into a better shape. He’s almost 250. His lumbar health is no joke.

-

His anxiety bleeds into his work, making Excel blink more error messages back at him than he’s ever seen before. Geralt’s boss pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay. Geralt sulks.

He is the consummate professional, and he’s not going to let this dinner get the better of him. Geralt contends anyone would be nervous if they hadn’t made a new friend in decades, too.

Now, he stands in front of his closet. He’s certainly not going to wear a suit, but he rarely wears anything else. It’s not like he goes much of any place besides work and his weekly meetings. Geralt sighs as he pulls a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe.

They’re a lot tighter than he remembers, but this is all he has, so it’ll have to do. He finds a long sleeved shirt that is luckily on the baggier side. He hopes that will make up for his too-close fitting jeans.

Geralt brushes his hair, but he can’t see it in the mirror, so there’s no point in doing anything else with it. He’s more likely to make himself look ridiculous than presentable with whatever he might attempt.

Geralt plants himself on the couch, reaching for his book to read until the clock rolls around to the time Jaskier promised to pick him up. His fingers play with the corners of the pages, bending them in a way that he’s sure would make a librarian displeased.

Geralt huffs when he realizes he’s not going to get any reading done and sets the book down on his side table. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He is ancient; he shouldn’t be getting social anxiety right now.

His phone pings with a text. Outside!

Geralt looks out the window, and indeed, there’s a car there. It’s a lime green slug bug, with rust eating its way up from the undercarriage. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. That looks like Jaskier’s car, all right.

-

Jaskier tries not to drool as Geralt walks down his steps. He’s wearing pants that are skin tight, which should frankly be illegal, and his shirt hangs off of him so that it shows his collar bones. Jaskier thought that vampires should be the ones who wanted to bite, but he would really love to get his mouth on one of those.

Geralt gets into the passenger seat with a half smile playing around his lips. “Like my ride?” Jaskier asks.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Jaskier claps his hand to his heart in mock offense. “I’m wounded.”

Geralt hums, shifting in his seat as he fastens his seatbelt. Jaskier drums his fingers on the steering wheel, flexing his right arm to draw attention to the bandage he has there. He went and donated blood this afternoon, and if Geralt doesn’t get his hint this time, he is going to pound his head against the nearest wall.

-

Geralt shifts his head to look out the window as Jaskier keeps his arms on shameless display. He knows times have changed, but it’s also always a little dizzying to see so much of everyone’s skin on display all the time, their pulse thrumming invitingly underneath it.

Geralt shakes his head to clear it of its reverie as Jaskier pulls his car into drive. It gives a concerning lurch. Before Geralt can open his mouth to comment, Jaskier is holding up a hand. “I can assure you, we are perfectly safe.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests. “It is. I take care of it.”

“All I said was hmm,” Geralt says with a tiny grin. “That’s why it has so much rust, right?”

Jaskier sighs. “I was going to get around to repaint it, and then I just...other things came up.”

Geralt makes a face at him, laughing at Jaskier’s increased defenses. Some of his anxiety fades away as he realizes this isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe Jaskier needs a new friend just as badly as him.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s chair out for him. Geralt gives him a polite nod. He can’t say he has a firm grasp on all the recent customs. Lambert’s always telling him he’s stuck in the past.

Geralt crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands as he watches Jaskier eat his salad, taking endearingly large bites. Jaskier hasn’t even mentioned anything about vampires yet. Geralt is starting to feel a tiny bit guilty. Would he still want to spend all this time with him if he knew Geralt wasn’t human?

As he’s thinking that, Jaskier takes a big gulp of his water and starts to sputter. Geralt’s across the table in an instant, his hand around Jaskier’s bicep and another hand on his back. “Are you okay?” Geralt murmurs, tense and ready to help if the need arises.

Jaskier coughs and waves him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Geralt relaxes a bit, but as his hand lingers on Jaskier’s arm, he can’t help but feel how warm it is, such a contrast to his own constantly cool skin. When Jaskier turns his face to look up at him, Geralt quickly drops his arm and beats a hasty retreat back to his seat.

He could swear Jaskier looks disappointed. He must be delusional.

When the main course comes, Geralt cuts neatly into his pink steak, mouth watering as the juices come leaking out of it. He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste of it.

He makes himself cut the steak into tiny pieces. He’ll have to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire eventually; he might as well make sure he doesn’t think he’s a barbaric onel. Geralt tries his best to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face instead of his arms. He can’t help but notice that he has some very nice veins. They’re a striking blue, and a perfect compliment to his eyes.

Geralt bites his lip, flinching when one of his fangs pops out on its own, pressing into his lip.

“One of my uncles is a werewolf,” Jaskier says, apropos of nothing, looking at Geralt meaningfully.

A trickle of sweat runs down Geralt’s back. Does Jaskier think he’s a werewolf? Werewolves are generally regarded better than vampires; at least they’re only monsters one night a month.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, not hearing the rest of Jaskier’s sentence.

Jaskier laughs at his own joke, and Geralt blinks rapidly until he can focus again on what Jaskier’s saying.

When the waiter comes with the check, Jaskier insists on paying for it. Is this what friendship has evolved to since Geralt last had one? He doesn’t know enough about it to argue with Jaskier, so he lets him do what he wants.

-

Outside of Geralt’s house, Jaskier puts a hand on the console between them, making eye contact with Geralt before dropping his gaze down to his lips. Geralt gives him a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling. His white hair looks ethereal in the moonlight, and Jaskier is only a little infatuated.

Geralt’s exterior is stony, but he also had no problems giving Jaskier all sorts of secret smiles throughout the night. Jaskier’s not sure he’s met a better listener than Geralt, and he tends to drone on and on, so that’s somewhat important to him.

Jaskier closes his eyes and starts to lean in when Geralt opens the car door. Jaskier opens his eyes.

“I had a great time, thank you,” Geralt says, one hand on the top of the car.

Jaskier bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants. “Me, too. Let’s do it again some time?”

Geralt nods eagerly, and Jaskier watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Geralt’s devastating pants and not at all on the way his ass looks in them.

Jaskier rests his head on the steering wheel in despair. He doesn’t know how to be any more heavy handed than this. He went and donated blood! And Geralt let him pay for their meal! He’s not sure how he can get across the point any better that he’s a talking blood bag, and he’s open for business.

Jaskier heaves a gigantic sigh and resolves to go home and plot his next move.

Maybe Geralt’s just shy.

Well. Jaskier can work with that

-

Geralt’s weekend passes in its normal fashion. He goes for a run, drinks some blood out of his supply in the fridge, then crashes on the couch for a whole day while he thinks of anything other than work. Sometimes Eskel lets himself in using his key, but he doesn’t that weekend, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he tortures himself thinking of what Eskel might be doing.

Eskel’s never had problems making friends, unlike Geralt, so he’s sure he’s out having a good time with them.

Geralt used to be good at making friends, gods damn it, before all of them died of old age and he just didn’t see the point anymore. He’s come to suppose that there’s not all that much of a point in immortality if all he does is work, though.

The weekend’s over just as quickly as it began, and on Monday night, he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when Jaskier texts him about some inane thing he noticed. Was he thinking of Geralt? That’s...nice.

Cautiously, Geralt lets himself hope that something is going to come out of this.

But first, he needs to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire. He wouldn’t be the first person to run away screaming, even though they are much more accepted now than they used to be.

Geralt shudders as he thinks of the industrial revolution. No regard for any monsters then. Humans invent light bulbs, and all of a sudden they think they’re too good for a healthy dash of respect.

Geralt looks back down at his phone, at a music video Jaskier sent him of someone playing a singing saw.

He lets himself focus on that a while.

-

Wednesday creeps around, and with it, Geralt’s weekly meeting.

He takes his spot in his customary chair, and looks around for Lambert, ignoring the look Eskel is trying to burn through the side of his face with.

“Why do I have to be here, again?” Geralt asks, when he gives up on Lambert to come save him.

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had more than once. “If you won’t become a sponsor, you have to at least show them that things get better.”

Geralt huffs a breath out through his nose as he watches the regulars file in. There’s one new person, and Geralt eyes her curiously. She looks a little terrified, and Geralt softens in sympathy.

The meeting starts, and they go around in the circle, the seat beside Geralt still empty in Lambert’s tardiness.

“Hi, I’m Geralt, and I’m a blood addict,” he drones when it’s his turn.

When they’ve moved on to their personal struggles for the week, Lambert finally appears, dropping into his chair.

He elbows Geralt, seemingly unaware of everyone staring at them.

“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Geralt firmly fixes a scowl in place and ignores him. He’s not sure why he even wanted Lambert to show up in the first place.

Geralt leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he listens to everyone else, Eskel being disgustingly reassuring to them all, as per usual. Geralt stamps the jealousy down. It’s not Eskel’s fault he’s so good with people.

The meeting drags by, and when it’s finally over, Lambert doesn’t let Geralt just sneak away. He digs his elbow into his side again, holding Geralt by the shoulder. “You didn’t answer me earlier. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I’m not,” Geralt says.

Lambert hums. “You don’t have your usual storm cloud above your head, so I’m going to count it.”

Geralt scowls at him and looks at Eskel for back up, but Eskel just raises his eyebrows at him.

“I hate you both,” Geralt grumbles.

“You love us,” Lambert says.

“Fine. I made a new friend,” he grates out.

Lambert and Eskel exchange an insufferable look.

“What?” Geralt demands.

“You, make a friend? Well, we’re just going to have to hear all about this to believe it.”

Geralt huffs, but he tells them about Jaskier.

“He took you to dinner? And paid? And you think he wants to be just friends?” Lambert asks.

Geralt flaps his hands around and hisses, “Look, I’ve barely been anywhere that isn’t here or work in the last three decades, how am I supposed to keep up with all this human nonsense? And besides, I haven’t even told him I’m a vampire yet. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to be my friend after that.”

Eskel bites his lip. “You know that’s a turn on for some humans, right?”

“What?”

“And you said he scraped his knee the first time he saw you? Geralt, I think he already knows, and he’s just trying to get in your pants.”

Geralt deflates. That makes a twisted sort of sense. “Oh.”

Lambert punches him in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. If anyone can charm him with their stunning personality, it’s you.”

“Fuck off.”

-

It’s difficult to fall asleep that night.

-

A week goes by without him answering any of Jaskier’s texts. He still painstakingly reads and savors each one, but he can’t bring himself to reply. If he was looking for some sort of...fling, he would have gone on one of those apps Eskel keeps telling him about.

As pathetic as it sounds, he could really use a friend. And if sex came later, well, Geralt wouldn’t complain, but he just desperately needs someone who’s going to stick around. He needs someone just for himself, someone outside of Lambert and Eskel who isn’t going to tease him about every little thing.

Geralt sighs. This was at least good practice. Maybe he can try again with someone else.

His heart sinks at the thought. He doesn’t really want someone else. Jaskier wormed his way into his chest in just a week, and Geralt knows he could yank him out with only a little pain if he tried, he doesn’t want to.

Geralt wants to have something nice, for once.

-

Jaskier bites his lip as he peers out the car window at Geralt’s house. He’s half scared there’s not going to be an answer when he knocks, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He thought their date went swimmingly, so he’s not sure why Geralt suddenly stopped answering him unless something happened.

Jaskier has a vision of getting into the house only to find Geralt on the floor, the only way to revive him being letting Geralt drink straight from his neck, obviously leading to Geralt ravishing him against the nearest wall.

Jaskier shakes himself like a dog. Geralt’s given him no interest in anything like that at all. Maybe he needs to lower his expectations. The dude seems lonely, anyway, so maybe he just wants someone to talk to that’s not one of his coworkers.

Geralt told him he’s an actuary, and from the questions he asked of Geralt and Geralt didn’t answer, he’s not convinced that Geralt talks to his coworkers at all.

Jaskier blows out a puff of breath as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. He’s not sure what he hopes is going to happen when he opens the door.

He walks up the door and knocks.

He waits an agonizing moment before the door swings open, revealing Geralt. He looks even paler than Jaskier remembered him, wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the crotch that he can see Geralt’s plaid boxers through and a t-shirt with a collar that’s outrageously stretched. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Have you considered not oiling the hinges? I think it would do you a world of good to develop a creaky door aesthetic.”

Geralt’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “What?”

“Just, you know. Being a vampire and all.”

Geralt slumps against the door frame. “How long have you known?”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “Known what?”

“That I’m a vampire!”

“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Geralt’s hand pauses in its path of trailing the wood grain of the door. “Do you have a...kink?” he spits.

Jaskier raises his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Geralt fixes him with an unconvinced look.

“Look, that might have been part of the initial intrigue, but—”

Geralt raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“But, you’re really fucking hot and also possibly the most boring person I know, but...I’m into it. You know all these weird facts and—gods know I could use a little stability in my life.”

Geralt gives him a bashful smile, and Jaskier wonders if anyone has said anything nice to him at some point this century. “Yeah?”

Jaskier leans across the threshold and cups Geralt’s face with his hands, their mouths a breath apart. “Yeah.”