#no beta we do like men!!!!!

[cherryapplefish]

Slow dancing with Caleb

(Intrusive Thoughts - Natalie Jane) 0:36 ━❍──────── -3:21

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

His gaze is gentle when he invites you for a dance, folding into the bow of princes before he takes your hand and leads you across the dance floor.

Initially you only come up to his chest as your feet sweep across the floor and it’s so hard to look up at him. Not because he’s too tall but because he keeps looking at you like he’s in love, like you’re love.

And then he whispers, softly, just above the music, “Look at me.”

Of course you have to, eyes rising with the drawl of his voice. The look of a summer’s sunrise stares back at you, gentle and affectionate and filled with so much love. Your chest tightens, sucking in a sharp breath that has a small smile cracking on Caleb’s lips. You can feel how his chest vibrates as he chuckles softly, spinning you in his arms.

Yet when you spin back to him, you’re floating. At first, you think it’s because Caleb is so captivating that it feels like you’re on cloud nine but all of a sudden you’re nose to nose with Caleb whose grin widens. It’s then that you realize he’s using his evol to pull you face to face with him.

A blush rises on your cheeks and he’s clearly delighted to see the way your eyes widen in surprise. You open your mouth to protest, maybe yell at him for surprising you so suddenly, when you hear him laugh. All complaints die in your throat as his eyes crinkle into crescents that remind you of the nights you both gaze at the moon.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he tells you. A dry laugh leaves your throat only because you feel like your chest is about to explode. His affection is overwhelming in all the best ways.

It’s not the first time Caleb’s said something like this to you. In fact, it’s not even the first time he’s said this to you tonight.

When you don’t respond to his comment, he brings a hand up to brush across the edge of your face. Almost as if afraid to touch you, he traces the edge of your hairline. Finger tips dance along the side of your face as if afraid you’ll break under the slightest bit of pressure.

When you glance back at him, he somehow looks almost sad and so you lean into his hand, cheek to palm. This time, he’s the one who’s surprised. You watch is mouth part and you smile, nuzzling into his touch before sighing softly.

You’re no longer spinning around the room dancing. The two of you have come to a stop in the middle of the floor, not a care in a world for the other couples who dance around you. The only thing that matters is the Caleb who’s in front of you and the you who is in front of Caleb.

“What,” you ask softly, watching him from under your lashes. You’re floating in mid-air but you might as well be in heaven with the way Caleb looks at you. He huffs out a soft laugh, breath puffing in the slightest brush against your lips. That’s how close he is.

He’s so close and it’d take just a tilt of his head to lean in and kiss you. And you’re waiting. Of course you’re waiting. You’re always waiting.

But maybe you don’t want to wait anymore.

[gothamite-rambler]

Red Robin (indifferent): One of us should probably save the Joker from drowning.

Red Hood: Yeah, one of you should do that. I'll just dunk his head in the water until the bubbles stop.

Nightwing (lying, indifferent): I... forgot how to swim. If I go in the water, I'll drown too. And I have a cramp as well.

Red Robin punched Red Hood in the arm, and in response, Red Hood punched back. Red Robin winced, dramatically falling in the boat, sore and dizzy.

Red Robin: Ow! I'm too bruised to swim. I couldn't possibly save the… human garbage that's drowning. That leaves only one of us.

The Robins turned to Batman, who groaned, knowing he was about to make a massive mistake.

Batman (regretting his entire life): I will… do whatever one task you ask of me, and you have to promise never to bring up the fact that I've saved Joker numerous times in my life.

Nightwing: Deal. Enjoy the swim.

Nightwing shoved his father into the water, and the Dark Knight landed with a big splash.

Batman (swimming over to Joker): Stupid code. I should let him drown, but then I'd look like a killer and I doubt there's a therapist that would be able to fix me after that— Come on, you idiot!

Joker could only reply with water gurgles as Batman swam him back to the boat, and both were helped back on board. Red Hood 'accidentally' hit Joker with an oar, knocking the clown unconscious.

Red Hood: Whoops.

Batman: We never speak of this incident.

Red Hood: If you keep your end of the bargain, we definitely won't.

[cosmichymns]

Devouring Desire

Not my gif. NSFW. MDNI. I’ll eventually put this on AO3. Smut. Just smutty smut.

She pulls you closer and encourages you to rest your forehead on her bare shoulder with a kiss to your temple. You sigh despite yourself. Her scent, the dim light of the corner she pulled you into, and the soothing rhythm of the music has lulled you into a state of pure contentment.

“Don’t get too comfy over there in that dark corner!” Morgan yelled over, catching Emily’s attention momentarily. She smirked, rolled her eyes, and playfully flipped him up. He shook his head laughing and swatted at the air in her direction before turning back to the group.

It was just supposed to be another casual night at Rossi’s mansion on the hill but after dinner, people quickly paired off. Alex and Reid. Morgan and Garcia. Luke and Lisa. Tara and JJ.

You and Emily. Oh, you and Emily.

Rossi’s outdoor patio and garden had always been spectacular but you had a sneaking suspicion that Garcia had coaxed him into letting her string fairy lights across the yard to the pool and down the pergola near the fence. Which was currently where you and Emily had found yourselves.

Emily’s arms wrapped possessively around your waist, hands sliding down to grip the sides of your hips as she lead you in an impromptu intimate sway. You ran your nose up along the length of her long, pale throat and inhaled deeply. Her signature jasmine and clove scent, which you have now begun to associate with safety, intimacy, and peace, filled your nostrils as you let out a heavy sigh.

“You okay, my sweet girl?”, she cooed into your ear as she ran a hand up your spine to cup the back of your neck gently.

“Mmhmm”, you mumbled before remembering she liked you using your words. “I absolutely am”.

Emily hummed pleasantly at that as you moved to drop chaste kisses along her throat where your nose had just been. She pulled your bodies impossibly closer as she brushed your hair to one side and gently started stroking circles along the nape of your neck.

You felt it was too needy to admit out loud but you wanted to be pressed against her always. You wanted your bodies to melt into one. You didn’t want to know where she stopped and you began. Never have you found a love like this. These thoughts in combination with Emily’s swaying and beyond gentle touches had you tearing up. You felt your face begin to flush at your embarrassment as you tried a few deep breaths to try and regulate yourself.

Emily must have felt you shudder against her throat because she pulled away slowly and inhaled sharply again at the sight of your tears.

“Oh baby…” she spoke softly, bringing up her hand to swipe a warm thumb across your cheekbones. She kissed the corners of your eyes, the rest of the world shut out as she focused solely on you. “Wha… oh, sweet girl, don’t cry, baby. How can I help? Hmm?”

You let out a self deprecating laugh at your less than sexy sniffle and looked up into her intense, dark eyes.

“I’m okay just…” you tilted your head as you thought. “I never imagined I would have this. Have… you.”

You dropped your gaze and brought your hands to her upper chest, playing with her small white gold dainty celestial padlock necklace that you had given her after a year of dating. Without knowing it, she had gotten you the corresponding key necklace in the same celestial fashion. You remember the words “disgustingly sweet” coming from Garcia’s mouth.

Emily’s expression softened even further at your confession. With one hand still securely wrapped around your hips, the other threaded through your thick, natural auburn curls reassuringly. She knew you well enough to know words were wind.

Holding the back of your head in place, she closed the small gasp between your lips tenderly. She explored your mouth for a few minutes, the two of you lost in each other, and bit down on your bottom lip gently as she pulled away smiling. Despite having seen it a hundred times, the sight of her beautiful smile always took your breath away.

Your chest heaved now as you watched Emily’s face flush slightly. Your hands caressed down her body, stopping underneath the swell of her heavy breasts. You raked your fingers against the underside of them, almost impatiently, as you looked up at her through your lashes.

It took her no time to understand the meaning of your gaze as she tugged you by your hips over to the darkened corner under the pergola. A loveseat had been dragged over by a mischievous Garcia earlier in the night under the guise of ‘making more room’. You allowed her to pull you onto her lap so your knees were on either side of her hips.

“Let me see how beautiful you are, hmm?” Emily said softy, racking her eyes over your body as you leaned back a bit away from her.

Your fingers played idly at the hem of her navy off the shoulder top before dipping underneath and skimming the soft skin of Emily’s waist. You loved that as she aged she filled out a bit more in the best of places. It gave you a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

“So lovely”, Emily muttered almost to herself as she used a hand to push your hair back behind your shoulders as you tried to clench your legs together.

She eyed your slightly protruding clavicle hungrily and ran her tongue over her bottom lip before sucking it in as you attempted to slip your hand under her linen pants. Her hand immediately caught your wrist and it made you internally smile.

“You’re awfully bold this evening,” Emily chuckled, never once did her eyes leave yours to look at the others around you but the darkness of this corner was not lost on her.

“I just want you so bad,” you said in a thick voice that was even a shock to you and Emily licked her lips. “I need your hand tightening on my throat, your teeth on my shoulder… I need…”

“What, my pretty girl?” Emily’s voice was barely a whisper now, the lust fully taking over.

“I need you inside of me more than-“, you whine quietly. “-more than I need to fucking breathe. Please?”

You could see the instant blowing of Emily’s pupils at this confession as she gripped your wrist a little tighter. You knew she wouldn’t outright take complete control of you in front of both your friends and colleagues so you sometimes pushed her boundaries a bit in public… and you paid for it at home.

“A desire so violent it seemed devouring…” the dark haired woman breathed out unevenly and so softly that you almost didn’t hear her over the noise of the rest of the team.

“Anaïs Nin.”

Emily hummed in approval while her eyes finally dragged from yours and scanned the outdoor space quickly, though you’re sure she had tracked their movements in her periphery. It had gotten late all of a sudden. Luke and Lisa were sitting on another outdoor loveseat, playfully smacking the other’s thigh deep in uncontrolled laughter. Emily smiled. The boys were hanging around the wet bar laughing and Tara, JJ, and Garcia were sitting around the bonfire in the middle of the yard, drinks in hand. She noticed JJ’s gaze falling to the two of you every so often and as you turned to see what Emily was looking at, your eyes locked with JJ’s. As quickly as it happened, JJ ripped her eyes away, blushed, and pretended to rejoin their conversation.

“I told you she liked to… watch us every now and again,” you whispered, turning around and slipping your wrist from her grip. You couldn’t read the look on Emily’s face. “I’ve caught her half a dozen times already tonight.”

Emily’s possessive, jealous side flared in her eyes now as she secretly wished you had brought a shawl of some sort so she could cover you. You enjoyed this protective, territorial side of Emily. It turned you on far more than it should. She pulled you closer to her body, the apex of your thighs brushing the softness of her belly before leaning in to kiss you hungrily. You started to slip your own hand under your already hiked up dress, gliding your smooth fingertips under the band of your lace underwear

“Let her look. Just touch me please”, you say breathily. You had always known JJ longed for something more but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was true you had caught her watching the two of you with curiosity and maybe envy? Whatever the reason, you felt empathy with whatever war she was waging within herself. “Please?”

“You. Are. Mine”, Emily practically growled, leaving harsh kisses against your throat and wrenching your hand from your underwear. She repositioned her arm so her palm was flat against your belly as it sunk into your underwear.

“I am absolutely yours. Always.” You breathed out, letting the statement hang in the air for a moment. “I don’t think it’s me, per se, but us. Some people are drawn to intimacy, to closeness. Voyeurs, you know?”

A moment passes before Emily speaks.

“You like it when she watches, don’t you?” Emily states matter-of-factly as she cups your wet cunt. “A type of exhibitionist.”

“What? No… I mean…” You take a deep, shaky breath as the short fingernails on Emily’s free hand start tracing up your arms, fingers toying with the thin straps of your sundress. “I like… um, when we are *almost* seen…”

“Mmhmm, exhibitionist”, Emily whispers as she pulls down the front of your sundress, exposing one breast. She leans forward and circles her tongue around your nipple, careful to not actually touch it. “You’re so goddamn wet for me, baby. So warm and slick.”

You can’t help the groan that tumbles out of your mouth and you can feel her smiling against your skin. Her fingers slip in between your wet folds to gather a generous amount of slickness and rub it on your clit.

“Emily…” you breathe out as you arch your back slightly, eyes fluttering shut. Your hands don’t know what to do with themselves so one ends up running your fingers through your hair and the other rests on Emily’s bicep. “Em…”

“Hmmm?”

Emily can feel your hot arousal flush against her palm and finally has pity on you, wrapping her lips around a rosy, sensitive nipple. Her index and middle finger start tortuously slow, wide circles around your clit.

You bite back a loud whine, trying to remain as quiet as you can but Emily has other plans. She bites down gently on your nipple and her thumbnail drags over the wet lace over your clit simultaneously. You cry out, mostly muffled by the music but out of your periphery you see JJ’s eyes focus in on the two of you.

You try to pull your body away in vain as Emily’s teeth continue to bite down, pulling your nipple taut as she refuses to let go. Her free hand holds tightly to your hips. Your body reacts immediately to the painfully pleasurable sensation as a higher pitched whine escapes your throat.

“Oh fuck, Em…” It’s high, needy, and loud. “We can’t… not here…”

Emily grins devilishly against your breast, giving it a pop of her mouth before answering you.

“I know, I know, baby. Just breathe for me. There you go. Good girl. They can’t really see us. Maybe just a shadow of the back of you”, she said as she trailed a line of saliva from one breast to the other, pulling against your dress as she went.

The affirmation sent a shiver down your spine as you let your head loll to one side, resting on your shoulder. Letting her eyes fall from your face to where she had been working so diligently, the sight of your reddened, angry nipple sends a punch right to Emily’s pussy. Humming, she takes the other nipple in her mouth, gently this time, and suckles lightly on it. The same way you do when you’re in a certain headspace.

Your face is hot and you feel slightly dizzy. A thin layer of sweat starts to gather at your temples. The sight and sensation of Emily pulling most of your areola into her mouth makes you breathe faster. Her cheeks are flushed, she’s looking right at you, and it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You let out a shaky breath as you run your hand through her hair and grip the back of her head, holding her in place. You try to grind against her fingers but they remain slow in carefully controlled circles. You whine as you feel her fingers tighten their grip on your hips. You feel wet, hot cum pool at your entrance now.

“Emily…”

“Hmmm?” she answered, releasing your breast from her mouth as you notice JJ rearranging herself in her lounge chair, trying desperately not to be noticed. “Use your words, princess.”

Your back arched at the nickname you can only tolerate when you’re too turned on to argue with her.

“Please, it’s not enough. Faster, please. I-I-inside, I need you…”

“Hey, that’s my girl…” Emily coos sweetly in your ear as she takes her hand off your waist, light purple marks already blooming, and tucks a wild curl behind your ear.

A shuttered, frustrated sigh erupts from your throat as she abandons your clit and kisses you gently, your eyes being teary and lips pouty. She tuts you softly with a smile. Without warning or a second thought, Emily slams three fingers easily into your drenched cunt. Momentary pain morphs quickly into an intense, bottom of your foot tingling sensation as you buck your hips roughly.

Emily’s free hand reaches up quickly, palming the base of your skull, and crushing her mouth against yours as she swallows your shocked, long groan before it can leave your throat. You instinctively try to arch back but her hand has you trapped in place.

Exactly where she wants you.

Her thrusts piston in and out of you with such force that you know you’re going to be incredibly sore later. You feel the warmth in your belly seep into your torso and into your limbs. Your body feels like pure electricity as your increased moans and whines become music to Emily’s ears.

Neither of you notice but JJ is staring under lashes now and, though more than 30 yards away, Morgan has noticed a few odd noises coming from your corner of the yard. He eyes Garcia and she looks your way now. Panicked, she stands up and starts to loudly sing along to Africa by Toto in a mostly successful attempt at diverting attention away from the pair of you. JJ’s curious blue eyes still flicker between the shadows under the pergola and Garcia.

None of that matters though because you’re so close and Emily is swallowing your moans purposefully now. One hand anchors itself at the base of soft grey hair while the other tightly grips the forearm of the hand she’s fucking you with. As gently as you can, lest Emily completely deny your request, you push her forearm deeper between your legs. You press yourself flush to her skin now and nestle your face in the crook of Emily’s shoulder. She places sweet kisses wherever her mouth can reach.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, baby. They’re so deep inside you. You’re my good girl, aren’t you, baby?”

“Mmhmm, yes.”

“Yes what, baby?”

“Yes… Mommy”, you end up moaning the last part of the sentence as she rewards you with deep hum that vibrates through your body. “I love it so much when you fuck me hard.”

“I know you do. Are you going to make Daddy proud and cum right here on David Rossi’s patio? With JJ trying soo desperately to catch a glimpse of something and the others able to hear these desperate whines? Look at me, baby.” Emily whispers into your ear as you look up at her and nod furiously, your head still pressed against her long, pale throat. “Then show me. Fall apart for me.”

Emily quickly pumps her fingers once, twice, three times while curling her fingers to hit your g-spot perfectly while she eyes messy, tight circles around your clit. Everything catches up to you all at once. Her fingers. Your clit. JJ watching. The others trying to ignore your moans. Emily’s warm skin. And you come.

Hard.

Your hips momentarily stall out and Emily takes full advantage of the slight position change and fucks you as deeply as possible. She whispers sweet nothings into your ear, talking you through your orgasm. You see the most beautiful stars behind your scrunched eyelids. Or were they the fairy lights? Were you floating?

You don’t remember to stifle your loud groan until it’s halfway out. Emily quickly covers your mouth, only adding to your peaked arousal. You flood her hand with warm, sticky cum as she fucks your through a powerful orgasm. Your open, gasping mouth is pressed against Emily’s throat as you arch yourself into her. You can feel Emily kissing your jaw, your cheeks, your temple, then finally your lips.

This is pure bliss, you realize, as she slows her hand and coaxes involuntary jerks out of you by still rubbing slowly at your clit. Emily sweetly shushes and whispers praises into your skin and lips. She rubs your back soothingly and stills her fingers deep inside you, so very content to feel your muscles flutter occasionally around her. She knows how much you enjoy staying physically connected even after your orgasm.

“You did so well, my sweet girl. You were so beautiful moaning my name.” You soaked up her compliments like a sponge as you blushed even more than you thought possible.

For a long few minutes you both stay like that. So content to be intertwined with the other that you almost lost sight of where you were. Your breathing had stabilized and the fine sheen of sweet covering your body had either dried or had been kissed away by Emily’s full, red lips. You pulled away from her reluctantly, still able to feel her unmoving fingers buried inside you. Emily’s face was still only slightly flushed as she smiled at you but her lips were swollen and her dark irises were still no where to be found.

Emily started to very slowly and carefully withdraw her fingers from inside you after gazing down at you first. You nodded, took a deep breath, and relaxed your muscles that had molded around her. She pulled them fully out, immediately brought them to her mouth, and sucked each finger. Your eyes never left her fingers as she diligently cleaned them.

“I need to taste you, Mommy”, you murmured quietly, still watching Emily’s tongue as she now licked her lips. The need suddenly became overwhelming. “Please?”

Emily let out a breathy sigh and shut her eyes briefly as the pleasure of your words washed over her. “We can’t. Not here. They’ve already been privy to too much. We should get out there and at least make an appearance.”

Emily chuckled softly at your horrified look.

“I can’t go out there! And look at them. In the face!”

“Well as nice as this little cozy corner is, we can’t stay here all night. I’ll be right there with you.”

You sighed and took one last grounding inhale of Emily’s skin before lifting your head up and kissing her sweetly. Always taking care of you, she started trying to make you more presentable by pulling the front of your sundress back up, smoothing out the skirt, and running her fingers lovingly through your hair. You closed your eyes at her gentle touches, enjoying being take care of by this beautiful woman.

“Emily?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know how much I *utterly* adore you?”

Emily smiled wide before leaning in and kissing you lovingly. “You’ll have to remind me when we get home.”

On the other side of Rossi’s backyard, the group waited anxiously for the two of you to step out of the partial shadows of the pergola before letting out a cacophony of overly sexualized moans. All but JJ and Rossi. The later had to be told something was going on over there because he simply couldn’t hear a thing over this “new fangled music”.

You could have died right then and there but Emily wore a goofy, almost proud smile as she playfully swatted your ass as you both made your way to the group.

Emily took a seat on a loveseat closest to Tara, holding out an arm for you as you snuggled into her side, blushing bashfully. She possessively wrapped her arm around your waist, resting her hand on your outer thigh.

“Get it, dude.” Tara said with a straight face, raising a single fist that Emily immediately pounded with her own.

Alex studied your reaction curiously while Garcia was just flat out relieved it was all over.

“Y’all nasty,” Derek said, playfully rolling his eyes and smiling before getting up to get another drink. “Anyone? Y/n? You must be thirsty after… all that.”

You inwardly groaned but the vibration of it reached Emily and she couldn’t help but laugh. You hadn’t been able to make eye contact with anyone but managed to nod your head.

“Yeah, something strong.”

You chanced a look at your longtime friend, Garcia, and smiled briefly before mouthing a silent thank you.

“Wait, what’s nasty? What happened?” Spencer suddenly interjected, looking around between you and Morgan. The group, including you, laughed at his utter lack of social awareness.

[hyperfixiation-station]

🥺 hi. I get so anxious asking for requests. So I’m sorry if it’s weird. But could I please please Pleaseee get a ghost x fem reader. Hurt to comfort. They were on a mission and she’s there for medic help. Not even to fight. But she got taken by the bad guys. And she gets tortured for information that she doesn’t have. And they play mind games with her. Making her think that they will never come rescue her. They really fully break her body and break her mind by the end of it. But before she thinks she’s about to finally die, Ghost and the others come and save her. And it’s about how the only person she feels safe with after all that is ghost and just him helping her heal and get back to the woman she was before all this. I want it to hurt my soul. �� but then there’s hope at the end of it bc they have each other.

My Heart Will Go On

Don't be, I love when people ask me things, and I looooved this request so much!!! I too like to torturehave fun with my OC's :)

TW: Blood, torture, manipulation

Pairing: GhostxReader

Part 2

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen at all, actually. It was just another mission, another day on the job. You went out with the boys as usual, their assigned medic as theyghost refused to work with anybody else. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was your soft demeanor, your gentle touch, the way you never judged himthem for anything hethey did. But whatever it was, they liked you, and so with them you went.

You hung back at the evac point, also as usual. Sitting in the truck, first aid kit on your lap, a comm in your ear as you listened to your boys and made sure they were all okay. It was a tense fight, gunshots and pained grunting filling your headset. You were on edge, rocking back and forth as you listened for your que to come in. In fact, you were so focused on the comms that you didn’t even notice the danger you were in until it was too late.

Your first cue something was wrong was when the comms went silent. The sounds of battle filled your ears for hours before getting cut off abruptly. Your hand shot to the comm link, fiddling with it as you frantically tried to reconnect, worried something was wrong.

“Ghost, do you copy?”

“Ghost?”

“Price?”

“Gaz?”

“Can you hear me??” Your voice got more and more panicked as you got no response. You yanked the headset off and shrugged your vest on, kit in hand as you slid out of the truck.

Your second clue something was wrong was when you looked up to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at your face. You didn't even have time to ask ‘what’ before everything went dark.

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

“Hello, princesa.” You blink hard as the blindfold is removed from your eyes. The light is blinding, the splitting headache you got from being pistol whipped only intensifying under the harsh lights.

“Who are you?” You manage after a moment, eyes slowly focusing on the man in front of you. He is large, easily over six foot, and built like an absolute unit. His face is covered by a black balaclava, though his scarred, tattooed forearms are on display.

“Don’t play stupid with me.” His voice is deep and smooth, and if you weren’t in the situation you are in you would have asked him to keep talking.

“‘M not! I don't-"

“Don’t lie to me Princesa. I don’t like liars.” A shiver runs down your spine as his tone darkens.

“But I’m-”

“Ah ah lovie, I am one asking questions here.”

“I wasn’t ask-”

“SHUT UP!” You flinch back at the drastic change in tone, the sound sending bolts of pain through your skull.

“Oh sorry Princesa, did that hurt?” Seriously, you are going to get whiplash from his bi-polar personality, “Forgot you have concussion. Let's get you Advil for that and then we see if you talk, yeah?"

You watch with blurry vision as he leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound sends waves of agony through your pounding head, and by the time you can focus again he's back.

All it takes is one well placed blow to the head, an attempt to get you to pay attention, and you're out like a light.

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

“I don’t know anything I swear! Please! I don't know anything!” The sobs tear raggedly out of your throat, already raw from screaming. Your voice is scratchy and broken, but still you can't stop begging.

“I don’t know anything” You sob. Those words, I don’t know, had become your motto over the past few daysweeks(?)

“Oh Princesa. I know.” He croons, running a finger down your bruised face.

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

Time was meaningless. Has it been 2 days since you were captured? Two weeks? Months? You don’t know. Your meals come at staggered times, and your captors never come at a routine time. The lights turn on and off at staggered times, nothing in a set pattern, a system created to mess with your mind.

Not that you know that. This wasn’t the kind of life you lived. You were a medic for heaven's sake. Your hands had been built to mend, to fix, to heal. Not to clutch at broken bones, to scratch against cement, to be chained and broken. You arewere a gentle creature, not designed for this world of torture and terror.

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

"They no come for you." You moan as the words pound through your skull, nearly unintelligible.

"Wh'...y'say?" You mumble, voice scratchy and broken.

"You're friends, Princesa. They are no coming for you." He sighs and moves next you, prodding your side with his steel-toed boot, "You are replaceable, your skills are easily replicated, they no spend time and resources to find a simple medic."

"They…'ll c'me." You wheeze, refusing to belive that Price, that Gaz, that Soap, that Ghost, would just...leave you.

He laughs in response, digging his toe into your side until your gasping in pain.

"We shall see, Princesa. We shall see."

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

You weren’t built for this. Weren’t built to recognize the manipulation, the mind games. Weren’t built to survive the two-face man who was reshaping your brain. The man who was your greatest source of pain, but also your only friend. The man that flayed your flesh open, but soothed and bandaged you when it was all over. This man, who was slowly becoming the only thing you could trust in your unstable world. He may bring you unbearable pain, but he brought you comfort too.

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

"That looks bad, Princesa." The man lightly touches the bones sticking out of your forearm. You whine in pain, clutching it to your chest. He chuckles, wiping your blood off on the cell floor.

"Let's get that fixed up, yeah?" His voice is soft, and gentle, and the nicest thing you've heard in a loooong time. His touch is the same, gentle caresses of bruised and broken skin, revolting and appealing at the same time.

Oh, it's utter agony as he sets and stitches your arm with no pain killers. You scream, back arching, lungs heaving, body seizing.

But after? Oh it's heaven. He holds you, cradling you against his warm body, making sure you don't go into shock, telling you you're a good girl, and that you've made him proud. You hate yourself for it, but you can't help but preen at the praise.

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

He brings you a calendar. One month. It’s been one month since you got taken.

“It’s been over a month.” He says, a deep voice tinged with pity, “and no sign of your…friends. I’d give up being rescued if I were you, because they clearly have.” You can barely hear him as you stare at the paper in his hands, 31 days marked off with big, bright X’s. 31 days that you have been trapped here. 31 days that your squad…hadn’t come for you. Is he right? Are they really not coming? Did Ghost really give up on you? Are you-

“Ay Princesa, I even did what you asked. I sent your squad pictures and videos that even the greenest tech member could pull some coordinates from, but nothing. It’s like I said. Your ‘friends’ don’t care for you. They are not coming for you. I am your only friend in this place. Tell me, who bandages your wounds, who feeds you, who makes sure your living space is comfortable?”

“Y-you do.” You whisper uncertainty, “But…you also hurt me, don’t you?”

“Oh Princesa, I wouldn’t hurt ya if y’ would just listen. It not torture if you're disobedient. It's just…punishment.” His voice is sickeningly sweet, “And you just back-talked me. Do you remember what happens when you try to give me sass?”

"I get…punished." You mumble, cheeks flushing with shame.

"Obviously, you fucking idiot. I mean how."

"I…you…I have to do affirmations."

"Look at that, y'r gettin' it!"

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

"Say it again." He snarls. You sit in front of a mirror, face bruised, bleeding, and swollen.

"I 'm r'pl'c'able, my friends…'re n-no'...c'min'...I 'm no' l'v'ble…I 'm r'pl'c'…able." You whisper for the hundredth time.

"Again."

"I 'm r'pl'c'able, my friends 're no'...c'min'...I 'm no' l'vable, I 'm r'pl'c'…able."

"Again!"

"I 'm r'pl'c'able, my friends 're no'...c'min'...I 'm no' l'vable, I 'm r'pl'c'…able."

He makes you keep going, repeating those 4 sentences until you literally can't make sound anymore, a fact he tests by seeing how much it takes to get you to scream. You pass out before he gets anywhere.

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

"Ghost?"

"Simon?"

"Please."

"Why are you not coming for me?"

just FYI if the timing seems disjointed and the speech is wierd, that is intentiweird,

anyways I hope you liked it!!!!

[bananonbinary]

i think tagging that your fic was not beta'd is kind of a bad idea of the "don't prime your audience to look for mistakes" variety, which is a shame because i also think the 'no beta we die like x' jokes that are unique to each fandom are hilarious.

[arkaniske]

Glitter & Gold.

2600ish words\ SFW\Jayvik

Summary: Jayce notices something new with Viktor, this has to be inspected closer. For science, of course.

He was no stranger to Viktor’s golden eyes however- the precise line of eyeliner accented by the faintest glint of shimmery copper at the corners of his eyes. It made the gaze of his partner intense. Jayce felt his knees buckle ever so slightly underneath it.

Oh no.

The steady hymn of machinery filled the lab, only the occasional clink of tools and the quiet murmur of Jayce joined the hum of sounds. He had arrived before Viktor, a rare occurrence these days as he often had found his partner sleeping in their lab- not today though. He had spent the morning looking over yesterday’s calculations, circling out a few equations he wished Viktor to look over.

As if summoned the familiar clack clack clack of a cane echoed through the halls and the sound of the door to their lab opened. Jayce turned from his desk, nose still buried in his notebook.

“Good morning, Viktor! I was hoping you could have a look at-“ His gaze lifted to his partner and the words stopped in his throat, choking with the lack of breath. At first, he wasn’t sure what had caught his attention. Viktor, dressed as usual in his rolled up sleeves and white vest, even the red necktie that had become a staple in his wardrobe. No, it was none of those that had caught Jayce off guard.

He was no stranger to Viktor’s golden eyes however- the precise line of eyeliner accented by the faintest glint of shimmery copper at the corners of his eyes. It made the gaze of his partner intense. Jayce felt his knees buckle ever so slightly underneath it.

Oh no.

“Have a look at what, Jayce?”

Oh no.

“Oh uh- yes I…” Jayce blinked, jaw snapping shut as he forcefully had to pull his gaze back to the notebook. Calculations, he could do that. Right. Yeah. Math. Every scientist friend. Math didn’t make his knees buckle and heart jump. “If you see here-“

///

By the time the equation was solved they had settled into their familiar rhythm of the day. Well. As normal as Jayce could be about it all. He didn’t mean to stare, but his eyes kept darting back as Viktor moved about the lab, completely unbothered. Jayce did try to focus on the work in front of him, really, but every time he looked away from Viktor he started counting down the seconds to when it was appropriate to look back to him. He had started with a reasonable limit of 13 seconds between every look, but well… He was now down to 8 seconds.

Viktor settled at his workstation across from him, Jayce fighting a losing battle. He might as well have forgotten how to count with the way he kept glancing over.

“Something on your mind, Jayce?” Viktor asked, his tone neutral as he flipped a page in one of his notebooks. A flicker of amusement in his gaze.

Jayce jolted. “What? No! Nothing! Just, uh… thinking.” He waved his pen vaguely in the air as if that would explain anything. He should stop talking. “Y’know, equations and… science stuff.” Stop talking. “Hextech! Yea, that’s a big one.” Stop talking! “Math too.” Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking- Jayce stopped talking. Watching as Viktor arched an unimpressed brow, and Jayce wanted to crawl under the table.

“Hm. I see.” To say Viktor was unconvinced would be an understatement, but he still returned to his work. Jayce started counting 15 seconds this time.

He couldn’t just blurt it out, could he? Hey, Viktor, you wearing makeup? By the way, it’s unfairly attractive and now I can’t think straight. This is a great day! That would go over well.

Instead, Jayce buried his head in his blueprints, scribbling equations that didn’t entirely make sense. Hours passed in their usual comfort, the lab’s air thick with the smell of metal and ink. Viktor remained focused, sharp as ever, while Jayce stole glance after glance, seconds ticking lower and lower, convinced he was being subtle.

He wasn’t.

When Viktor finally stretched and set his tools down in favour of his mug and reading over notes, Jayce felt his pulse quicken. His chance to say something was slipping away with the daylight. If he didn’t ask now, it’d eat away at him for the rest of the evening. Probably longer if he was honest with himself.

Gathering what little courage he had to clean his throat. “So, uh… Viktor.”

“Hm? What is it, Jayce?” Viktor didn’t look up from the paper and sipped from his mug.

Jayce fidgeted, tapping his pen against the table. “I couldn’t help but notice… uh… are you, um, wearing makeup?”

There was a beat of silence before Viktor finally looked up, golden eyes sharp with curiosity and the unmistakable shine of amusement. Jayce stopped breathing. “Yes.” Viktor said simply.

Jayce’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Words hitching in his throat again for a moment at the added intensity of a lined gaze. “Oh. Ah! Cool!” He winced at how high his voice sounded once it came back to him. “I-I mean, it looks good! Really good! Not that it doesn’t always look- wait- I mean-“

Viktor raised an eyebrow, cutting him off. The ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips as he watched his partner fluster. “Thank you, Jayce.” Soft gratitude.

The calmness was infectious and the smith felt tension ease out of his shoulders enough to find more courage. “It’s nice. I just… haven’t seen you wear it before, y’know.”

“Yes you have.”

What. What.

“What?” Jayce started to flick through his mental library of Viktor. He remembered freckled skin, dark and messy hair, the soft look of Viktor just waking up from a nap, the slightly jagged teeth, the little scar on top of his hand, golden eyes golden eyes golden eyes, sharp cheekbones- no, he couldn’t remember any glitter or red lipstick.

“Jayce, I do this every day.” Viktor answered with a shrug, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “A little bit of lining my eyes and neutralising dark circles, it is eh… making me look less tired. It makes people ask less concerned questions of my wellbeing and focus on what is important.”

“Holy shit, I never noticed…” Jayce leaned back in his chair, his head tilted as he processed the information. “Every day? Wait, is that why you were in later today? You were…” He gestures to his own face, tapping his cheek as if applying a powder.

“Huh? No, Heimendinger was chatty on the way to the lab. I felt rude cutting him off. My application only takes ten minutes or so.” He simply explained. “The reason why you are only now noticing… Well, I ran out of my usual products and forgot to collect more. What I am wearing now is kohl, it is darker and harsher than the pigments I wear everyday. The difference is subtle, not many would have picked up on it.” His tone warm with the realisation of how much attention his partner had given this.

The warmth was a spark to ignite the tips of Jayce’s ears into a light blush. “I… see.” He replied. There was an odd feeling of regret for never noticing before, to know that he might have missed the signs of an exhausted Viktor at the end of the day. Even more so he felt a twinge of ache at all the missed memories that could have been added to his mental library.

The soft sound of curiosity form Viktor was not lost to Jayce as eyes refocused to the man. “Would you like to try? You seem quite taken with it.”

Oh.

“Wait, now? I don’t have- I wouldn’t know where to start. I fear I would stab my own eye out or look stupid and-“

“I’ll do it for you.”

Oh.

///

That is how Jayce found himself comfortably lying on the couch with a pillow raising his head. Viktor had insisted on this instead of hovering over him on a chair. It’ll be horrible on my back, he had said. And who was Jayce to argue. Who was Jayce to argue that they both could sit on the couch and face each other when Viktor had swung a leg over his hips to straddle him. Who was Jayce to argue when Viktor spent a few moments adjusting his braced leg to not dig into Jayces skin. Who was Jayce to argue when Viktor leaned so close to him, to the point where their chests almost touched. No, there was no protest.

He counted 4 seconds now.

Viktor’s legs were warm and solid against Jayce’s sides, his weight pressing down in the most distracting way. Jayce’s heart was hammering hard, and he was almost certain Viktor could hear it, if not feel it when his hand came to a rest at his chest.

For a long moment, all Jayce could focus on was the faint scent of Viktor, the soft brush of breath against his face and the warmth- at this point he was unsure if it was his own or Victor’s. He only knew he felt warm. His mind a chaotic mess, every rational thought slipping away the longer Viktor hovered over him.

“Hold still, Jayce.” Viktor murmured, his voice almost teasing. He knew. He knew as his fingers brushed lightly against Jayce’s cheek and watched the man lean into the simple touch. Viktor did not get a reply to his request, only a weak nod and eyes fluttering shut. “Good.”

Jayce could feel the heat in his cheeks burn bright. With the first touch of a soft brush to his eyelid he felt his own inhale shake. Luckily it did not last long as he found himself incapable of breathing soon after as Viktor leaned closer. The shuffle of his clothes, the warmth of his breath on his face- He’s so close. His head was spinning with the thought. His hand gripping at the hem of his own shirt as to remind himself to stay there, to not reach for Viktor.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice was gentle.

Jayce kept his eyes closed. He knew if he looked he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes again no matter what he counted to.

“Jayce, you are forgetting to breathe.”

Oh, right. The burning ache in his chest was in fact not from yearning.

His inhale was sharper than intended and the ache subsided, at least the ache caused by asphyxiation. “Sorry, heh. I didn’t want to, yknow… Accidentally mess it up.” His voice was quieter than what he thought it would be.

“No need for an apology.” Jayce could swear he felt a gentle caress over his cheek as Viktor dismissed his sorry. “Open your eyes for me, will you?”

Who was Jayce to argue when a honeyed voice asked for his attention. He opened his eyes, thankful for the setting sun making their lab darker and gentler on his eyes. He counted two seconds before his eyes found Viktor’s. His heart fluttered in his chest as he found his partner already looking back at him, if it was a trick of the light or wishful thinking, Jayce swore he could see the faintest of crimson adorning Viktor’s cheekbones.

“You- uh. You’re done?” He asked almost hopeful.

“Almost. Just final touches.” Viktor answered. The soft bristled brush came to the outer corners of Jayce’s eyes. This time he could not look away. The soft expression on his partners face, the utter and complete focus as Viktor took his time to create symmetry. Jayce felt the tightening of his throat as he realised he was being studied with the same intensity and carefulness that Viktor would look over blueprints and his notes. The man above him was engulfed in his work, in Jayce. He couldn’t do anything but to stare, keep still and keep his breath even. He felt lightheaded and heavy at the same time.

Jayce had no idea how much time passed before Viktor spoke up again. “There you go. All done.” And then had the audacity to sit back up and regard his work. He rested a finger on Jayce’s chin, burning into his skin, as he easily guided his partners head from side to side. Eyes flickering over his work. Meeting no resistance from the man below him.

“How- I- how does it look?” Jayce felt his voice become thick with emotion.

“Very good. I am good at this, after all.” The corners of Victors mouth curled with a smile. “You look pretty, Jayce. So pretty for me.”

One second.

“Fuck.”

The distance between them closed quickly. Jayce wasn’t sure if he was the one sitting up or if Viktor was the one leaning down. They met somewhere in the middle. The first touch of lips were electric and hasted. Warmth surged through every nerve of Jayce’s body as Viktor’s hand slipped from his chin to his chest. Jayce finally letting go of his own shirt to find his partners waist, hesitant at first but finding the confidence to pull him closer when Viktor deepened the kiss.

Viktor tasted faintly of something sweet, like honey lingering on his lips, though Jayce couldn’t tell if it was from an actual sweet or simply Viktor himself- the thought made him dizzy. He let his fingers tighten against Viktor’s waist, the thin fabric a useless barrier between the two sources of heat. Viktor’s hand was still resting over his chest, steady and grounding, as if to counter the wild hammering of Jayce’s heart.

Viktor kissed with a deliberate intensity, his lips soft but unyielding, as if he were to memorise every part of Jayce’s mouth. And Jayce let him. His chest ached with affection, with desperation, with love. It was overwhelming relief of knowing the affection was mutual. That this was something he could nurture and grow, to cherish with Viktor. His Viktor.

Jayce couldn’t help but let out a quiet, desperate noise when Viktor pulled back just slightly. His golden eyes half-lidded and shimmering with something playful and tender. His smirk was faint but unmistakable, thumb grazing against Jayce’s bottom lip as lips parted. The flush was burning in Jayce’s cheeks as he felt himself tremble underneath the mans touch.

“You are easily flustered.” Viktor fucking purred, his voice warm and teasing, and far too composed for someone who had just stolen the breath out of Jayce’s lungs. He was fucked.

Jayce’s hand flexed against his partners waist, mouth opening and closing, searching for words that wouldn’t come. Instead, he surged up again, capturing Viktor’s lips into another kiss. A plea for more. Viktor’s hand slid up to cup the side of Jayce’s face, his fingers brushing along the jawline. Firm and reassuring. Giving what was asked for.

He could not get over how perfectly Viktor fit against him. His hip snug in the palm of Jayce’s hand, their chests pressed together, Viktor’s fingers threading through Jayce’s hair with such gentle care. Their lips parted with soft panting, small drag of teeth sending shivers down his spine all but making him whine into the kiss. He felt the hums of Viktor’s chuckle kissed into his skin. Burning hotter than any forge Jayce had stood by.

When they finally parted, both with heavy breaths, Viktor didn’t move far. His forehead rested lightly against Jayce’s, their breaths mingling as they stayed close. The quiet intimacy of the moment becoming sacred between the two. Jayce’s eyes fluttered open to find Viktor already watching him, something soft and vulnerable offered in his gaze.

“You- ah… the- uh. I didn’t mess up the makeup, did I?” Jayce rasped, his voice rough and edged a nervous laugh.

Viktor’s lips twitched with affection and amusement. “No.” He said softly, thumb brushing against Jayce’s cheek. “You look perfect. Though… We might have to redo the corners.”

Jayce let out a breathless laugh, his fingers caressing small symbols of admiration into Viktor’s waist. “Worth it.”

“Completely worth it.”

[stubz]

warning - bad guy wants to kill people and threatens to eat them + ship invasion

General Morbius was one an accomplished soldier. He was ruthless to his enemies, loyal to those who appreciated him, and willing to do anything. He was made for war. The coalition was not, it was made for peace and thus the general was rarely if ever used.

He had been fine with this...until he rejected as captain of the main ship. A tighalax by the name of Nox was chosen instead. Nox was not ruthless, was too hesitant to make the hard decisions, was a runt.

Morbius would not let a runt replace him.

That's when he met Sine Macula, a ruler who stood for everything the coalition did but was not afraid of getting their hands dirty to do so. Morbius respects that and so he fed him information. He got away with this for several months until found out...but not caught. There was not enough proof to charge him with treason and so he laid low. His schedule became tight and rigid, work then straight home. No dawdling or talking...well not to anyone he thought were a real threat.

The human chef from the west side cafeteria, the human who was head of sanitation, the human from the youngling centre, these were the only ones he talked to. They were the only one's who understood him and listened to him. At least that's what he thought.

He had a strange feeling about why the captain's first mate had reduced the amount of tails/watchers on him and so he did some digging. Oh how he longed to rip those filthy humans apart with his teeth...how he longed to watch the life leave their eyes as they gurgled out pleas through blood...

He let them into his home, he let them know of his thoughts and desires, he told them details and secrets, he let them meet his family-touch his family with those filthy dirty hands!!

He has calls to make.

.

The general cruelly smiles as he walks through the halls and sees his former allies escorted into the cargo bay, a temporary jail until they see who is worthy to join and who is to die.

His grin widens as he steps into the command center to see the Captain wrestled to the ground along with the first mate. A muzzle is shoved into the tighalax's mouth. A shock collar is strapped around the petronlic's neck. How lovely.

Growls and curses follow him as he turns around to continue to enjoy the show. He sees dozens of his new soldiers subdue an orc with tasers and guns loaded with rubber bullets. He hopes Fenrir will see his side and join, the orc will be a wonderful soldier.

Disgust crosses his face as he sees the ships tech supports throuple make the most offensive and crude gestures to him as they're dragged to the cargo bay. How Quip ended up Glip and Kal he'll never know.

..

"So we have everyone?"

"Not yet General, we're missing 30."

"30? How was I not made aware of 30 missing crew members??" he sneers grabbing the soldier by the shoulder.

"They weren't high priority-!"

"Well they are now since you lost them! Who did you lose?!"

"Th-the youngling centre sir!"

"...the youngling centre?" he whispers.

"Y-yes, sir."

"...you lost the youngling centre? The very centre run by the disgusting humans who betrayed me?"

"Well find them right away sir-!"

"You have two hours or I'll be using your bones as the broth for my diner tonight." he releases the soldier who sprints away to his team.

...

Kim knew she was going to die if they were found. The younglings would be most likely safe, Max too if he didn't fight back, but her? She would be killed.

When Captain asked her to spy on Morbius she did so without really thinking of the danger. She wasn't going anywhere dangerous, she would just talk to him whenever she him in the ship. Just talking, easy!

But then he actually opened up to her and that's when she realized how dangerous he actually was. The 'jokes', the wishes, the cracks that let her see who he really was...it scared her. And she couldn't do anything but grit her teeth and smile.

She was still safe though. They never met off the ship. She rarely actually talked about herself, he did all the talking, she never let anything slip.

But Morbius had still found out. He had found out, played along, and now the ship has been taken over.

They've done this before, her and Max, and therefore already had a plan. Lock the door, close the blinds, turn off the lights, hide in the supply room in the secret room and block the door. No one make a sound.

Hours pass and they do their best to keep the children quiet. Do their best to take their minds off the shouts, blasts, and shots fired with whispered stories and reassurances.

By the fifth hour, she knows because Max counted to keep himself calm, all is quiet. Kim hates it. She wants to leave, she can't breathe, her heart is too loud, she-

The tiny door opens.

Standing there before the group of 30 is a youngling. Standing between them and their fate is Morando. The General's son.

The youngling's mouth opens.

....

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" Morbius roars, sirens blaring throughout the ship nearly drowning out his voice.

"Sir! There is a fire in the youngling centre!" a soldier screams directing his comrades towards the fire.

"AND WHY ARE YOU PUTTING IT OUT?! WE'RE BLOWING THIS SHIP UP THE SECOND WE LEAVE!!"

"Your son is there sir!"

General Morbius is many things. A killer, a soldier, a liar, a betrayer, but in that moment he was only a father. And fathers' love their children.

"Kill the one who was supposed to watch him. All available soldiers with me. If my son dies I will skin you all and eat you whilst you still breathe."

General Morbius loves his child and if his child dies he will kill everyone and anyone who contributed to it.

.....

General Morbius loves his child. Morbius loves his child. He would kill for him. Die for him. And in this case forgive him.

The fire was a diversion. His son was not in any danger. His son was tricked by the disgusting humans.

Morando had found them while looking in the supply room for a toy to play with after having given his escort the slip. His son had intended to alert him, call for reinforcements. But the humans had used their silver tongues to trick him.

One last meal they said. Humans were given one last meal before defeat, before death. Morando had seen no issue with this, he respected Kim and Max, they had given him much fun and amusement.

The final meal involved fire but since the centre's kitchen was partially destroyed they asked to use Fure, a fyreian. Morando agreed once again.

They cooked, involving all the younglings, even Morando. They sat down together and ate, inviting Morando, giving him his own plate. Kim begged him to let her tell one last tale before capture, he allowed.

The comradery, a warm meal, a tale catering towards his son's taste...the humans were not as foolish nor soft as he had thought.

They lulled the youngling into a false sense of security before capturing him. Tying him up, his son. Gagging him, his child. Carrying him like a sack over their shoulder, his flesh and blood. Setting the fire and leaving Morando's shawl just outside the door to make it look like he was in there, trapped, burning...a brilliant plan.

With how little soldiers there were in the cargo bay they managed to sneak in and free their crew mates. How the orcs, rextalians, tighalaxes, and other apex species fought.

It was a swift defeat. They had taken control of the ship whilst he was distracted by the fire. They had the armory now. They had called in reinforcements. They had Morando. What else could he do but surrender?

Humans are so much crueler than others give them credit for. A species who have mastered trickery to such a degree that younglings are not even safe from them.

[merikaberika]

First time posting original work, kinda nervous. Anyway, I had this idea during a dream and immediately wrote down what I could when I woke up.

Summary: Remus lupin visits an old friend who never left the castle.

There she was exactly where he'd found her all those years ago. Her ghostly body floated above him as he slowly made his way over to her. Even though death had drained her of colour he could still see the yellow of her jumper and the red scarf she had around her neck. He walked up to the window she was staring out of.

“ It seems we both can't escape this place.” He spoke with a gentle sort of pain.

“At Least you can choose to leave.” she’d replied. If she'd had lungs she'd be holding her breathe, they hadn't spoken since the day she died. Her death was an accident, or so they told everyone. In the years-long fight against evil she had fallen victim at a time inconvenient for Dumbledore and his plans. “ The students aren't as bad as they used to be” she told him as she floated down, lowering her body to reach his eye level.

“the new generation will do well.” He agreed. Still keeping his eyes trained on the view, trees that swayed in the cool evening breeze. The moon wasn't visible, but if it had been it would've sat in the sky in a crescent like shape. “Their children visit me, you know.” she states more than asks him, turning her head to look at him.

The scars on his face almost glowed as she floated closer. “ I answer the questions they ask.” she continued, “ Luna asked about her mother, who her school friends were. Neville came to me when he passed a quiz he was particularly worried about.” she spoke sitting down on the sill of the large gothic style window. “The twins have their parents but their mother doesn't like their inventions. They use this corridor to test most of them. Harry joins them sometimes. He's the spitting image of his father.”

He finally faces her, tears falling down his face “I'm sorry I wasn't there” his voice breaks, “I'm sorry, I didn't come looking for you that night.” He falls to his knees, softly crying to the woman he loved. “ I know you are, Love.” She tries to hold him but knows all too well that her hand will go straight through him. “Love, look at me” she instructed, “you're not the one who killed me. I was basically alone in the castle. It was Christmas for Godric's sake.” she explains as he looks at her, tears staining his face. “ no-one thinks the professor's aid is going to be targeted, especially on Christmas.”

She kneels down next to him, with the most loving look in her eyes. “It's time you move on Remus. Live your life while you still have it. And I'll teach the new witches and wizards all about those who came before them.” she leaned her head against the brick where he had laid his head moments ago.

“Are you sure?” he asks her softly, “more than. I'm 100% positive that you should live your life.” she answers. He wipes his face of any tears with a handkerchief from his pocket. “I love you.” He said finally standing up to his full height, “I always will” he looked at her as she too raised herself from the floor. “ I wouldn't expect any less,” she says slowly, looking down at her hands. The translucency setting her back into her reality, “you should go back to your office, the twins usually sneak out around this time. Wouldn't want them seeing you here.”

With one last look she takes off down the hall, falling into sobs of her own as she leaves his sights.

[coolbattlegirl]

Based off my cryptid twst au post

Feverish coughing filled the dark cottage, its source coming from the small bundle hidden underneath the bed sheets. The monster that loomed over the bed cooed and hushed at the sickened child, “Oh, you poor thing…” It whispered tenderly, “How ill and frail you are…” 

Clawed fingers dips a small towel into ice cold water, mimicking the familiar actions the creature had seen the humans do numerous times when their offspring fell ill. Moving its now inky long hair away from its face, it delicately places the towel onto the child’s sweaty forehead, a small whimper escaping the child as it does so. 

Despite the help of the cooling towel, the feverish child still seemed restless. Now that wouldn’t do. The creature began to hum softly towards the ailing child, a song they sang many times in the past. His fingers caressed the child’s hair, as he did, careful to not scratch the soft skin underneath it. 

Lilia watches as the child’s face slowly begins to relax, letting out a content sigh as they did. Upon seeing such a simple action, he couldn’t help but feel a part of his heart fracture at the similarity. A memory flashes through his mind, the soothing sound of rain falling outside the cave, a small, warm, fluffy being nestled by his side for warmth as he diligently groomed his offspring dry. If he dared to close his eyes, he could almost delude himself into thinking the child before him was his own offspring. 

And in an instant, the skin of his new form feels too tight, too suffocating. He has to stifle the hysterical laughter that has now become trapped in his throat, because he knows those cherished moments are never coming back. No matter how much he tries to delude himself, his offspring is gone. They picked up their spears and swords and slaughtered his poor child. They took his child away from him. The child who had once been filled with life and curiosity now lies rotting in some unknown ditch. 

Rage still boils underneath his skin, burning at his veins, threatening to erupt. But he reels it in, because he got even with them. They took what was his, and in return, he took, no, claimed something of theirs. A smile creeps onto his face, looking too sharp and wide for his now human face. He nuzzles the child’s face, cooing tenderly into their now silvery locks, “It’s only fair for you to be by my side now...” A hand trails up the child’s neck, pausing before gently going to hold his face, “My sweet little prince…” 

[lorelune]

in that same vein, i mean it so fr that i do this for fun. writing is a hobby. thirsting over fictional men is the fun reprieve i have away from my deeply independent, corporate grindset. i am here on tumbls and posting my silly little thoughts and words because i have FUN and be silly and share!!!

[gothamite-rambler]

Zeus: Hey! Hades, stop telling Hera she can do better!

Hades (counting the days for Persophone's return): Stop cheating on her.

Zeus: Hey, don't act like your relationship is all sunshine and rainbows! You did kidnap her when you first saw her.

Hades (reasonable defense): That did happen, but once Cupid's arrow effects wore off we spent time talking until it was safe to return her to the upper world. I got to know her, she got to know me. We both complained about Demeter. I treated her like a person and not a walking sex toy.

Zeus: Oh my me, you're not hot shit! You and Ares are-

Hades: Oh you are not insulting him! He has messed up, but he is leagues better then you. That and he believes in consent and not rape!

Ares (sipping tea): Thanks, unc.

Hades: No problem. Zeus, are we done here? Can you leave?

Zeus: What the here are you two even doing?

Ares: It's Wednesday. We hang out on Wednesdays.

Hades: I know that's shocking to you since you sucked so much at raising him.

Zeus groaned storming out in a huff.

[sufferthesea]

Flash Fiction Friday #6 (Greek Mythology)

Word: πληγές. Greek. “Wounds.” 

Pairing: Penelope x Odysseus

Warnings: Mentions of war/death, blood mention

Penelope doesn’t remember the last time she cleaned Telemachus’s wounds. He’s had so many growing up. Scraping his knee as he climbs the rocky hillside of Ithaca; chasing around sheep and goats and getting snapped on the scrubby brush; slicing his fingers open after endless attempts at stringing his father’s bow. It seems that Telemachus’s life has been a series of paintings of wounds. His hands, his arms, his legs, his feet. His head. 

The bruise on his forehead where a young shepherd, younger than Telemachus, accidentally kicked a rock at Telemachus. It sailed high in the air, like a bird, and struck Telemachus in the middle of his forehead. It was, all in all, a minor wound. It hurt mostly his pride, but there was the bruise. 

Oh, Penelope, Odysseus’s mother had chastised her, you really ought to do something about that! You can’t let these people get away with hurting the future king of Ithaca! 

There had been no intention in the harming of Telemachus. It had been an accident, and Penelope knew that. She knew all about accidents. (Telemachus had been one, not that she would ever admit it. It was not good to admit that the future heir of a kingdom had not been planned. It made it seem as if the gods were not crafting some divine plan through her womb, weaving his fate through her blood.) And the rock had been an accident. So Penelope had not punished the shepherd, or anyone else. She’d simply cleaned up Telemachus, held him in her arms, and told him that kings face all sorts of battles in their lives, but they must choose which ones are really important. To waste time and resources on an unimportant battle is tantamount to foolishness, and a quick path to defeat later on. Did his father ever get into spats over silly matters such as pebbles and bruises and broken egos? No, of course not. Odysseus was above that. He had to be. If he had a pride that could be wounded so easily, he would not live on Ithaca, nothing more than a rock full of goats. 

Telemachus is much older now, nearly a man. He walks about the palace as if he is ready to inherit it, and perhaps he is. It has been so long since Odysseus has walked these halls, smelling of perfumed oil and the sun’s baked heat. She remembers the last wound of his that she cleaned, though, even if Telemachus’s have all faded into childhood missteps. 

It had been the night before he left for Troy, when everyone was anxious to leave for the glory of bringing Helen back. The night was full of the rich scents of roasted meat and new wine. Odysseus’s men were dining together, a farewell to Ithaca and all that it offered them. They’d been promised a short war, barely a war at all. Agamemnon and Menelaus said that they would have more than enough men to overpower Troy, and that they had the element of surprise. They would arrive on the shores in no time, scare the Trojans with their best fighters (Achilles and Ajax, naturally, though there was implication that Agamemnon and Menelaus may have meant themselves), and bring Helen back. They would be home before their wives even missed them; that was the promise. 

Odysseus had, somehow, cut his finger while working on his bow. He didn’t intend to take the bow with him – perhaps he knew that it would be a much longer journey than promised, perhaps he had no intention of being on the battlefield himself – but he still wanted to handle it before he left. The cut was miniscule, barely a pinprick on his finger, but it bled. Penelope sat with his hand in her lap while she dabbed the edge of a water-dipped cloth over his finger. Odysseus did not need to be tended to, he didn’t even feel the cut when it happened. Penelope had only noticed because he had smeared blood on his tunic. 

While she cleaned his wound, Odysseus watched her carefully with warm eyes and kept the humor in his voice while he spoke. 

I’ll face much worse wounds than these in battle, my dear Penelope. You ought not let me go if you are afraid of such a small cut. 

Penelope was not afraid, not of the cut. Not of the blood. She was afraid of something else, something that sat in her stomach like a stone plucked from the embers of a fire. She was afraid of Odysseus never coming back. She was afraid of Odysseus landing on the shores of Troy and falling before the battle had even begun. She was afraid of Odysseus seeing Helen and falling in love with her – fair and pale and beautiful, perfect Helen, the face that launched one thousand ships, the face that men pledged themselves to die for. 

She held his hand in her lap for a while longer, rinsing out the rag and dabbing it along his cut, though it had long ago stopped bleeding. Odysseus teased her a little more, though never with any malice. 

We ought to bring you along, so you may tend to our soldiers. Though I am not sure if they would heal just from the sight of you, or if they would feign illness to stay in your tent longer. 

Agamemnon and Menelaus should have thought to send you to Troy first. Perhaps you could talk some sense into Helen and bring her home. You could convince anyone to do anything, my Penelope. 

I don’t know why they call Achilles ‘aristos achaion.’ I think the best of all the Greeks are the wives who stay behind. They’re smart enough to not get into wars, and they run the households without us. The only thing Achilles can do is wield a spear. 

But eventually, the night drew to a close, and they rolled themselves into their marriage bed, and Penelope prayed and prayed that the gods would not take her husband away. Before the sun rose above the horizon, Odysseus and all his men were gone. Penelope was now the ruler of Ithaca. 

It has been several years now, and Penelope’s faith in her husband swells and shrinks like the waves on the shore. In some moments, she is so full of hope, she feels as if she could burst from happiness. And in some moments, she is so empty, she feels that the one thousand ships launched for Helen could not fill the barren sea of her heart. 

The suitors come to Ithaca as time goes by, each one taking residence in and around the palace. They eat her food, drink her wine, seduce her maids. They ravage the land. They disgrace the world Odysseus has built. Penelope keeps order as much as she can. The maids must clean and cook and lie on their backs and soothe and coddle and reciprocate every lewd stare and groping touch. Telemachus must fight for his place, his father’s place, in the palace he was born, but he must not overstep and insult the guests. Penelope must balance the world in her hands, like an overflowing cup of wine, and try not to spill anything on herself. 

And all the while, she sits in her room, and weaves, and wonders when anyone will come to tend to her wounds.

[hyperfixiation-station]

Hi!!

I am totally obsessed with your fics!!! Your writing 🤌💕

I just wanted to request a fic where the reader is new to the task force but she's experienced and tough. Vibez similar to Ghost to elaborate she's more scary than Ghost cuz of her past maybe she was experimented on or trained brutally....

Reader is working hard to prove herself even if everyone knows she's the most lethal person. So one time she gets injured badly while protecting someone from the 141( probably Ghost 👉👈) and she wakes up has an emotional moment Ghost comes know about her Trauma . More like hurt/comfort....

Happy Writing 💝

Guilt-Tripped

CW: Mentions/references of kidnapping, torture, canon typical violenece Part 2, Part 3 Hiii Anon!! First off, thank you! Secondly, I am so, so, so sorry for how long this took😭 I did make this a two parter, the first part is kinda like backstoryish and the second part will be the actual story. I was gonna wait until I finished both to post but you have been waiting for way to long so I'll give you the first part now instead of waiting, again I am so sorry! I hope you like it :)) Summary: F!Reader was a part of a special program(LMK if you can guess what it is) and once she was released she joined the military.

WC: 1467 As always, I didn't proof read so lmk if there are any mistakes :3

Life had not been kind to you. Ripped from your family at a very young age, you had never known the type of love and safety a nurturing home could provide. Instead, you grew up in the confines of a Russian base, with cruel instructors and a dwindling group of girls as your only companions.

From the moment you could walk, you had been told you were a weapon. A lethal force to be honed and trained, nothing more than a tool for others to use to further their games. Brainwashed, tortured, and trained into submission, a perfect puppet. Both your brain and body were sculpted into absolute perfection, a rigorous process most people did not survive. By day, they trained to be a lethal force, an unstoppable, unnoticeable, killing machine. At night, you were handcuffed to your bed, listening to the screams of students who did not make the cut.(to this day you sleep handcuffed)

You watched, at first in horror, then with a sense of detachment, as your friendsrivals bit the dust, unable to keep up with what the program demanded of them. It got better as you got older, less girls died from their tasks. But in some ways it got worse. It was a competition now, a fight to see who would remain victorious, to see who would come out on top. It was not a place for friendship and comradery, and you learned that quickly.

You stopped trying to make friends with the other students when you were forced to shoot your best friend in the head after giving her some of your dinner when she was being punished. You were 8. And you stopped trying to even just be friendly with the other girls at 10 years old, when the instructor broke every bone in your hands after your bunkmate framed you for something you didn't do. To this day your hands are not the same, always hurting and forever scarred.

Your world was kill or be killed, and you'd be dammed if you didn't come out on top.

And come out on top you did. You graduated top of your class, a position you had fought and killed for, won through bloodshed and pain. If you had a conscience, it would have been screaming at you for the things you had done to get to the top(You laid awake every night consumed by guilt and grief)

The program was disbanded(re: destroyed) when you hit 18, just two weeks after your 'graduation'. You were given two options: Join the American military, or face a life sentence in prison. 

You had a lifetime of sins to atone for, and knew there was only one way to even begin to ease your guilt. Two days later your background was sealed up and you were shipped off to boot camp. 

And you excelled. This was nothing to you. What was a six mile run when you used to run until you passed out, then wake up and keep going? What was surviving on four hours of sleep when sleep deprivation had been the norm your whole life? What was any of this compared to what you had been forced to do everyday since you were five? 

You scared your instructors. And the other recruits. And everyone else you came into contact with. And you were fine with that. You didn't like when people got close to you anyhow.

Love got you nowhere in the world. It was a lesson you learned hard and fast. You did not care for others, they did not care for you. And you liked it that way. Until you met the 141.

A woman named General Laswell came to you one day with a job offer. Well, not a job offer exactly, but more of a…transfer of positions. A small, (mostly)four-man team that she oversaw.

You had gotten disciplined for beating the ever-loving shit out of a recruit the week before, and Laswell had watched it all unfold. She went back to her office, read your full file, and decided you would make a good fit for John's team.

You took a look at your bunk, at the trunk that held zero worldly possessions, realized there is nothing for you here, and said yes. 

Price had not wanted a new recruit, and told Laswell as much. She simply said he had a penchant for picking up strays and left your file on his desk. It took him a week to actually get curious enough to read it. A paper copy, the only one in existence that had your full, undisclosed background. He pretended he didn’t see her smug grin when he hit accept on your transfer application. 

You had been trained since youth to fight and to kill, yes, but your true purpose was espionage. You were trained to study those around you, to lie, to mold yourself to the expectations of those around you. You excelled at fitting into your surroundings, at assimilating perfectly with your peers. It was all you were good for, in your opinion. So you asked Laswell for files on your new teammates. And she gave them to you. They were full of gaping holes and redacted information, but there was enough there for you to profile them. 

Soap would be the most receptive to you. He most likely would also be the one to not give up in trying to get you to be open with them. Gaz would be receptive as well, but you know that your sealed background would put him on edge, Ghost, well…Ghost was a lot like you from what you could piece together. Yet another person who learned that the world was cruel and unforgiving, who had learned the lesson that love does nothing but hurt. And because he was like you, you knew he would trust you the least.

You felt a small pang in your chest when looking at this masked photo that you hadn’t felt in years. Not quite sadness, but…pity? No. It was different, it was sympathy. It weirded you out. 

It was hard at first, joining the 141. You had court-mandated therapy you had had to attend, and you had slowly come to realize that some trust was good, necessary even, for life. You knew you wouldn’t be able to open yourself up to them, that you would never be able to feel the sense of brotherhood you had seen amongst other soldiers, but you wanted to try. 

It was harder than you thought it would be. Hard joining men who already had comradery, who had a bond that had been forged with blood, sweat, and tears. men who weren't sure how to fit another person, much less a female, into their group. 

As you suspected, Soap was the most receptive. He was fun, you thought. His Scottish accent and affinity for filling the silence made him a very pleasant conversationalist. You didn’t have to do any of the talking.

Gaz was wary of you, but did a good job of not showing it. As you suspected, he stopped inviting you out after you said ‘no thanks’ for the third time. 

Ghost didn’t like you. You could see it in the slight tensing of his muscles when you walked in the room, the way his eyes pinched when you spoke. 

It was a rough, rocky start, full of distrust and misunderstandings. Everything about you set his senses on high alert. They way you could sneak up on him completely silent, the way you could hold your own when you sparred with him, even the way you moved had his hair standing on end. It wasn’t until a mission that would have ended with Soap's death if you hadn’t risked your life to shove him out of the way that Ghost began to trust you. 

And then he began to notice something else about you. And the more he noticed, the more concerned he grew. He noticed the way you threw yourself into battle, what little regard you held for your own life. He noticed how you never instigated conversation, never gave away the slightest bit of information that could be used against you. Noticed that you always wore gloves. In fact, he's never once seen your hands.

His constant observations of you had an unintended side effect. The longer he watched you, the more he realized you were a lot like him, the more he was drawn to you. And vice-versa. 

You found yourself willfully seeking Ghost out, willingly sharing information with him. Nothing about your past, no, you would never tell anyone the things you had done. But little things, how you liked the food served this week, how your mission went, that your new pants were really itchy. And he told you things too. Told you really bad jokes, told you Soaps stupid Scottish saying of the week. And slowly you branched out, agreeing to go to the bar the next time Soap asked you, telling Gaz that you liked his new sunglasses. 

It was nice, having people who looked at you like you meant something to them. Having people who didn’t know what you’d done, people who didn’t look at you with disgust and distrust. It was nice to have…friends. 

So of course everything had to go downhill from there.

End scene :3 let me know what you think!!6 and be on the look out for pt.2, I hope you're ready for a buttload of angst >:) Also requests are open <3

[lifes-eternal-ghoul]

Just some phantom doodles and stuff.... Nom num nummy?

[aurae-rori]

CSM AVENTIO AU short snippet

"Doctor," Aventurine says, as they stand there on their apartment balcony together. "What is your opinions on humans?"

"Where is this coming from?" Ratio scoffs, leaning on the railings. His irises widen, almost like a cat's, adjusting to the dark. His horns peak slightly out of his hair. He yawns, and with the light that Aventurine's lighter casts on their balcony, he can catch the way Ratio's fangs glint.

"Curiosity," Aventurine replies, and pulls out his next cigarette, placing it in front of the awaiting flame. It comes to life immediately, and he inhales it, then exhales, watching the smoke from his cigarette fade away into the dying night's sky.

"If you wish to know what I have already stated multiple times," Ratio says, "I think most humans are mediocre. They do not think for themselves. Their critical thinking skills.. gone." He glances at Aventurine's cigarettes. "Stop smoking. It'll kill you, eventually."

"Ah-ah-ah," Aventurine laughs, tilting his head back when he does. He then takes another drag. "That's the point, Doc."

"You are destroying yourself," Ratio observes, his gaze analytical.

The devil hunter grins.

The fiend stares back.

"Of course I'm destroying myself," he says. "It's a key human trait."

"I take back my observation from earlier," Ratio says instead, perfectly impassive, and yet, Aventurine can see the way his teeth grind together in the dim lighting. "Most humans are mediocre, but you are a self-sacrificial idiot."

"You've got me all figured out, don't you?" Aventurine asks with a wide, wide smile. It feels fake. It's like molten plastic on his face.

"No," Ratio replies. "I will figure you out, though."

"Good luck, fiend." It feels like a challenge. This is Aventurine's bet. He is a man of good luck - his contract to the Devil of Fortune deems it so, after all. He's been doomed since he was born, a lucky, lucky child despite the fact that Misfortune was brought to everyone around him.

Ratio will be the next to fall.

He doesn't seem bothered, though.

He grins back, all sharp teeth and inhuman eyes.

"In the pursuit of knowledge," the fiend of knowledge says, "I thank you for your luck. I won't need it."

Aventurine had known that this fiend - the fiend of knoweldge, the representation of human's fear of knowledge - would be interesting. In the way that he seemed to 'propagate' his own fear by teaching others, from the way that he enjoyed giving his knowledge to others, studying things - he was much more different then what Aventurine had in mind when it had been announced that the fiend of knowledge wanted to work with Public Safety.

However, for some reason, he was also... the perfect embodiment of knowledge. He knew too much. Inspired fear with the way he stared at people.

But not Aventurine.

Aventurine was never afraid of knowledge.

It seems that Dr. Ratio isn't afraid of misfortune, either. Maybe he believes that his knowledge will allow him to navigate the situation.

However the dice rolls..

It will be interesting.

"Here's to our new partnership," the gambler says, instead, holding up another cigarette for the fiend.

Doctor Ratio rolls his eyes, and pushes Aventurine's cigarette back towards him. His hands are warm. Almost... human.

"Keep your cigarette, gambler," he says. "I'm not intent on destroying myself in my own pursuit for knowledge, or the future. I also won't bet everything when I'm trying to achieve my goals." And then, without another word, he leaves the balcony, door sliding shut behind him as he pads back into the apartment.

Aventurine stands out there, in the cold, smoke tumbling from his lit cigarette, and the unlit one still in his other hand.

This will be interesting.

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024,#20 do-over

Apparently there will be another AU happening. No beds but tats.

A Tattoo Shop AU.

I've no idea where this will go so I'll surprise us all. LOL

+++++

White Pony Tattoo - Part One (do-over)

Dr John Watson stood in front of 221 Baker Street and – for the first time in a very long time – felt anxious.

He was wondering why this actually happened to him right now. The London afternoon was mild and sunny, summer was about to begin and yet, an aura of foreboding seemed to hover around the well-kept Victorian building.

John shook himself mentally. This was completely ridiculous. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no danger.

For God’s sake, he had fought for Queen and Country in Afghanistan, had saved several lives and countless limbs in the field hospital and also on the battlefield under heavy fire. He had not felt anxious then. Wary, yes. Cautious, of course. High on adrenaline, surely.

He had been shot in the shoulder while he was on a scouting mission with his team and had woken up in his own field hospital. When his fellow army doctor had disclosed to John in blunt medical terms that he might lose his arm, then John had been frightened.

After a long rehab process the arm was functioning again but John had been honourably discharged because of an intermittant tremor in his hand that made him unsuitable to work as a field surgeon.

Two years ago, John had returned to London and after struggling for three months he had found work as a physician in a local clinic. He had soon met a wonderful nurse named Mary Morstan, fell in love with her and they had married quickly.

Which brought John back to the reason why he was standing in the middle of the pavement in front of 221 Baker Street, staring at the tattoo shop like a village idiot.

The tattoo on his right upper arm needed a do-over.

“White Pony Tattoo” was not what John had expected. It was located in a small shop with a red awning above its single window. There were no flashing neon signs or colourful and enlarged pictures of tattoo designs the artist had created. No advertising of the shop’s services whatsoever. Everything was clinical and sterile, even off-putting. Had it not been for the single metal sign placed in the middle of the window, no one would have thought a tattoo shop would be behind it.

Maybe it was the sign that made John feel so anxious.

It read “White Pony Tattoo” and showed a stylized white running pony on its right side. On the left the sign read “no arguing, no crying, no boring designs”. This did not bode well. Just by the look of it, John would never have thought about setting a foot in there.

Yet, John had done his fair share of internet research to find the best tattoo shops in London because he really did not want some would-be tattoo artist botch up his skin.

White Pony Tattoo had topped several lists. The only shortcoming that people regularly mentioned was that the artist was capricious. The lesser polite said that he was a total dick. However, Sherlock’s – John assumed it was a pen name -artistry was highly acclaimed and he had won several competitions over the last years. Getting an appointment was difficult and being accepted as a client was even more so. But sometimes, when Sherlock was interested enough, he accepted walk-ins.

John straightened his back, raised his chin, took a deep breath and opened the door of the tattoo shop. A melodious door bell chimed and announced his presence.

IIt was cool and dim inside the shop and it smelled faintly of a fresh lemon fragrance. A thick purple curtain behind the wooden counter closed off the rearmost part of the shop. Quiet classical violin music played in the background.

“Hello?” John called out, taking off his jumper to let his tattoo show. “Is there anybody here?”

The curtain moved and a man stepped up to the counter. It was easy to recognize Sherlock from the few pictures John had seen on the internet.

“Hello, I’m here for a do-over…” John began.

“Shut up.” Sherlock commanded. His baritone voice was silky and opulent just like the luscious black curls that framed his aristocratic and unusual face.

John was so surprised that he closed his mouth with an audible plop.

Sherlock’s eyes roamed over John’s face and upper arms, then the rest of his body. Piercing blue grey eyes took in every detail, precise like an x-ray machine or better, like a computer tomograph. They missed nothing, pinning John to the spot and stripping him down to his very bones, unable to hide anything. It was uncanny. Disconcerting.

“Firstly, it’s called a cover-up, as you should very well know.”

Sherlock chided, frowning. His voice rumbled like the high-end engine of a race car and filled John with an unknown desire.

“Secondly, I’ve already deduced what you want. I won’t do it because it’s boring.”

+++++

The one(s) who know and tell me where the shop's name comes from will get a cameo in this AU (nothing bad, I promise). Are you game?

tagging @peageetibbs @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @raina-at