#the world is frequently fucking awful and we only have our moments

[enbycrip]

Baby elephant picture dump because I’m incredibly fucking sad after doing a bunch of reading about early modern infanticide for my essay and then the pig rescue I support on Patreon posted about a baby truck jumper they’ve just saved and the horrendous awfulness of industrial farming got to me again too. Even more for just having read that.

The world is incredibly full of pain and has been for so long. I needed baby elephant joy to remind me that our collective joy as sentient creatures is worth something against all of that.

[cultofdixon]

Day One to the Rest of our Lives

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Part 1 • Before The Outbreak - The Farm • The nurse next door always had a soft spot for the Dixons as they were her family. It took the end of the world and an almost near death experience to get the youngest Dixon to make a move • ANGST/SFW • TW: Canon Violence / Scars / Injuries / Blood Loss / Emergency Surgery / Abuse / Drug & Alcohol Consumption / Anxiety

Requested by: Anon

NEXT

Before The Outbreak

“Merle you’re a fucking dumbass” Daryl groans trying to help walk a drunk and injured Merle up the stairs to their apartment.

“That bitch deserved it!” Merle shouted only to be shushed because of the time of night it was and most of the neighbors hated him.

Except, surprisingly, Y/N. Their next door neighbor that is rarely home or seen because her other home seems to be the hospital she works as a nurse at. One of the times their paths crossed was when Y/N went to the bar Merle frequents at and got blasted after a long day but still managed to give Merle stitches when he decided the bar window was nice to go through.

When the brothers reached the top of the steps, Daryl instantly noticed Y/N sitting on the floor propped up against her door. Merle squinted to see why his brother stopped.

“Y/N WAKE UP” Merle shouted causing Y/N to flinch awake and for Daryl to groan letting go of his brother making him fall onto the floor. “Bitch…”

Y/N blinked a few times to get the sleepiness out of her eyes as she gave a confused look to Merle’s still body on the floor. She was about to ask questions but decided not to and accept the extended hand coming from Daryl.

“Do I even wanna know?”

“Besides drunk, what else you wanna know?”

“Nothing” Y/N laughed a bit, bending down to grab her backpack to get her keys out. “He needs stitches?”

“Just an ice pack, I think imma let him hang there” Daryl crosses his arms looking at his now passed out brother watching Y/N walk over to him and rolling him on his side. “What’s that for?”

“In case he throws up. I’m gonna grab a blanket so he won’t be too uncomfortable out here” Y/N returns to her door unlocking it. “I know he may have ruined it but you want a beer?”

“More so a smoke than a drink” Daryl rubs the back of his neck giving a concerned look to his brother that Y/N noticed once she was halfway through the door.

After dropping off her stuff and taking her coat off, Y/N stepped out gesturing for Daryl to follow her lead in picking up Merle. Her by his legs and him by his arms. Eventually Merle got settled on her couch still on his side and with a trash can beside his head.

“We could’ve—-“

“Nah too many extra steps to get him back in your apartment. Besides, I’m a trained professional in case other shit happens” Y/N went over to her window as she spoke, opening it up enough for her to climb through with Daryl following shortly after.

One would think anyone wouldn’t want anything to do with the Dixon brothers mainly because Merle puts trash onto their name. But Y/N likes their company, Daryl’s mainly, because it keeps her sane and human. Working in a hospital so much to the point one is accused of “living there,” anyone would want normalcy.

It’s an added bonus finding themselves sat in the fire escape, sharing a cigarette from the pack that Y/N hides in the empty plant pot that the previous owners left at her apartment.

“I had to take a decontamination shower at the end of my shift because of the vomit and blood from that singular patient”

“Sounds awful” Daryl frowns, watching Y/N smoke for a moment as he kept his gaze on how tense she was for a while before finally relaxing after exhaling the smoke. Her eyes were exhausted just as the rest of her, but they told so much more that he worried for. “Ever thought of taking a break? Vacation more like”

“With all the hours I’ve got saved, I could. But I’ve been in the hospital for so long that I wouldn’t know what I’d even do”

“Uh…well you like Merle and I, you can join us for our hunting trip” Daryl put that up in the air, looking her curious expression. “It’ll be next month”

“I haven’t gone hunting since my old man was still around…” Y/N put out the last of her cigarette thinking about the option. “You sure Merle would be cool with it?”

He didn’t think that would work. Daryl shrugs as he looked back into the apartment where Merle laid on the couch snoring loudly. “The worse to happen is Merle would hit on yea for most of it”

“I’ve dealt with worse, trust me…a lot worse”

“So…?”

“I’d be happy to. As long as I get a ride from work. I wanna work as much as I can before taking a few days off”

“We can pick yea up from work. Merle will be on his bike and I’ll be taking the truck”

“Works for me, I’ll give you my stuff the day before” Y/N smiles and that quickly faded along with Daryl’s when both heard the eldest Dixon vomit his stomach out. “Yup. Love his company too”

During The Hunting Trip (and the start of the outbreak)

“You wear anything other than the scrubs?”

“Sundresses, but I wasn’t going to pack one of those for a hunting trip Merle” Y/N rolled her eyes, quickly stopping when she heard something. Merle quickly but stealthily followed the noise.

It felt unreal, how quick something can escalate from standing in the open waiting for either Dixon to come back from the noises they’ve heard…to falling back in shock to the undead stepping closer.

The closer it got, the more Y/N let the shock take over that when she reached for her knife…the sicko fell on her. But thankfully with a bolt in its skull. Y/N couldn’t register what had just happened until Merle kicked the corpse off of her body making her lock eyes with the equally shocked Daryl across from her.

“You alright girlie?” Merle asks, not waiting another second as he grabbed her upper arm pulling her up on her feet. “Come on speak! Are yea bit?”

“No I’m…uh what the fuck?!” Y/N shouted once it hit her letting Merle check her arms and neck before shoving him back. “Is this what that fucking radio broadcast was about?”

“Makes sense right about now. But the fact that one is out here…people makin’ camp and bringing those who’ve been infected out here with them”

“Fuck. The hospitals must be flooded with patients with symptoms before it reaches this stage.” The worry on her face only drew an annoyed one out of Merle and an equally concerned expression from Daryl but not for the strangers. “I have to go back, see if I can help or something!” Y/N stated as she started to make her way toward the truck.

“Doll, that won’t be a smart decision” Merle planted his hands on his hips continuing the annoyed look on his face until it turned to confusion when his brother quickly caught up with her.

“You can’t go back”

“I have to! I took an oath” Y/N scrambled a bit, putting her hunting rifle in the bed of the truck dropping her pack on the floor to grab a clean scrub top. “I didn’t spend years in school to not save people’s lives——“

“Y/N, if this shit spread. The hospital ain’t safe and I can’t lose you”

His words caused her to freeze in her place before turning toward him with a much softer expression compared to her worry filled one.

“W-We can’t lose you…okay? If they didn’t figure the virus out, I don’t know what you could do”

“I wish I could do something…” Y/N felt the burning sensation of tears building in her eyes forcing her to look away.

Daryl stood for a moment wanting to pull her into his arms, but both were startled by Merle’s crazed excitement when he found something off the corpses body.

They’ll have to get used to this…new life

The Quarry

“Does it still hurt?” Y/N frowns gently dabbing the cut on Carol’s cheek with a wet rag. She pulled the rag away to wet it more with water from her canteen. “Is he really helping Shane? Or waiting for you back at your tent”

“Knowing Ed, he’s waiting back at the tent. I’m just…thankful Sophia wasn’t there” Carol frowns, flinching when Y/N went back to cleaning up the blood giving her apologies for the suddenness. “You understand…don’t you?”

“I don’t get what you mean…”

“You know…being with them at the start of all this…I doubt they were good company” Carol scoffs when they both heard Merle shouting like usual at Shane. If they weren’t labeled “typical rednecks” when they first joined this group, then they would’ve seen it was Shane’s fault for what Merle was yelling at him for.

“You’ve got them wrong.” Y/N scoffed to her words, looking over at them in what looks to be an argument. Watching Daryl try to de-escalate the situation from how intense Merle decided to make it. “Me wrong too…I’ve known them for years. I was their neighbor and while Merle did have his moments, they were both still nice to me. Hell…even there for me when I needed it” she frowns looking back to her bag to take out a bandage for Carol’s cheek and once it was placed, she stood to her feet. “Give them the benefit of the doubt instead of judging right away…”

With that she took her leave toward her tent that was next to the Dixons which were a camp away from camp because a few shared private concerns making them isolate. Y/N wasn’t about to leave them even if Merle did make the comment when they first joined this group.

“She’s more like them” is what he said

“Stupid fuckin’ pig” Merle scoffs returning to their little campsite taking a seat beside Y/N who was just as annoyed as he was but more on the melancholy side of things while his was filled with rage.

Concern only washed over Daryl when he noticed her expression but he didn’t even get a second to say anything before Merle went off.

“Y’know I bet yea that motherfucker only wants me to go on that trip just so something bad can happen and I end up a sicko”

“Wait, what trip?” Y/N quickly turned to Daryl knowing he will give a better explanation of everything while Merle only focused on what mattered to him.

“Shane, the fucking moron that tells us not to hunt at a certain hour so he could do who knows what in the woods—-wants me to join the girlies, the Chinese kid, and the other two to go into Atlanta for supplies”

“Well, he’s Korean first of all…”

“Doll like I give a fu—-CK” Merle shouted when Y/N elbowed him in the side. “They using me as a goddamn escort nobody gonna give a fuck if I meet my maker out there”

“We do” Y/N gestured to Daryl and herself. “Merle, you’re more of muscle along a few of the others from the main group. You sure he didn’t ask for yea to make sure the others are safe?”

“That’s exactly how he put it, Merle is just dramatic” Daryl sets his crossbow down beside him once he sat on the ground with them. “They’ll die without us”

“As much as people can adapt, Daryl has a point here. Shane will only lose game if he went shooting his shotgun at deers and squirrels” Y/N leaned back on her hands. “Hell, the squirrels will explode if he shot at them. They’ll need the both of y’all to bring back a lot of game to survive. Besides, you know Atlanta better than most. You can survive a few herds”

“You both are a bunch of bitches” Merle wasn’t serious when he stated such at least when it’s directed to those two, but he still didn’t like the idea of leaving with these people to Atlanta.

That when they returned with someone who wasn’t Merle, Y/N knew they were about to meet a whole world of hurt.

“Fuck no”

“Y/N—-“

“I could never get Daryl to calm down” They both know that was a lie, Y/N is honestly the only person that could calm him down. But what they both can agree on is they don’t know how he will react to the news.

“Bullshit. You’re gonna have to try somethin’ so he doesn’t fucking kill the man”

“But isn’t that what you wanted?” Y/N watched the color leave Shane’s face. “For this Rick guy to remain dead so you can lay your pipe in a place you shouldn’t be laying it”

His fists clench at either side of him trying his hardest not to strike, but Y/N had enough of keeping that shit to herself. She didn’t care for what happened next…for the most part

When Daryl returned to the camp in search for Merle, ignoring everyone’s questions while he came up empty on finding his brother within the camp. But the annoyance only grew when he couldn’t find his—-Y/N.

“Where’s—-“

“We left Merle. Well, I did.” Rick stated noticing the concern on Daryl’s face which led him to believe there was more to it and he instantly turned to Shane. All the man ever does was shrug but it quickly turned to pulling the youngest Dixon off his “brother”

His presence would normally bring joy in any mood she was in, but given the situation and what happened prior to Daryl finding out about his brother? Y/N was miserable and hiding something.

“You hear what those fucking sons of bitches did?! Leaving Merle chained up to a goddamn roof!” Daryl shouted, quickly stopping when he noticed Y/N flinch to his words. “Sorry—-Fuck, I’m just—-“

“Mad. Rightfully, mad” Y/N rasped, squeezing her eyes shut while she pressed her wet bandana to her cheek. “That Rick guy said he was going to go back to get his dumbass even after putting him up there.”

Daryl didn’t say anything right away as he steps around her to get a look at her front watching her duck her head. “Lori wasn’t too happy about it”

“Figured” Y/N frowns continuing to look at the ground watching his shadow grow bigger practically covering her and indicating he was knelt in front of her. Daryl gently removed what she was using as a rag to see what happened. “It’s superficial. Not like I’d have anything to do stitches anyway…you need to get Merle back”

He didn’t say a word all he did was nod while reaching for her pack to take out those butterfly bandages she has.

“Can I—-“

“Yeah”

The youngest Dixon didn’t push her on what happened, all they talked about after he saw was the plan to get Merle’s ass back to the camp. Even if it meant she couldn’t come with which infuriated her.

But that didn’t matter. The feeling useless part passed quickly when their camp was being washed through with a herd. Y/N always had her axe beside her and didn’t hesitate to start taking out sickos while most of the women protected their children. The only thing she’d want to protect wasn’t there. She didn’t need to worry too much.

Carol let out a scream when one got too close that lead Y/N to quickly swing her axe into its skull watching her quickly get away following Lori. Y/N pulled the axe out and didn’t know of the walker creeping up behind her until a gun shot both killed the walker and almost burst her ear drum. But she quickly turned toward who fired and saw Daryl, both having a relieved look that turned into focused quickly to finish off the walkers.

Once all the dead and undead were mourn or taken care of…the plan was to go to the CDC in hopes for something to help Jim when it was revealed he was bitten. But on the way, they stopped and left him as per his request.

The CDC

Y/N of course sat with Daryl in his truck with Merle’s bike strapped in the bed of it. Neither of them talked for most of the ride given they were worried, angry, and a bit upset…but not at each other. Daryl knows Y/N has her reasons for not telling him how the cut on her cheek happened but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry. She on the other hand was infuriated and struggling to keep the tears at bay. Being a nurse and feeling useless was getting to her. That bastard leaving Merle was getting to her. That stupid bitch Shane was getting to her.

“You think Merle is fine?” Y/N questions while she watches the scenery go by the woods slowly disappearing. “What kind of son of a bitch cuts his own hand off? Doubt he even knows how to properly stop the bleeding…burning it isn’t the right way”

“Merle is a roach. He’ll turn up…eventually” Daryl frowns gripping onto the wheel tight as he continued to follow the RV. The truck ran over a walker causing it to jump and for Daryl to instantly force his arm in front of Y/N as she held onto it out of anxious habit with bumps.

“Never going to get used to that…maybe we should’ve just ditched the truck and taken the bike”

Daryl took note of that

When they got to the CDC, right away one assumed that it was empty and barren. Honestly who could blame the scientists for running from this mess? The government already decided more destructive solutions that didn’t work. But when the doors opened, everyone was on edge. Thankful, but on edge. Y/N was given the hunting shotgun Daryl he had back at camp to pair with the axe strapped to her back under her pack. She raised it instantly along with the others when the doctor stepped out to greet the survivors.

Dr. Jenner was his name and he happily let them in giving them the facility for the night. He of course had them get tested for anything which had Y/N feeling nostalgic and given her background, he asked for her help in a few ways before everyone decided to enjoy the luxuries that the place gave.

Booze. Booze was the start along with food.

Y/N only drank with Daryl and Merle, so she didn’t feel comfortable drinking as much as the others were during the dinner the doctor made for them. She kept an eye on Daryl given he was drinking til he couldn’t see straight anymore, he needed it after the Merle nonsense.

But every time he looked over at her, he smiled. In a way it was to make sure she was still there but there was so much more.

When the group started to turn in for the night, everyone stayed with who they were close with. But given how much Glenn drank, Rick and Shane suggested he’d stick with Y/N and Daryl. Mainly Y/N for she has the training in case he aspirated. Which nothing a good “having him sleep on his side” wouldn’t fix.

Daryl stumbles into the room squinting at the sight of Y/N helping Glenn lay down on his side before moving to the couch which would be her bed for the night. She made Glenn’s bed out of the back cushions of the other couch knowing Daryl was going to rip them off anyway. He came to the apartment drunk once and she’d let him crash, he did exactly that before passing out.

“Did you shower? In your state?”

“Nah. Got lost” Daryl scanned around the room quickly switching the light off.

Before Daryl even thought about going to the other couch and sleeping off the effects alcohol has on the body, he brought himself to sit on the floor leaning up against Y/N’s couch. He flinched slightly when she brought her hand to his forehead before easing into the smallest touch.

“Just the alcohol. No fever”

“Just checking” She said in a hushed tone before laying back on the couch keeping her eye on him watching his brows furrow contemplating on saying something or not. “You should get some sleep, bubs”

He felt the heat rise instantly in his face as he decided the couch was no longer an option and laid down right where he was. Y/N watched him get comfortable on the floor before grabbing a couch cushion and giving it to him to use as a pillow.

The night progressed and Daryl laid awake for the most part, thinking staying conscious would subside the feeling of liquor and the strange but familiar one lingering in his chest.

Just when most thought the next morning would be peaceful after some breakfast and much needed pain killers…it was revealed what the clock was on the wall. It was a countdown for total power loss and the last of it to destroy the CDC in a fiery explosion.

Leave or Die

Leave or Die

Leave or Die

Who would’ve thought that would be a hard decision to make while most panicked around her and once Jenner finally opened the doors for them. She froze in place and felt the tightness in her chest grow.

When Daryl watched the door open he immediately turned to his side half expecting her to be with him. But soon realized she stood by the panels with the doctor and those debating to stay or know for fact. He stood there waiting. Waiting for any sign.

Even if it was Y/N simply turning around to look at him with tears in her eyes. Daryl then acted without a thought by sprinting toward her and instantly picking her up before booking it for the main lobby of the CDC. Where the commotion involving a grenade was being conducted.

“Duck!” The sheriff yelled as everyone did exactly what he said, Daryl shielding Y/N when he crouched feeling her shift out of his arms but her arms remained around his neck holding him close.

They parted when the grenade explosion dissipated, but Daryl didn’t hesitate for a second to usher her out of the building before getting himself out.

The explosion of the CDC rattled the earth and those especially barely escaping it.

“Everybody alright?” Rick asks everyone getting a few yeses and more of annoyed groans after being shaken. “We have to get out of here. Before the herd comes”

“Help me get the bike off” Daryl gestured for Glenn to help as he went to do so. Y/N instantly bringing herself to the bed of the truck grabbing their gear before they took the bike off.

“Rick, siphon the gas from the truck and fill up your cars. Should hold us up for a while or at least until we find more cars”

As they were quick to scramble and move some of the gear from the truck to the RV, Y/N was about to move into one of the cars when Daryl gripped her shoulder gently.

“Ride with me, yeah?”

“I uhm. It’s been a while, Daryl…”

“Alright…Uhm. Don’t sit with Shane, least do that for me” The look he gave her when he said that, only told her that he knew. He knew who gave her that wound on her cheek.

Y/N instantly nods and goes to join Andrea, Glenn, and Dale in the RV while Daryl got situated on his bike leading the way back to the freeway. Hopefully they can find shelter elsewhere.

The Farm

“You and Daryl seem…close. Is there like more to that?” Glenn thought maybe since there wasn’t many in the RV, and especially Daryl, that he could ask things like that.

Y/N being more open to answer after spending more time with these people. “We’re close, but if you’re insinuating what I think you are then no…”

“Is that what you want?” Andrea cuts in, looking directly at Y/N from her spot in the passengers seat. “You want something more don’t you?”

“I-…Well, why would I if the other party doesn’t seem interested” Y/N stated, only for Dale to scoff with a laugh after. “What?”

“You would have to be blind as a bat to not notice how much that man cares for you. If you really wanna know? Try and talk to Shane. About anything.” Dale gave her a look through the rear view mirror before stopping in the freeway when his RV started to make noise. “Damn thing breaking on me at the wrong time”

When the RV stopped, everyone stopped.

Daryl brought his bike to the banks of the freeway watching the RV from his spot seeing Dale get out first along with Glenn. He was about to go in to check on—-

“Hey, this’ll be the perfect time to fuel up on some gas. Even check some of the cars for anything that will be useful.” Rick interrupted his thoughts, Daryl nodded to his words watching him go ahead of him before taking a quick glance at the RV finding Y/N stepping out with a look he couldn’t fully read.

“Hey, Y/N can you take a look at these meds I found?” Lori caught her attention instantly and the second she approached him, Daryl went ahead to investigate some of cars himself.

Then things turned for the worse and a herd started to come through the cars. Most hid underneath the closest car they were near and Dale got stuck on top of the RV…but the worst to happen was the cries of Sophia had attracted some of the walkers. Leading her to run away and the sheriff quickly went after her.

‘Sophia’ Carol whisper shouted as they couldn’t entirely leave when the herd was passing, they only started to get out of hiding and took out the stragglers.

Y/N quickly pulled herself out from under the car watching Carol quickly get out with Lori trying to stop her. She wanted so badly to chase after her daughter and the walkers but Rick’s got it. He’s going to save her…

“You didn’t find her?” Carol couldn’t hold back the sobs anymore, Lori laid a comforting hand on her back.

“They’ll find her or at least try their hardest” Y/N tells Carol with concern littered in her voice even if she only wanted the first part. “There’s still plenty of people in the world even after it ended. She could’ve ran into somebody that will help her get back to you…” she gave a sad smile before turning to Daryl watching him straighten up.

“We’ll find her. We’ll keep lookin’”

This is a mother’s worst nightmare Y/N thought as she organized the trunk of their findings before being pulled away to help T-Dog in terms of his injury.

Rick and Shane left a while ago with Carl to go search for Sophia which left the others splitting into searching themselves and staying at the RV. Y/N being with the RV group given she wanted to keep an eye on T-Dog’s injury but some part of her was screaming internally over this whole situation.

Sophia hid because Rick instructed her to do so but she ran. You would run if your life was about to be in the hand of walkers…

Now Rick, Shane, and Carl disappeared. What could’ve possible gone wrong?

“Are you okay?” Y/N frowns watching Andrea come into the trailer with a bit of annoyed but equally anxious look on her face.

“Yeah, but someone took Lori. Knew Carl and her name so we are gonna go to the place they are at” Andrea sat across from her at the little table noticing Y/N pinching her arm which some spots started to bruise.

As Andrea reached across the table to take her hand to get her to stop, ultimately holding it so she wouldn’t continue. Daryl flew the door open instantly locking eyes with Y/N before stepping away to get on his bike while Glenn and Dale flooded in.

The second the RV arrived on the farm, Rick ran out of the house toward it. He gently pushed Glenn and Andrea out of the way to get Y/N taking her hand dragging her toward the house.

“Where’s the fi—-“

“Carl’s been shot. The man of the house is a vet and is doing his best. Could use another set of—-“

“I’ve got it” Y/N didn’t need to hear more to understand the just of it. She was going to be told everything by Hershel, the head of the house, anyway.

Once Shane came with the right medical supplies, Hershel was relieved to have someone with full medical training to help him fix Carl’s injuries. But that didn’t stop him from discussing certain matters.

“If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Is it about this?” Y/N gave him a confused look keeping hold of the retractor while Patricia continuously squeezed the ambu bag that Shane managed to snag for Carl.

“No…these people you’re with…you trust their judgement?”

“Yeah, a little bit. I’m still trying to get used to the fact that one of them left my—-my best friend’s brother on a roof” Y/N picked up a piece of gauze to dab at the blood that spilled. “He wa—is a racist sexist son of a bitch so. Who could blame him”

Patricia fought back a laugh as Hershel rolled his eyes but was going to take her word for the first part. He can give some trust in these people.

“Listen, Hershel. I may have not been with these people for long…but they are good people. They mean well at the end of the day even with their flaws.” Y/N finished her thought before helping him finish with the closing.

After the operation, Y/N stepped out into the kitchen where Patricia instructed her to wash her hands in the sink. As she was doing so, Lori instantly went to her and without any words she gave her a smile and let Hershel explain how everything went smoothly.

Y/N stepped out realizing how late it was and how everyone set up their tents already. Part of her wished she still had her apartment and could simply crash without having to set anything up. But when she was about to head toward the RV to get her things, she noticed her tent set up and close to his.

Sweet… Y/N felt the twitch of a smile before entering her tent and laying on the floor for a moment.

Laying on the ground in a tent after a successful surgery was very different compared to laying on the kitchen floor with a half empty bag of chips and a bottle of Merlot. Felt nicer and worse in some way.

“Y/N?” Daryl whispers, just in case she was still asleep but when she opened the tent flap he relaxed a bit from the awkward feeling. “The kid alright?”

“Yeah, he’ll probably need another transfusion but we won’t know until he improves” Y/N sat in the way of the flap giving Daryl an unreadable look and all he wanted to know mostly was if she was alright after what she had to do. But decided to focus on different matters. “Did you need something, Dar?”

“Uh. No I just…I’m gonna look for Sophia in the mornin’. Wanna let yea know”

“Thank you…be safe and back before nightfall”

“I promise, sunshine” He gave a small nod shortly leaving after, letting Y/N get some sleep even when once the tent flap closed she felt the heat consume her face when he called her that.

But that small happiness faded when her anxiety started to eat at her the more the sunlight faded in the next day.

“You need to stop pacing. You’ve done laundry, you checked Carl’s incision site, you gave Maggie and Glenn a list of drugs to look for on their run, amongst other small tasks. Creating a ditch in the dirt just from pacing back and forth is only going to wear your shoes out and not make Daryl come back any fast” Andrea told Y/N while she got up on top of the RV to take watch.

“She’s got a point. You’re wearing yourself out over possibly nothing” Dale said while handing his rifle up to Andrea expecting her not having to use it. “He’s looking for signs of Sophia or her overall and will be back. He told you that much”

“Least you know what his intentions are. Most partners don’t realize their significant other is cheating on them because they beat around the bush when asked “where have you been”” Rick stepped out of the RV saying such which in response was a confused expression from Y/N. “He is your boyfriend is he not?”

“No! We aren’t together at all…”

“Hm. Odd”

“How so?”

“I had to pull off a very angry drunk Daryl off of Shane the night we spent at the CDC. Threatened to kill him if he ever laid a hand on yea again” Rick shrugged. “That’s when I thought y’all were somethin’ more.”

Andrea laughed at the situation, earning an annoyed groan from Y/N as she turned to Dale about to question if he knew about that incident when her friend’s tone shifted.

“WALKER” Andrea shouted rising from the lawn chair. “Walker!”

“Just the one?” Rick question without a confirmation on the number but he couldn’t focus on that anymore when Shane, Glenn, and T-Dog started to make their way over to said walker. “Hold up. Hershel wants to handle the walkers”

“We’ve got it” Shane assured continuing on his way while Andrea had the brilliant idea that she can take out the walker with the rifle she has and the sun in her eyes.

Dale kept trying to tell her not to take the shot. Maybe because they were heading their way toward the “walker” and she couldn’t accidentally hit the living.

But she did that. To the walker that was actually an injured Daryl.

When he dropped, the ounce of joy Andrea felt immediately faded when all three by the RV heard the shouts of no!

Y/N quickly made her way over to the shouting and noticed the limp hunter in between Rick and Shane that she started to feel that itchy feeling that came with anger. She gripped the tank top she was in, quickly turning around and heading straight for her tent to get her scrub top before making it to the house the second Hershel was informed.

Regardless of the minor protests of having her patch Daryl up, even from the man himself, Y/N was persistent and pissed.

When the adrenaline wore off, Daryl passed out but thankfully his wounds were taken care of and he was left alone. Not entirely though. Y/N sat on the window bench watching the rise and fall of his chest every now and then. But for the most part she kept her focus on her hands and how much blood stained her skin. Especially her nails.

Just the thought and fact of it being his blood resulted in her curling up on herself and sobbing ever so softly.

The time Carol came in and told him how grateful she was that he still went out of his way to go search for Sophia, Daryl noticed Y/N’s sleeping form in the window but especially the redness slightly above her cheeks.

“She’s been here the whole time. She does a good stitch job from what Hershel says” Carol whispers with a small laugh at the end of her sentence. “Get some rest, Dixon”

Y/N woke to the sound of struggling and a few curses. Daryl thought he could go unnoticed given their group was asleep in their tents and so was the family that owned the house but the light sleeper that was his—Y/N woke up.

“Stop starin’ and give me a hand”

“You deserve to rest in a bed, Daryl…” Y/N frowns getting up from her spot and approaching him but before he could protest, she helped him stand to his feet. “Least let me help you to your tent”

Daryl nodded, letting Y/N wrap one of his arms around her shoulders before getting out of the house. She made him take it slow and practically at her pace given it was what she wanted him to go at.

The silence was killing him that when they finally reached his tent and Y/N was about to part from him, he gently grabbed her wrist pulling her back.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You haven’t talked. Not a long walk but still. You just…haven’t”

Y/N stared at him. Stared into those deep blue eyes that bore into her soul for an answer which only let the damn break loose.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” The wobble in her voice shook him in his core. “Seeing you…in the state that you were in…yeah, you made it…but a little over and you wouldn’t be here and I would’ve lost you” she felt a few tears slip, pulling herself away enough so that she could hold his hand. “You mean…so much to me, Daryl Dixon.”

The staring from said Dixon only continued and that couldn’t help the thought of crossing a line to flood Y/N’s mind. But before she could even think to pull away and head to her tent, Daryl pulled her in and pressed his lips firmly against hers…

[avatarkurukdefender]

Adhd is still adhding so lets talk about A Literal Team Avatar instead of writing it :3

Aang is NOT gonna have a good time. In fact to quote Sans he's in for a BAD TIME

So you know in the Yangchen books how her past lives would frequently possess her body at the absolute WORST TIMES for example, the past life that had really really really bad claustrophobia possessing her when she was in a tight claustrophobic space and making her freak out? Yeah that. You know how none of the avatars after Yangchen never seemed to deal with this? Well I headcanon that the reason why was because Yangchen actively BLOCKED the previous incarnations for pulling that same awful shit with every avatar after her.

So what do you think is gonna happen when Yangchen has been removed from the avatar cycle (and teenified) and is no longer to keep the others from fighting over Aang like a chew toy?

:3

Lets see how badly this can fuck with the poor twelve year old boy

(aka a bunch of random headcanons I came up with for the avatars we only have names and even a few of the nameless ones)

Szeto first of all had BAD sleep paralysis. Like almost every night, hallucination fo something just standing over him (or in some cases full on trying to strangle him) and he cant move or even speak levels of bad. Also had severe hemophobia (fear of blood) and would literally faint at the sight of blood (hehehehe)

Next is Salai who had severe thalassophobia (fear of the ocean/ fear of deep bodies of water) like he would get full on panic attacks every single time he had to cross the ocean. Even worse since I headcanon that he drowned in a a severe storm while sailing on the ocean. And considering the fact that the gaang presumably spends a few weeks on a BOAT on the OCEAN to get from the Northern Water Tribe to General Fong's base...yeah thats gonna be a really bad time for Aang.

Avatar Gun, aka the one that possessed Yangchen to go on a rant about how humanity is selfish and uncaring, how they expect you to pull of a hundred miracles and then get mad you didnt do a hundred and one, yeah...they're gonna be a fun one (also they are nonbinary now because they were never said to be male or female and the wiki used they them pronouns for them so bite me) aside from...that they also absolutely HATED crowds, like avoided them at all costs unless absolutely necessary, otherwise would be sweating and shaking the entire time until they could leave. (Which means Omashu, Ba Sing Se, literally any crowded town or city is gonna be absolute HELL for our favorite little airbender)

Ok now for the ones without names (I have two of those so far)

This armless firebender who someone on tiktok named Avatar Kazza (I dont remember who named her that though)

Oh boy :3

So you know how General Fong pulled Katara under the ground to trigger the avatar state in Aang? Well the same thing happened to her partner. Only difference is that her partner wasn't pulled back out. Oh no. Her partner was pulled underground and CRUSHED to death. (When Kaaza bent them back out, there was nothing but blood, broken pulverized bones and completely crushed organs...) Yeah its gonna be a lot bloodier than in canon (None of General Fong's soldiers will die Im not gonna traumatize Aang THAT badly, but they will be maimed very badly.)

Next is this pretty avatar

I think someone on tiktok named her Avatar Imiq but dont quote me on that

She's the avatar that was absolutely terrified of the Spirit World, to the point that it caused Yangchen's sister Jetsun to get kidnapped by spirits when they went there (because you know the spirits get hostile when you're afraid and guess who decided to pop in at the worst moment?) Luckily this one isnt going to cause too much trouble since I dont think Aang actually goes to the spirit in books two and three unless you count Wan Shi Tong's Library (though Aang is not gonna have a good time when Avatar Imiq starts freaking out because of Wan Shi Tong) but I havent rewatched the show in awhile so I could be wrong

Also you know the avatar that had claustrophobia? That was Wan. With the exception of his tree house Wan absolutely hated small tight spaces. And that is something he was going to make everyone's problem (just like how every avatar inherited Wan's iconic crooked avatar smile, every avatar also inherited some claustrophobia, some worse than others. Unfortunately thats now gonna be Aang's problem)

I just keep coming up with these and thinking "What would suck/be the most inconvenient for Aang to have in this moment" and then assigning that to one of the past lives

(Also here's something funny, you know the air nomad avatar behind Kuruk? They actually used him TWICE in the TLOK image of all the past lives. He's also the second one behind Szeto on the left side)

[the-boroughh]

(Pinterest TOS post- if this image is flagged here too it will just make my point even more concrete- that the sites we all frequent just want to erase literal reality)

So we all know censorship/TOS changes amongst the internet love to cause removal of LGBTQ+ content no matter if it’s “adult content” or not- Tumblr and Pinterest specifically come to mind.

These two websites remove content related to that demographic like it’s their fking drug of choice to do so.

And this pisses me off of course- having people be told their content is a violation just brings up the fact society thinks they’re a violation. They do this while allowing those bots that I won’t mention by name to swarm us in abundance.

But I don’t post queer content- I consume it, but have never been very involved in the internet community related to it. Yesterday, though it’s happened before, I felt what it’s like being told my experience is a violation, and this time something snapped inside of me:

Pinterest alerted me I violated their TOS of “adult content” with this image:

“Amanda and her cousin, Amy” by Mary Ellen Clark. 1990 Valdese, North Carolina

Let’s move past the fact their claiming two 9 year olds in bathing suits is “adult content” and look at the bigger picture- I violated their TOS by adding a photo to a board that was taken by a very well known photographer across the globe for street + social photography. A photo that doesn’t have any “adult content” in it, and instead is documenting the way a lot of kids outside of the pretty suburbs live.

The photographer of this photo documented children who lived lives most of you couldn’t even fathom; ones who sold themselves on the street and ones who had babies while the rest of their age group was playing Nintendo or chatting about George Michael’s hair at a sleepover.

I was so excited and in awe when I saw the photo above: for the very first time in my life, I saw a photo of two kids that reminded me of myself. The life I lived, while the rest of my age group lived in their pretty suburbia & had mommy + daddy home everyday to cater to their every need. I saw through not only this photo but many others in her series, my life in beautiful pictures- I never really realized I hadn’t until this moment.

This photo, and the others surrounding Mary Ellen Mark’s work, document the lives so many people/kids like me lived within: they document the reality typical society can’t bear to look at. God forbid you look at us and really take us in- we’re just oh so shameful, right?

Just like the LGBTQ+ content tumblr and Pinterest love to censor, remove, block- our lives fucking existed. Children like this? They existed and currently still exist. Just because it doesn’t fit your world view doesn’t mean you can remove it… maybe if sites left photos like this alone, someone could come along and go “wow… she’s like me” just as I had the opportunity to do. Maybe they could gain the opportunity to realize that they’re not shameful to society- they too, are just a part of it as the kids they go to school with.

For the first time in my life, my childhood was displayed in someone’s photography and for the first time, I didn’t feel so alone.

So fuck you Pinterest, and thank you Mary Ellen Mark💗

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

SPIRITBOX ON BROADENING METAL, NEW MUSIC, HARSH FINANCIAL REALITY OF BEING A BAND

Courtney LaPlante: "I've been gambling my whole life in hopes this pays off"

Courtney Laplante's nightmare would be screaming one of Spiritbox's alt-metal songs in front of judge Simon Cowell and the crowd of normies at America's Got Talent. And yet last summer, Cowell, along with millions of viewers across America, was dramatically introduced to the intense sounds of Spiritbox — as LaPlante tuned in and cheered.

So how — in the infancy of their career, and after only one album — did this Canadian band from a small island in Victoria, British Columbia, manage to enter the small pantheon of metal acts who have had their mainstream crossover moment? And why was LaPlante so happy about it? It all began with a young girl's scream.

It was a Saturday in June 2022, the day America's Got Talent was due to air, and the day the world would witness the young screamer in question — 10-year-old Harper Jerret from Somerset, England — assault Cowell and the judges with her performance of Spiritbox's breakout hit "Holy Roller."

Everything appeared to align, like it was fated. LaPlante had previously befriended Jerret after discovering her on Instagram, and — on the exact night of the broadcast — Jerret found herself joining Spiritbox at their sold-out show in London to perform the very same banger from her AGT audition. As Jerret walked onstage, LaPlante imagined herself at that age: a timid child, years from realizing her identity as an artist, almost a decade out from finding her scream. "At her age I was just like, 'I love horses so much, they're so sick' and 'I wish Space Jam was real'," says the singer in her typically self-deprecating manner. (LaPlante is also prone to laughing at herself, which she does frequently, and infectiously, throughout our Zoom call.) "But I think she's a kid who's a bit ahead of the other kids, emotionally, because she's able to ask herself: Who am I? I am an artist."

LaPlante was immediately protective of that nascent determination. "Don't go near the front of the stage," she recalls telling Jerret, desperate to keep her safe — to make sure she wouldn't stray, to make sure she wouldn't fall. The duet came off without a hitch, but LaPlante was still a little apprehensive that night. She knew that within hours Jerret's America's Got Talent audition would air — to an audience that she suspected numbered in the metal-hating millions. LaPlante, quite sensibly, didn't trust Simon Cowell. She didn't trust the normies. She was expecting the worst.

Alongside her husband and bandmate Mike Stringer, LaPlante headed to her hotel room. They braced themselves for the audition and were pre-pared to talk shit about the judges. "We were ready to defend … like, 'Fuck you, Simon Cowell!'" she says. "Because we only have our own experience with normal culture and how they interact with what we do." Instead, as Jerret's performance unfolded, LaPlante watched with amazement as the judges' initial, terrified awe relaxed into total admiration.

"Holy roller sits in the garden we fled/Blood into wine, take my body instead," Jerret enunciated like a tiny Shakespearean thespian, before launching into a LaPlante-worthy scream that was all animal, that obliterated all boundaries of primetime decorum. A standing ovation. A thumbs up from Simon Cowell. Three yeses. LaPlante cheered for Jerret — and then sat up and took note. This is what happens when you don't take away a little girl's freedom to scream. This is what happens when you imagine the world as a stage from which to shout unashamed.

"It was amazing to see that girls can make this kind of music," Jerret recently told Revolver of first discovering LaPlante's performance on "Holy Roller," which her stepfather had introduced her to around the time Spiritbox released their 2021 full-length debut, Eternal Blue. "I was really inspired by Courtney to start screaming and making my own music." The song was Jerret's introduction to metal, her gateway into the genre. "Holy Roller" has now become, for an increasing number of kids across the world, their gateway, too.

It was a surreal moment that garlanded one of the most rapid ascensions in recent metal history. Watchful eyes have been placed on Spiritbox ever since their inception in 2017. But it wasn't until July 2020 — when they released "Holy Roller," the first single from Eternal Blue — that they turned from a niche one-to-watch act to one of metal's most exciting new prospects. They soon secured a No. 1 spot on SiriusXM's Liquid Metal radio station as well as a significant, devoted fanbase — and for good reasons. Spiritbox were expanding the genre in both sound and scope, incorporating djent blasts and industrial breakbeats into hypnagogic dreamscapes while broadening metal's emotional range beyond brazen anguish and rage.

On this point, LaPlante is especially passionate. "I feel like we're one of the only remaining genres that has to be so binary in what the music is about and how the music makes you feel," she says. "Other music has a wide scope: songs about partying, songs about heartbreak, songs about being angry, songs about feeling depressed, songs about feeling happy. [Metal] is a broad genre, but a lot of it feels like it's on autopilot."

If the success of "Holy Roller" wasn't enough of a tell, by the time Eternal Blue dropped in September 2021 it was crystal clear: Spiritbox were on the rise — and steering their own plane. The record debuted at No. 13 on the Billboard 200, marking that year's highest-charting release for the genre at that point. Incessant, relentless touring followed, as they supported many of hard rock's legacy acts and gained swathes of new fans from devotees of Ghost, Underoath, Bring Me the Horizon, even Limp Bizkit. Every metric and data point suggest it: Spiritbox are big. Their influence has both pushed the genre forward and opened it up to a new generation. All at once, everything has changed — and yet everything still remains the same. This is Spiritbox's strange new reality.

When LaPlante logs into our video call, the singer is once again sitting in front of the exact same setup from which I interviewed her for a Revolver "Uprising" profile just over two years ago. A weak-tea-colored wall is behind her, precariously nailed to which is a black-and-purple Spiritbox poster that she and Stringer designed together over five years ago. But some things are different: A few empty moving boxes can be seen in the background — as soon, the band will be splitting their time between Victoria and Los Angeles. It's purely a business decision; the cost of an apartment is cheaper than all the hotel stays they've splurged on while travelling down to California to record. "When I go away from my island, go to L.A., Michael and I get very shocked," she says. "It's absolutely bizarre for us. I think being here has kind of protected us, sheltered us. It's a literal and figurative island for us."

Again: everything is changing and yet everything remains the same. LaPlante and Stringer still work the same data-entry job they were at before Spiritbox took off. Well, sort of. "Work" is putting it generously. Although they are still, technically, employees of the company, LaPlante's forgotten her log-in password, which means she can't make a formal resignation even if she wanted to — and neither of them have worked a shift there in over two years. "It's kind of sick and twisted that I haven't quit. I think it's a weird motivating thing," says LaPlante. "I keep it because I wanna remind myself that I might very easily have to go back to doing something I don't like, and that it's a huge privilege I get to do something I do like."

LaPlante also reveals that she continues to feel further and further away from the person she was before she was "Courtney LaPlante," leader of Spiritbox and full-time professional musician. This, in her mind, is a dangerous state to be in. She is financially secure for the first time in her adult life, but she considers that security a misnomer. She constantly must remind herself of the professional musician's precarious state. "To other artists who have been around longer: Does that secure feeling ever come to you, or does it feel like this forever?" she wonders. "Because I still feel much closer to my office job than to, like, being in Slipknot."

LaPlante speaks at length about the financial reality of being in a band, a reality that has been romanticized, and that she wishes to demystify. She's long been curious about the ways in which audiences fetishize artists and view them as a pure commodity and not as workers like the rest of us. She considers it one of metal's last remaining taboos.

"I'm 33 and I've been gambling my whole life in hopes that this pays off," says the singer, who prior to forming Spiritbox was, along with Stringer, a member of metalcore outfit Iwrestledabearonce. "But I know the reality ... If people knew how non-lucrative this world is and how little money most bands make, they'd probably be more likely to buy an extra shirt. One time I saw a Reddit thread saying, 'Oh my god these people have jobs?! … They have 700,000 monthly listeners.' And I was like, that's not paying anyone's bills."

For the sake of her fans, her dreams, her bank account — LaPlante is focused on making sure that Spiritbox are continually scaling up, thinking bigger. She owes it to herself. For the entirety of her adult life, up until now, LaPlante has been looked at as though she's been in a perpetual state of delusion. "For over 10 years, I've been pursuing this crazy dream," she says. "And whether people supported it or not, they didn't really understand — because it's such a strange thing to want to do. Like, 'Why are you spending all your money recording songs that no one wants to hear?' It's hard to explain to people because it is extremely irrational. When you say it out loud, you're like, Yeah, why am I doing this? Am I insane?"

Turns out the dream wasn't so crazy after all. Courtney LaPlante, certified not insane. The sold-out shows for Spiritbox's upcoming headlining tour, alone, prove that. For the first half of this year — and for the first time ever — Spiritbox won't be playing within the parameters of another band. This is their live show, their production. "We really wanna ramp it up, invest in it, blow everyone's minds. I want everyone to walk away saying, 'I wanna see that band again — and in a bigger place.' That's my dream. Now I'm like, OK, how am I gonna impress these people?"

Performing is LaPlante's stimulant, though it's not without its occasional comedowns. Having played only a little over a hundred shows, she's yet to get into her groove. Every night is a test. "I still have a lot to learn about performing. The whole time I'm thinking, How's Michael doing? Is his guitar sounding good? OK, that light worked. This part worked," she says. "It's weird; it's like that combined with an out-of-body experience. Meanwhile, I'm singing about being depressed. Most of my songs are about me having dark feelings and my struggle with depression and just feeling all the strong feelings I've had throughout my life. It's both extremely emotionally therapeutic and also literally performative at the same time."

If 2022 whipped them into becoming a good band, 2023 will be the year that ensures Spiritbox's enduring greatness. "I'm really excited, but it is gonna be really hard," says LaPlante. "We love to sabotage ourselves. So we're like, Hey, let's throw in writing new music, too — and hopefully we'll get some new music out in the first half of the year. After that we're gonna hibernate and hopefully write an album. That's the goal. Crazy first half of the year, pretty chill second half."

Spiritbox began writing new material in November of last year. "Now we have to figure out when do we show you the songs? Do we show you in March? Do we show you in September? Or do we wait until 2024? I don't know." Sooner sounds more likely than later. LaPlante hates sitting on new music. "We wrote this music because we really wanna share it with you," she says. "It made us feel a certain way and we wanna see if it makes you feel a certain way, too."

Still, the songs keep piling up. LaPlante doesn't reveal much about the new music, not out of preciousness, but simply because she's yet to find the right words to describe it. She mentions repeated phrases and themes throughout the songs: mental prisons, body horror, visual illusions, disillusionment — all material she believes she could fit into a concept album or EP. "To me, all these songs are one big song lyrically and thematically," she says. "If everything aligns and we feel really strongly that everything hits exactly how we want — the art and the music and the whole thing around it — we'll want to put this out as soon as possible. If we do our job right, then we will."

Carrying that young girl's yell of fearlessness with her, LaPlante is pushing both herself and an entire genre forward.

[yellowocaballero]

!!!!!! You finally played DE!!!!!!

I DID. STAYED UP UNTIL ALMOST 3 FINISHING IT WOKE UP AT 6 GOOD MORNING AMERICA. IT WAS GREAT.

Sincerely holy shittttttt. Mindbending. Incredible. The prose oh my god. So good. Incredibly funny but there is so much to chew on thematically. Only narration I've ever seen that accurately depicts how my own brain works I feel very seen. I want Kim to like me as a person so bad.

It really does hit on one of my favorite messages/themes/topics - "yes, it's hard, but you have to do it anyway." Living is the most difficult and painful thing you can experience, but you have to live because the only alternative is to die. And no matter how awful and full of pain life is, it's always preferable to death - because life holds meaningful human connections, beauty, and hope, and if you die you will never receive those things again. The good things in life are so small and faint in comparison to the overwhelming awful, but somehow they're so much stronger than the awful.

Every person in the game is important. Everyone has meaning. I like how there's no truly bad people, just people warped by pain and suffering, or well-intentioned and kind people made into who they are due to their environment (Titus ended up being one of my favorite characters, somehow?). Nigh Mother 3 in that aspect (highest praise I can give anything). The people around us are the point.

The existential dread and pain is not stronger than Kim. The curse of capitalism is not stronger than the diemaker girl. The pain is not stronger than Harry. You have to be incredibly strong, but once you become a member of the world there's no going back. If being where you are is too painful, if your life and the world is too painful, then you can remove yourself from it - but what else are you giving up? When you sacrifice the moment you are living within because you cannot bear its suffering, what else are you sacrificing? How do you escape this samsara? How can you find Elysium? How can you create Elysium? What the fuck are we talking about when we talk about Disco?!

From the meta I'm seeing on Tumblr there's definitely a lot of (correct!) emphasis on the love and humanity aspects, but honestly there's a lot of other stuff that caught my attention too. I clocked it immediately, and it is baked into every inch of the game, that it was made by people from the Baltics. Westerners will have a hard time understanding the game if they don't get that. The scars of war & history, in ourselves and our neighbors and our cities and the world. Past vs Present. Young Idealism vs Old Realism. Politics (derogatory)(accepting). Class. The down and dirty of capitalism. How trauma from war warps people. Nigh Animorphs in that topic (highest praise I can give anything). Substance abuse. Hedonism. Pain (TM). Love and the Pain (TM) of love. Everything within Harry is within the world...

Good game. Honestly, a bit overstuffed with everything I just talked about. I say frequently that people should not use their Dungeons & Dragons characters as characters in their fiction, and that people shouldn't use their outside rpg worldbuilding in their fiction, and this game is a pretty good example of why (or maybe I just put too many points into Encyclopedia?). And there's so much richness in what I just talked about, but sometimes it feels like it's trying to do way too much and it's not coherent and consolidated in the elegant way a lot of work that use many different ways to talk about the same thing are (See: Infinity Train S4, one of the best written things I've seen). It needed to consolidate and streamline a bit.

I spent the entire game trying to discern the meaning of Disco and I'm still not sure I understand. Thanks for the ask!

[starlightstevie]

fics rec / march 2021

Hello again! Here are my favourite fics from the past month - I enjoyed reading these so MUCH and I hope you guys do too!

(* is smut)

Fuck it I’m recommending this again this month because Kait’s cowboy!Thor series is just THAT good and everyone needs this country boy in their life:

*I Need A Hero by @inthorantine​ Masterlist Cowboy!Thor: After Y/N finds out that her late grandfather has willed his rural Montana ranch to her, she decides it’s time for a little change of scenery. At least until it’s in a condition to sell. Along the way, Y/N finds a renewed appreciation for hard work, new friends, and possibly even love. She has the land. Can Thor help make it a home?

*saints can’t help me now by @peachyteabuck Forest god!Thor x reader: I will tell you the mystery of the woman and of the beast that carries her, whose name has not been written in the book of life from the foundation of the world. Kings give their power and authority to the beast, and those who are with him are the called and chosen and faithful.

and with that shadow upon the ground, i hear my people screaming out by @blackberrybucky Thor x reader: You're on the ship when Thanos comes aboard.

*Warm Water by @xbuchananbarnes Thor x reader: Reader takes a bath after a long day.

*h/c: dom!thor by @thorsthot​

Imagine: Thor smells like a storm by @wandas-sunshine​

*Somnus by @sweeterthanthis​ Nomad!Steve x reader: On the rare occasion that you have him in your bed, you savor every last minute. Even while he sleeps.

*Morning Wood by @angrythingstarlight​ Nomad!Steve x reader: Your new neighbor Steve gives you more than one surprise in the morning.

Good Kind of Trouble by @all1e23​ Biker!Stever x reader: Steve finally meets his cute neighbor. She’s not impressed.

*h/c: the way steve fucks by @helahades​

*Cock Worship by @ozarkthedog​ Andy Barber x reader: You take care of an exhausted Andy.

*illicit affair by @feliciahardyn​ Professor!Andy Barber x reader: You had been crushing on your sexy professor, Andy Barber since the beginning of the semester but he made it hard for you to focus in class. Lucky for you, he was willing to give you the best lesson in your life though.

if it’s not you, it’s not anyone by @blackberrybucky Bucky x reader: Bucky comes back from the snap and his world is shattered.

*West Coast Turnaround by @moteldwelling​ Trucker!Bucky x reader: Bucky Barnes is six foot of surliness driving his eighteen-wheeler across truck stop America. Reader just so happens to have a working thumb. There’s one bed.

Let Me Protect You by @littleredstarfish​ Bucky x reader: He's strong but he still needs protection.

deny (with love) my labor by @divine-mistake Bucky x reader: “I’m here,” you sob, hand shaking. “I’m right here, Bucky. I’m here. I’m here. Bucky, please. I’m here. Please don’t leave me. I’m here. I’m right here.” Or, five times Bucky Barnes has a nightmare, and one time you do.

The World’s A Little Blurry by @summergrls​ Masterlist Bucky x reader: Glimpses into a (mostly) quiet life with the Winter Soldier.

*Oasis by @bubblebucky Bucky x reader: It’s your first time with Bucky, and Bucky’s first time in 80 years.

call it fate, call it karma by @belladonnabarnes Bucky x reader: Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard.

*bucky convinces you to sit on his face by @bunnywritesmarvel

*Chaste by @tiffdawg​ Mando x reader: It’s tradition for couples not to have sex once a marriage promise is made. Not until the wedding night.

*way down we go by @goldafterglow Mando x reader: Din is made of mismatched shards that you bind together - until you want to watch them fall apart.

*kneel at my alter by @filthybookworm Mando x reader: I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion.

*I’m not gonna touch you until you beg by @mxsamwilson

*dripping by @cptnbvcks Javi x reader: Javi brings you something to take the edge off during one of colombia’s heatwaves

*What It Is You Do (To Me) by @filthybookworm​ Javi x reader: He’s never mentioned a vest before, is all you can think, mouth parting as your tongue drags across your lower lip in an unconscious expression of desire. What is it, you wonder, that makes it look so good?

*Dinner & Diatribes by mxsamwilson Oberyn Martell x black!reader: Oberyn catches your eye from across the room and holds your gaze. His deep eyes swallow you whole, burn straight through you like twin flames, and you’re falling into him once again. Helpless.

*one single thread of gold tied to you by @spacelabrathor​ Alpha!Deku x Omega!reader: Pro Hero Deku is a frequent visitor at your support lab and you're grateful for it. He's one of your high profile clients and his quirk is strong enough that he has to come for suit repairs near twice a month. It helps that he's one of the most bearable alphas you've ever met, affable and kind, and he never judges you for being a rare omega in the hero line of work. It also helps that he's painfully, absurdly hot. You're perhaps never more grateful for his nature than when the building housing your lab collapses with the two of you in it, and as the walls and floors of your lab crumble, so does the suppressor device that keeps your heats in check and your hormones under control. As the dust settles, you realize you are trapped by rubble and dust and twisted metal with perhaps the only alpha alive that you trust, as your adrenaline surges and your carefully suppressed heat cycle comes roaring to life.

baby mine, don’t you cry by @kaitsukibakugo​ Deku x reader: A quiet early morning moment between Reader and Deku and their newborn baby.

*you’re such a good girl for me by @rat-suki​

*dilf!Deku by @sems-diarie​

*more dilf!Deku by sems-diarie

*wreck my plans (that’s my man) by @spacelabrathor Bakugo x reader: You inform Bakugo that he's a control freak who can't cede control in any area of his life for any reason, and, because he's Bakugo, he immediately, furiously rises to the challenge.

*Thin Walls by @rat-suki Bakugo x reader: Katsuki’s loud, obnoxiously so. And you’re the one who has to deal with it.

*all through the night by @some-kindofgnome​ Bakugo x reader: You and Bakugo have chased a villain far out of the city- too far to make it back for the night. You find somewhere decent to bed down, but there’s a little problem with your room.

*imagine bakugo easing into you, no prep by @sems-diarie

Soon to be dad!Bakugo by @luciilferss​

Subtlety is my middle name by luciilferss

Pro hero Bakugo taking care of you by luciilferss

mean!Bakugo has a soft spot for you by @ihatebnha​

*Bakugo with a pillow princess girlfriend by @hanji-is-life​

*Dumb slut Bakugo by @ihatebnha

*villian!Bakugo takes you in an alleyway by @lookslikeleese​

*the folly of man by @dymphnasprose Todoroki x reader: Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss.

*toshinori as a lover by @spacelabrathor​

at my worst by @hiiraya Wanda Maximoff x reader: Slow dancing in the kitchen with Wanda.

wanda + pianist au by @helahades

Fireman Sam by @buckysknifecollection Firefighter!Sam Wilson x reader: You visit the local police station and catch the eye of a certain firefighter.

*size kink with geralt by @lovely-cryptid​

*Heat by fettsvette Boba Fett x reader: Set after the second season of The Mandalorian. Boba Fett takes you on a faraway hunt that involves a prolonged journey through hyperspace. You’re horny as fuck, but your man is too preoccupied with running a tight ship to pay you any mind - until things get a little too desperate.

[cartierbin]

could i get 16 with chan and eating you out 🥵🥵

thank you for requesting baby

『 16. “fuck, you like that, don’t you?”.

pairing — chan x reader

genre — smut , movie day cuddling with chan gone wrong

word count — 1.289k 』

smut under the cut !

with overbearing hours and numerous work tasks to fill them it was safe to say that you and chan worked your absolute asses off that week. the both of you were barely home and when you were, it was much too late to do much of anything and it mostly resorted to eating a small dinner and going directly to bed. but it was a rainy weekend finally. you and chan had slept so much on your off day that you thought it was pretty comical how you both woke up at the same time that dreary saturday afternoon.

with the rain beating against every window in your apartment and thunder wavering in the darkened skies, you thought today would be more than a perfect day to finally relax and watch a film. Chan was quite excited about it also and suggested that you two watch a movie that was actually interesting. alas, the both of you settled on a marvel movie and collected blankets and snacks to sit on the couch with. the living room was dark and the size of your shared plasma tv was so inviting, your living room was quite a comfy feel especially on rainy days like this. chan was grateful for being able to spend it with you and it was quite obvious, he hadn’t unwrapped his hands from around your body ever since the movie started. you didn’t mind because he was warm and to be frank, you missed him. his head fell into the crook of your neck before he perched it up instead.

“baby I missed you. I feel like I haven’t saw you at all this week”, he admitted into the space between his face and yours. you take your eyes off the screen and instead play with his crinkly messy hair with a pout of agreement. “aw I missed you too. our work schedules were insane. but it’s alright I’m happy we get to spend time together finally”. you smiled lightly and chan did the exact same, leaning in for a small peck on your lips. once you both pulled away chan felt a tinge of disappointment at the lost. The delicacy of your lips made him realize that not only has he not been seeing you as often as he’d like but he realized he wasn’t touching you either. his eyes fall over your features, your neck was vacant. he remembered on your normal weeks he left with at least a couple of hickies from the day before. but this week your skin was free of evidence from his ministrations and he wholeheartedly felt guilty.

he pulls you closer and you think it was just a loving gesture. which it was, only chan wanted to make sure your body was in reach. he starts off latching his lips to the skin of your cheek while cupping the other with one hand, brushing his tongue along the underside of your neck. you threw your hand on Chan’s thigh with a small sigh of delight and shock. you could feel his teeth grazing ever so slightly over the tender flesh of your neck, gifting you a sanctuary of hickies and marks that you knew you’d never be able to cover. your heart sank when the both of you exchanged heated gazes for a swift moment — the moment right before he slipped his hands underneath your shirt and toyed with your nipples while sticking his tongue in your mouth. you approved it’s entrance and started sucking on it a little, a move that chan was quite fond of. his tiny groans of need were the cause behind the moisture and heat in between your legs.

he cups his hand over your clothed pussy and massages it while his lips overlapped yours, entrapping you in a sequence of saliva filled kisses that left you thoughtless for a while. he could feel you subtly grinding into the palm of his hand in need of more friction for your aching bud. “oh my god I’ve been such a bad boyfriend to you— your pussy hasn’t been devoured in days”. he spoke in a hushed tone between kisses. you whine a little at the thought, chan spoiled you with many things and frequent oral sex was one of them. it was a shame really, how long it’s been since you felt his lips on your pussy.

he wasted no time lying your body down on the couch and wrestling your pants and panties off tossing them across the room. you breathed and spread your legs wide so he could see how puffy and wet it was just for him. just for his mouth. just for his tongue. he grips the creases of your thighs and pulls you downward closer to his face. he lowers himself hovering over it just enough to gather saliva between his cheeks and spit a thick line of it over your sopping wet folds. he lowered himself yet again to clean up his mess, eyes giving a death glare to the chubby clit that was peaking up from your spongy hood. your back arches off the couch a bit at the immediate feeling of Chan’s soft lips against your most sensitive parts and the way his nose nuzzled against your pubic mound. no matter how much he ate you his mouth could never get old.

you worked your hands through his hair with the movie not even having a place in your mind anymore. Chan’s thick lips were framed deliciously against your folds, lapping up his mess made even more of a mess as gushes of slick extenuated from your hole. chan made it his mission to taste every crease, nook and cranny he could get to. your pussy was his playground and he never got tired of playing. he flat tongues the whole glistening organ, a pretty mixture of his saliva and your own juices leaking to your inner thighs. you wiggle your hips a bit and whine, throwing a hand back to grip the arm of the couch behind you. “fuck channie”. but chan never talked much during this, it was his art after all. instead he lets his tongue do the talking, sucking on the bundle of nerves just beneath your hood. chan could die like this. small satisfied groans bubble from his throat while he devours the throbbing little organ ahead of him. god chan wanted to die just like this.

the room was practically sweltering in the moment and the moist folds of your pussy was so raw and hot against Chan’s mouth. your breathy whimpers hitched their way out into the surrounding air and you rut your hips against his mouth unable to get enough. chan parts the petal lips with his hand, revealing the inner parts that begged for his attention also. upon sight he spits yet again and dug his tongue into your hole, everything sticky and adequately warm. you squirmed above him with your chest heaving in absolute bewilderment, he always devoured you as if you were the last meal he’d ever have. “channie! fuck—fuck I’m going to cum in your mouth”. your cries stroke his ego and it’s just what he needed to delve his tongue deeper into you without a care in the world for how much you could take. the finger shaped bruises he was making in your skin due to his strong grip had began to hurt, and the slurping noises overpowered the sounds from the television, unbearably obscene. the way you cried above him made him impossibly hard but he refused to touch himself during this. he loved making this moment strictly for you and his own enjoyment. you sob, vaguely recognizing the tears that were cascading down your cheeks. the pleasure overwhelming you and making you see white, an orgasm settles deep in your belly and the need to cum surpassed anything else. your pussy contracted as he continuously tongue fucked you, he was going to make you cream all over his tongue as if his life depended on it.

“fuck, you like that don’t you? you’re so fucking cute when you shake on my face like this”.

[sierraraeck]

Control

JJ x John B

Masterlist

Summary: JJ likes losing control, and there is no one safer he can do that with than his boyfriend, John B. But after a particularly awful week, JJ just needs something he can be in control of.

Category: Smut, angst

Warnings: Cussing/slurs, JJ’s home life so abuse and violence, allusion to sexual abuse, rough sex, choking, safe word used. Look, this gets dark, so this is your warning.

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I agree with a lot of other people that in their relationship, John B is usually the dominant one because JJ likes losing control, but I’m convinced that after a really fucking bad week, he just loses it and needs something he can control. This is what I imagine that would look like.

•••

It had been a bad week. It felt never ending, getting roughed up by the Kooks, running from the cops, taking the fall for Pope, and now this.

If you keep going down this road, you’re going to end up just like your dad.

Maybe his best friend, and within the last year or so his boyfriend, was right. Maybe he, and everyone else on the island who constantly reminded him of his blood, was right. Maybe he was destined to be a complete fuck up with no future other than three cement walls and a grid of bars. Not like JJ’d ever imagined his life going any differently.

We’re sick of your shit.

Those were the words echoing in his head as his feet made the decision before his mind did.

You are a worthless piece of shit.

He remembered something Pope had told him once, that the brain can’t differentiate between the truth and something that has been repeated to you over and over.

You’ll be back here one day. You good for nothing piece of shit, that’s why your mamma left. Stay down, boy. I don’t care where you’ve been. Really living up to your name, Maybank. You’re just like your daddy. Fucking bastard. Worthless.

Must be true, right? If everyone is saying it, including the only people he’s ever really thought cared about him, it must be true.

As he opened the door to the run down shack, he already knew what he’d see, but a shutter of fear still raced down his spine. His dad was sitting on the couch, all kinds of beer and pill bottles scattered around him.

“What the hell you doing back here, boy?” the gruff voice of JJ’s nightmares asked.

“Dad, I-”

“The least your worthless ass could do is get me a beer.”

JJ complied, because, what else was he going to do? Weak.

As he walked over to his dad, the smell of beer was overwhelming. It always was, but the smell seemed stronger than he remembered. His dad's tolerance must be higher than it was a few weeks ago.

“Open it,” Luke demanded.

JJ tried, he really did, but his hands were shaking too damn much. Come on, don’t be such a pussy.

Apparently he couldn’t do it fast enough, so Luke ripped the bottle out of his hands, causing it to shatter on the floor. JJ flinched at the sound.

“What are you, retarded? Can’t even open one goddamned bottle!”

JJ didn’t even try to duck. He felt Luke’s knuckle make contact with his cheekbone, head whipping to the side. We’re sick of your shit, JJ.

“Dad-”

“Don’t fucking beg you weak, worthless piece of shit!”

Flames enveloped his gut, followed by another fire lit over his ribs. We don’t want you around.

The voice he was hearing sounded an awful lot like John B’s.

“Fucking pathetic! Just like your mother!” JJ was on the floor now, not completely able to remember how he got there. As his body screamed in pain with each new kick, his mind was getting farther and farther away from where he was.

Our lives would be better without you in it. I would be so much happier if I had a boyfriend who wasn’t such a burden, such a fuck up. Someone without so many fucking issues.

He could feel the blood dripping down his face and leg, but refused to make himself consciously aware of it.

This is what you deserve, JJ.

This is what you deserve.

•••

Twenty-eight hours. That’s how long it’d been since John B last saw JJ. The moment he walked out the door John B kicked himself for it.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that to JJ. ‘You’re going to end up just like your dad.’ He couldn’t think of a worse thing to say to JJ.

It’d overall been a shit week, and John B knew that he was sleep deprived and irritable from everything that’d gone on, not like that was any excuse for what he’d done.

As time ticked by, John B just kept going over everything he’d done wrong in the past week.

You’re going to end up just like your dad. We’re sick of your shit.

Not to mention the time he grabbed JJ by the collar of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. The way JJ flinched and seemed to shrink into himself, immediately casting his eyes down, was an image John B couldn’t get out of his head. He knew better than to touch JJ without explicitly asking or giving him plenty of forewarning, let alone grab him out of nowhere while he was angry.

God, JJ looked so scared in that moment, and John B couldn’t even believe he’d just made the person he cared about most in the world feel threatened by him. And JJ didn’t even look like he’d fight back. He looked like he was bracing himself, ready to take whatever harm was to come to him.

JJ put so much trust in John B, letting him be in control of their most intimate time together. JJ once told him that he felt the most safe when he was around John B, and he heard all of the words not said in that one sentence. I trust you. I trust you to have power over me, emotionally and physically. I trust you enough to be vulnerable, knowing that I won’t get hurt. Knowing that you won’t hurt me.

And John B felt like within the span of a week, he’d destroyed all of that.

Just come home, just come home, just come home. Please, JJ, just come back to me.

The sun was starting to set, and John B was getting even more antsy. They’d never had a fight that kept JJ away for longer than a day or so, which meant that John B already knew where JJ was, even though he didn’t want to believe it.

Shit, shit, shit…

John B headed toward the door of the chateau, flinging it open on a mission to save JJ when he looked up.

Oh thank god.

JJ was standing on his porch, hand clutching his side and a couple butterfly bandages over his eyebrow and cheek. His shirt was torn, displaying the three developing bruises John B could see, meaning there were probably at least twice as many he couldn’t see.

John B’s mouth was hanging open, stopped dead in his tracks, unable to find the words to tell JJ how sorry he was and how much he wished he could’ve been better and how-

But his train of thought was cut off when JJ took two big strides towards him, smashing their lips together like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His hands were gripping onto John B’s sides, wadding up the cloth in his fists, and moved the pair of them back into the chateau, kicking the door shut with his foot.

JJ backed John B into the nearest wall, the intensity of the kiss momentarily distracting John B from the bigger situation at hand. JJ tugged John B’s shirt up, helping him out of it.

As they parted to remove the garment, John B tried to get JJ’s attention. “JJ-”

He didn’t let him get any more words out, though, pressing their lips back together the moment he could.

John B knew that JJ had a lot of pent up anger toward his father, toward the kooks, toward the world. He knew that JJ put on a show of being powerful, untouchable, even. JJ wanted others to think he was always in complete control, and while unhinged at times, a force to be reckoned with. JJ wanted others to think he was strong, and John B knew that was because of how frequently he was told he was weak.

John B thought JJ was as tough as they came. He was sure that if anyone else had been dealt the hand JJ had, they’d be doing a hell of a lot worse, and was impressed by his boyfriend on the daily.

But John B always thought JJ was the strongest when he was the most vulnerable, when he was with him, making this new dominant side of JJ concerning. JJ liked losing control and letting his guard down when he was with John B, letting John B take the lead. Right now, though, JJ was putting his walls back up, the tough act coming out. That’s how John B knew shit had really gotten bad, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for it.

John B tried again, “JJ.” He got the same reaction he did the first time, a non answer. John B delicately placed his hands on JJ’s shoulders, creating just a few inches of space between them as he finally got his attention. “JJ, JJ, slow down. I’ve been worried about you. What is going on, what hap-”

“John B,” JJ cut him off with a low, abnormally calm voice. John B stared in silence, growing even more concerned and confused by the look of intensity in his eyes. “Shut up.”

John B knew that at the end of the day, he’d do whatever JJ asked of him, but it didn’t stop him from trying to get more information. “JJ, I just-”

“Please,” JJ almost pleaded, gazing deep into his eyes. “Give me tonight.” John B stared at his boyfriend for a few more seconds before nodding his head. “Tell me if things get too-”

“I know,” John B assured, remembering the safe word they’d established early on in their relationship, South, and the one time JJ had to use it. He’d had a panic attack, mumbling something about a flashback, but John B had never gotten anything more than that.

With the green light, JJ slipped his tongue back into John B’s mouth, cool rings on his hand pressing into his neck, using his body to push John B back against the wall.

JJ was running his hands all over John B’s exposed chest, John B slowly moving his hands up to place on JJ’s waist. The moment he made the slightest contact though, JJ flinched away, grabbing both of his wrists and pinning them to the wall.

His grip was unfaltering, and stronger than usual, and JJ held his wrists there as he started kissing down John B’s body, pausing to suck and graze his teeth over a few spots.

Reaching the waistband of John B’s shorts, JJ moved his grip from John B’s wrists in order to yank his shorts and underwear down. John B’s hands started to tingle, unaware until just then that JJ had been gripping so tight it started cutting off blood flow.

JJ, now on his knees, started pumping his hand slowly up and down John B’s half-hard shaft, the contact sending a shiver down his spine.

At one point, John B couldn’t stop the small jerk of his hips toward JJ, which was the wrong thing to do, as JJ’s crushing grip was back, both hands holding onto his hips and slamming them back into the wall. JJ resorted to using his mouth instead, lips wrapping around the tip and hollowing his cheeks. John B tossed his head back, harder than he intended, making a somewhat painful contact with the wall. JJ started bobbing his head up and down at a faster pace, only breaking contact once to wet two of his fingers which he circled around John B’s hole.

John B could see the contractions of JJ’s biceps, and almost felt his fingers shaking against him. He was confused at first about what it meant, but soon figured out that he was holding back. JJ had always been the dominant one in his flings with girls, but had never been in this position with John B before. He could tell that JJ wasn’t going as far as he wanted to, that he was restraining himself from taking what he wanted.

John B wanted to know everything that JJ had to give, and acknowledged, in almost a challenge-like way, “You’re holding back on me.”

Within a flash, JJ stood up, threading his fingers through John B’s hair to yank his head back, his other hand keeping it’s harsh grip on his hip. John B whimpered at the sensations.

Looking down on him, JJ demanded, “Is that not what you want?”

John B thought it wasn’t, but seeing him now, and knowing how much darkness he has, there was a fraction of a second where he wanted to change his mind. But the second passed and John B still wanted to see all of JJ, every dark and twisted corner, everything he hadn’t seen before. And he could tell that it was taking a lot of effort for JJ to restrain himself, too much effort. John B wanted him to let go.

He shook his head, voice coming out as only a small whisper, “It’s not what you want either.”

It was like flipping a switch. With force, JJ dragged him by his hair to the bedroom, and once inside, threw John B onto the mattress.

It felt a little unfair, John B completely exposed in front of JJ while he still had his shorts and shirt on. It was getting dark now, the sun having completely set over the water, leaving only the light of twilight to illuminate JJ’s face as he climbed over John B.

He quickly coated his fingers with the lube from the bedside table before shoving them into John B. With his other hand, JJ was tugging his own shorts down and reached for a condom. He had to remove his fingers from John B to put it on, causing John B to squirm in his absence.

Without any forewarning, and barely any time to adjust, JJ was pushing into John B, drawing a small whine from his kiss-swollen lips.

JJ set a bruising pace, leaving John B gasping for air. “JJ-” he choked out.

“Is this what you wanted?” JJ hissed, hand snaking up to wrap around John B’s throat. “You wanted to see just how fucked up I am?”

JJ’s grip was getting tighter, his pace faster, as he kept talking. “Well, Maybanks are only good for one thing, so you’re right. I will end up just like him some day. I already am like him. A fucked up monster.”

“J, no, that’s not-” John B started to say, as he reached a hand up to grab JJ’s wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” JJ yelled. John B removed his hand like he’d been burned. “Don’t you get it? I ruin everything I touch!”

John B’s face was starting to flush, his head getting fuzzy. He could only concentrate on the cool rings digging into his neck and the words JJ was saying, sounding farther and farther away.

“Have you ever experienced death before?” JJ whispered like a threat next to his ear. “Because I have. I can show you.”

“Jayj-” John B pleaded, using his last reserve of breath. “S..so-south.”

And just like that, JJ was off him, backing himself against a wall as far away from John B as possible. John B took a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed, closing his eyes until the fuzziness in his head subsided.

When he felt like he could think again, he sat up and looked around the room for JJ. He was crouched in a dark corner of the room, head in his hands, knees trying to block his face.

“JJ,” John B said with a scruffy voice, standing up to walk over to his boyfriend. He slid down the wall until he was seated next to JJ, sure to leave enough room for him to move without touching him. JJ curled into himself even more, leaning away from John B. “JJ, please look at me.”

JJ did as he asked, alluring blue eyes shimmering with tears, a dramatic difference from the dark, intense orbs of only a few seconds before.

“I’m okay,” John B assured.

JJ shook his head, eyes roaming over his hands, and hiccupped, “I hurt you.”

“You didn’t, I promise. I’m okay, I’m right here,” John B told him.

JJ’s eyes were panicked as he scanned over John B’s body. John B followed his gaze, evaluating the already forming marks on his hips and wrists. He was sure that JJ’d left a handprint on his neck, too, which was where JJ’s gaze lingered the longest. “No. I hurt you. I need to leave.”

JJ stood up, making a noise of discomfort as he did so, and hurried toward the door. John B was behind him in an instant and put his hand on the door. JJ stopped in his tracks, taking a step back from John B and looked back at the ground.

JJ was shutting down, John B knew that, and he knew that he had to reach him fast before he went completely under. “JJ,” John B whispered, “Can I… Can I touch you?”

JJ didn’t answer, but he didn’t back away or say no. John B slowly raised his arm, hovering his hand before JJ. “Is this going to be okay?”

JJ nodded, and before John B could fully process it, JJ was throwing himself into his arms, clinging to him like he never had before. He started sobbing, forehead pressed against his chest, and John B couldn’t hold back the tears that slipped down his own cheeks.

“How can anyone ever trust me if I can’t even be trusted around you?” JJ choked out. John B wasn’t sure if he’d heard him right, because he was speaking so quietly, but he thought he heard him ask ‘how can I trust myself?’

John B walked the two of them backwards toward the bed, sitting down as gently as possible. He attempted to pull away from JJ, but JJ held onto him. Tilting JJ’s head up, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, then promised, “I’ll be right back.”

John B walked over to put on a new pair of boxers before grabbing the first aid kit, and returned to where JJ was on the corner of the mattress. He lifted JJ’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

It hadn’t been this bad in a while. There were four purple, fist-sized bruises littering JJ’s torso, a yellowish one on the back of one of his shoulder blades, and a cut along the top of JJ’s shoulder down his tricep, not to mention the cuts he’d already bandaged himself over his eyebrow and cheek. John B coaxed JJ out of his shorts, which displayed something even worse.

There was a giant stack of gauze covered by a poor wrap job below JJ’s hip, reaching down the side of his thigh. “J… what… what happened?”

“He uh… he um… uh,” JJ trailed off, swiping at his nose. John B stayed silent, giving JJ time to put the words together in his head. “He called me… he said I was a dirty fag and that anyone who wanted to be with me was lying and using me because who would ever actually want to be around me? And then he made me…” JJ shuddered out a sigh and shook his head. “And then he tore his beer can in half and jammed it into my leg.”

“And you tried to bandage this up by yourself?” John B asked, concern dripping from every word. They both heard the real question, ‘You didn’t come to me?’

JJ shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought… I thought you might be getting tired of having to deal with this.” Having to deal with me.

“I will never get tired of being around you,” John B guaranteed. To emphasize his point, John B placed a kiss on JJ’s lips, then both his cheeks, his closed eyelids, down his neck. “I love you, JJ. There will never be a moment when that is not true.” Kissing across JJ’s cut shoulder and down his shoulder blade, John B felt him start to relax. He brushed his lips as delicately as he could over the bruises he found there, then traveled down his torso to do the same. “I love every inch of you. Every corner of your mind.”

“That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard,” JJ said with a small laugh.

John B smiled, looking up at JJ through his eyelashes. “I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

JJ brought John B up to kiss him, a finger under his chin, pulling him as close as he could.

When they parted, JJ whispered, “I love you too.”

They stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at each other with small smiles for a while before John B said, “Let’s get you patched up.”

•••

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought, feedback is appreciated. :)

Find me on AO3 at the same username.

[kingexpl0sionmurder]

Missed Connection - Shinsou Hitoshi

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder​ Rating: NSFW 18+ Warnings: Unprotected sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, poking fun at fakes who shop at UO and wear band t-shirts for bands they don’t listen to, terrible poetry, Kaminari is a weirdo. Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi/F!Reader Words: 4,554 AN: This is for the bnharem server collab, the theme is pen pals! We were able to write basically anything as long as there was some kind of communication/writing/texting etc! This is the first time I’ve written for Shinsou and I head cannon him as a fucking closet goth so don’t at me. Collab Masterlist (Please go check out everyone else’s contributions!) My Masterlist Buy me a Ko-fi -- When his phone started ringing, Shinsou was tempted to throw it halfway across the room. Whoever thought it was okay to call him at - he turned to squint at the clock on his bedside table - 10 in the morning on his day off, better have a good excuse. He frowned at the screen once he’d found his phone, and sighed.

“The world better be on fire, Kaminari.” His palm rubbed over his face as he pressed the phone to his ear, his eyes closing again.

The blonde chuckled, full of energy as usual. “Aw, come on ‘Toshi! It’s not that early.”

A million ways he could kill his friend and make it look like an accident flashed through his mind. “You know I like to sleep late on my days off.” He left it at that, no further explanation needed. Kaminari knew he stayed up impossibly late on his off days, crawling under the covers only when the sun started to rise.

“You want to hear this, I promise. I wouldn’t call this early unless it was important.” Shinsou listened to the sound of a keyboard clicking through the phone, waiting impatiently for his friend to continue. 

“So, you know how I sometimes like to fuck around on the internet?” This was a rhetorical question. Of course he did. “Well, occasionally I like to browse through Craigslist, and this morning I was in the missed connections section, and I found something interesting.”

“Why do you look through missed connections?” He didn’t really care, he just thought it was kind of...weird. But, then again, this was Denki, so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Kaminari huffed. “Dude, sometimes it’s so sad to read how they saw someone and thought there was a connection. It makes me wonder if they ever find each other.” He was quiet for a moment like he was deep in thought. “But then sometimes, it’s like ‘You farted in the produce section and I’d still date you, let’s go out’ and it kind of loses the romantic appeal.”

“You’re a sap. Also, gross.” He found himself drifting off, bored with the conversation already. “Do you have a point?”

“God, you’re impatient! Listen, I was scrolling through the ads and I found this one, I think you should hear it.” Clearing his throat, he began to read. 

“You were the sleepy purple-haired man in the cat cafe on Main, I was hiding behind an orange tabby by the window. I was staring, but I wasn’t trying to be creepy. You just looked kind of lost, and the black and white short hair on your lap seemed to have all your attention. Oh, I think his name is Socks. Isn’t that unoriginal? Anyway, I’ve seen you there a few times and I want to know more about you. If you see this, please respond.”

Shinsou sat up in his bed, ignoring the sharp pain of his muscles protesting at the sudden movement. “What the fuck?”

“This is about you, isn’t it?” Denki’s excitement was clear. “You’re the only sleepy guy with purple hair I know who frequents that cat cafe on Main Street.”

“How long ago was that posted?” Hitoshi felt strange, restless energy flowing through him. Someone had noticed him and decided that he was interesting enough to want to get to know? He wasn’t anything special, and he kept to himself mostly. What did this even mean?

“Last night! When did you go to the cafe?” He didn’t even wait for a response. “I’m forwarding this post to you, and you better send them an email! It’s been too long since you’ve dated someone, ‘Toshi, and I’m concerned.”

Unfortunately feeling more awake than he wanted to be, Shinsou shifted until his feet were on the floor. “Yesterday afternoon. And it hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been like a year, dude.” Kaminari sighed. “Okay, I sent it. Please write back to them. Let me live vicariously through you in this weird turn of events.”

Shinsou sighed and said goodbye, ending the call and staring off into space for a minute. He needed coffee before he could even think about reading it for himself and then maybe responding.

--

Uh, hello.

 I can’t help but feel like this was about me? I’m not even really sure what to say. This feels weird. You could have come over and said hi, maybe. I don’t bite. I might have stared at you and made things awkward but I feel like it would have been a surefire way to talk to me instead of posting this on craigslist of all places and expecting me to see it. 

You’re lucky I have a friend who likes to scour the dark recesses of the internet for entertainment purposes and happened upon this post.

-Shinsou

--

How do I know this is really the person I’m talking about? What were you wearing when you went to the cafe? That’s like the only way I can be sure you are who you say you are. 

The only reason I didn’t come over and talk to you was that I had Oliver on my lap and he is a grump and didn’t want me to get up until he was good and ready. (That’s the orange tabby’s name, by the way.) By the time I was able to coax his fat ass off of me you had gone. 

Honestly, I’d let those cats climb all over me like their own personal cat tree all day long and not complain about it, but I digress. 

I didn’t expect you to find this or reply, it was kind of my way of convincing myself that I’d given it a shot, even though I really hadn’t done much.

-Y/N

--

I was wearing the following:

A Joy Division t-shirt depicting the cover of Unknown Pleasures, which is arguably the most cliche t-shirt I own. It’s become one of those shirts that people wear who have no idea who Joy Division is, they just like it for the aesthetic. (I’ll have you know I happen to know who they are and like their music very much.) This shirt was more than likely covered in cat hair.

Black jeans, which were probably covered in cat hair as well.

Black boots, a staple of mine.

I am a closet goth. I don’t know what else to say. I won’t deny it. I’ve learned to embrace who I am. I happen to know that Oliver is a grumpy shit, so I am not surprised he kept you pinned down for so long. That cat has been known to knock people over and purr loudly while “making biscuits” on their chests for hours at a time. I’m glad to know that you survived his assault.

So what are you going to tell me about yourself now? I have confessed to you about my goth status, so I demand something in return.

-Shinsou

--

Yeah, it was you.

I was hoping that you actually liked Joy Division and you weren’t one of those Urban Outfitters aesthetic people. I can now rest easy. I like them too, but I really like New Order more? I hope this isn’t the end of our budding friendship.

I will not say that I am a goth, though I have goth-like tendencies? Or I just appreciate the music. Whatever. I don’t have, like, a pet bat or anything. I own a pair of Doc’s, though.

I have been on the receiving end of one of Oliver’s attacks before, so you don’t have to tell me about them. I have experienced his pushy demeanor on more than one occasion.

So, something about me? I don’t know. I spend a lot of time in that cafe because I love cats, but that’s kind of a given, isn’t it? I usually bring my laptop and make an attempt to work on my homework, but it’s usually futile. I’d rather pet the cats. 

Oh, I guess that counts as something right? I go to college. I’m an English major and taking a fuck ton of creative writing courses. What about you?

-Y/N

--

An English major? That sounds like fun. I think if I had a need to go to college I’d have liked to take something like that. I have a friend who writes ultra depressing Gothic poetry, that would be right up his ally as well.

I’m a pro hero, hence why I didn’t need college. Saving people is something I’ve always wanted to do, especially since I was always bullied about my quirk as a kid. It kind of made me more determined, I always wanted to prove those assholes wrong, you know? So, here I am.

I’m glad to know we can wear matching Doc’s together, and that you don’t keep a bat as a pet. As cute as their faces are, they’re not very easily domesticated. 

New Order is fine. The real question is, The Smiths or The Cure? Your answer to this question will be what determines the longevity of our friendship.

-Shinsou

--

This is the worst question you could ever ask me. How could you do this? I could never choose between them. Both? The answer is both.

I hope your next email will not be your last.

Bats are cute but they always seem to dive bomb my head when they’re around. Not that I go places with bats often, but I used to go camping as a kid and they always did that. It was not a good time.

I think it’s amazing that you’re a pro hero! You’re really out here, fighting the bad guys and saving people and then coming into the cat cafe and petting kittens and drinking coffee like a normal person. I think it’s admirable how hard you worked to achieve your dream. I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m proud of you. Why were you bullied for your quirk? You don’t have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable.

I wish I could write ultra depressy Gothic poetry. Here let me try:

The night is black like my soul Clove cigarettes burn slowly My life is Meaningless

How was that? Do I get a gold star? Or a black skull? Which is appropriate?

-Y/N

--

I’m printing that and sending it to Tokoyami. Thank you for making my entire existence with that poem. I’m breaking out the red wax candles and putting on “How Soon Is Now?” right now.

You get a star, but it’s a pentagram. We have to keep with the theme.

My quirk has to do with mind control, so I was always told I was meant to be a villain. You can imagine what that could do to a kid’s psyche, being told by peers and adults alike that you weren’t hero material, when that’s all you wanted. It’s okay though, I did what I wanted and they can eat my ass.

Sorry if that was too raunchy, but it’s how I feel.

If my earlier comment wasn’t proof enough, I prefer The Smiths, but I cannot deny the impact of Disintegration. Lullaby is a really great song.

That being said, this will not be my last email, so you can breathe easy. 

On a semi serious note, I really enjoy talking with you. We have a similar sense of humor, and you like cats which makes you automatically better than most people. Would you like to get coffee sometime? I know a nice place that’s quiet and filled with fluffy kittens...

-Shinsou

—

I’m glad I haven’t lost your friendship due to my opinion. I know how important that feud can be to some people. People get very passionate about it. Kind of like with Blur versus Oasis, or Brand New versus Taking Back Sunday. I hate that these are the only examples I can think of. 

It wasn’t too raunchy. Those people can most definitely eat your ass. I’m glad you have decided to use your powers for good. You’ll have to explain to me how your quirk works sometime. 

I shall treasure my shiny pentagram sticker with my entire heart.

Isn’t Tokoyami the Jet Black Hero: Tsukuyomi? He looks like the type to write Gothic poetry. I am not even mildly surprised. 

Even though the way we met was unconventional, I’d like to think I’d have gotten up the courage to speak to you the next time I saw you in the cafe. Somehow this is better, though. It makes for an interesting story, you know?

I’d love to get coffee. I think I know the place you’re talking about. Let me know when.

-Y/N

—

Shinsou was nervous. It was stupid really. He’d been exchanging emails back and forth with you for a few days, and even though you’d barely revealed much about each other, the easy banter through your messages was comforting. He felt like the two of you would be compatible. He just hoped that he was able to keep the conversation going in real life. 

When he entered the cafe, he ordered his usual and picked his normal table towards the back. Socks, his favorite black and white companion, was at his side almost immediately. He let his hand drift down to scratch behind her ears, his gaze fixed on the door as he waited for you to arrive. 

Out of habit he was a little early, but he figured it would be easier this way. He had no idea what you looked like, but you knew him, so he knew you’d come over when you got there, and it would make things less awkward. 

A few minutes later he saw the door open, and he immediately knew it was you. Black Doc’s and thigh high stockings, a black skirt and an oversized deep red sweater adorned your body, a leather jacket over your shoulders and your hair tucked under a black beanie, cheeks pink from the chill of the autumn weather outside. You were pretty, and he felt his nerves increase tenfold when your eyes met his, a smile gracing your face. 

He watched as you ordered a drink at the counter, the paper cup clutched in your hands as you made your way to his table. He stood up when you approached, letting himself appreciate you up close. “Y/N?”

“Hi, Shinsou.” You were so much shorter than he was, and he found himself having to gaze down at you when he was standing at his full height. 

“It’s nice to put a face to all those emails.” The way you blushed under his attention made his heart flip. “Please, sit.”

You nodded, sliding into the seat across from him. He sat back down, his hands moving to grip his coffee cup. 

“This is kind of weird, isn’t it?” You looked down when Oliver made his way over, rubbing himself against your boot. “I almost feel like I don’t know what to say.”

“I know what you mean. We could just sit here and email each other, if that would make you feel better.” Your laugh was like music to his ears. “I’d rather hear your voice though.”

Your face was red when you looked back up at him. “I have to agree.” You leaned your elbow on the table, your cheek cradled in your palm. “Tell me more about yourself, Shinsou.”

“It’s Hitoshi. You can call me Hitoshi.”

—

If anyone would have told him that the night would end this way, he’d have said they were insane, and should probably get themselves checked into the nearest institution. 

But here he was, his face pressed into the spot where your neck and shoulder met, lips ghosting over soft skin, his calloused palms sliding underneath your sweater. You were purring, your head thrown back and your fists clenched in his t-shirt, your back pressed against the wall in the hallway that led to his bedroom. 

“Fuck, ‘Toshi.” You mumbled, pressing yourself closer to him. “Bed?”

You didn’t have to ask twice, his hands sliding down to lift you up by the backs of your thighs, his cock hard and straining in his jeans as you rutted against him. He turned himself and began walking toward his room blindly, his eyes still shut as he sucked a mark into your neck. 

He pulled back so he could peer over your shoulder and maneuver your bodies through the doorway without bumping into anything, laying you back on the bed. 

The events of the night were a blur, your coffee date turned into him taking you out for ramen at the restaurant down the street, and then he asked you back to his apartment to show you his record collection. 

It was mostly a ruse though. You’d been flirting back and forth, the both of you getting bolder as the night went on. He was only half surprised when you’d entered his apartment, barely removing shoes and coats and hats before you spun around on him, pressing him against the door and kissing him like your life depended on it.

He rested on his forearms, poised above you, looking over your flushed face and kiss bruised lips. Your legs wrapped around his waist and pulled his hips closer, making him groan. “Impatient?”

Your hands moved to cup his face, pulling him down toward you. “Very.” 

He wasn’t expecting your strength, caught off guard when your lips crashed into his, your body pushing him over until he was on his back and you were straddling him, knees on either side of his hips. You ground down against him, moaning when his hips snapped up reflexively. He was happy to give you control for a while, especially when you sat up and grabbed the bottom of your sweater and pulled it over your head. The view was spectacular.

He let his hands wander, tracing along the lines of your thigh highs from under your skirt, and up to the lace at your hips. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the devilish glint in your eye was not lost on his as you shifted down his body, fingers swiftly working to unclasp his belt and undo the button on his jeans. 

You slid off of him, and he lifted his hips to aid you in pulling his pants down his legs, his boxers following. His cock was achingly hard, the tip angry and red as it sprung free from it’s confines, nearly slapping his stomach. You eyed it greedily, and he was lost for words when you surged forward, delicate fingers wrapping around his length and stroking him, your tongue peeking out to taste him.

Amethyst eyes rolled back when you took the tip in your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, a low moan sounding from the back of your throat. The warmth and wetness that surrounded his cock when you closed your eyes and bobbed forward had him breathless, his hand threading through your hair, and his palm resting on the back of your head. He kept himself steady, fighting back the urge to buck his hips and push you down further on his length. 

Shinsou bit down on his lower lip, his stomach muscles tensing as he tried to keep it together. Kaminari had been right, it had been a while since he’d been with someone, and he wanted this night to last as long as possible. The sweet and innocent look in your eyes as you looked up at him through your lashes, your mouth enveloping him all the way to base, was nearly too much for him to handle, his hand tugging at your hair gently to pull you off of him. “I’m not going to last if you keep that up, kitten.”

You visibly shivered at the pet name and he grinned, loving the feeling of being able to invoke that reaction from you. He scooted forward when you sat back on your knees between his spread legs, his arms circling your torso as he worked at the clasp on your bra, pulling the straps down your arms when he unclipped it. Strong hands gripped your waist and moved you to the side as he stood up, reaching under your skirt to tug your panties down your legs.

He took a moment to consider what he’d do next. He wanted to taste you, it was only right for him to return the favor, and he was almost certain you would taste as sweet as you looked. Another part of him wanted to hike up your legs around his waist and slam inside of you, desperate to hear you moan his name as he pounded you into the mattress. As he contemplated what to do, reached back and pulled his shirt over his head, and then let his hands wander up to the apex of your thighs, digits sliding through your folds. You gasped, falling back onto your elbows, back arching as he toyed with your clit, letting his long fingers slip inside your heat. “So wet. Just for me?” Eyebrows raised, he teased you.

“Fuck, Hitoshi, please.” Breathless and panting, you gazed up at him, biting your lip.

“Please what? Tell me what you want.” You would make the decision for him. “Would you like my mouth or my cock? I’ll let you choose.”

Huffing, your hips rutted against his hand impatiently. He kneeled on the bed between your legs, adjusting his arm and adding a second finger in with the first, his thumb finding your bundle of nerves again. He listened to your breath hitch, and your quiet mewls, pride filling his chest that he was the one coaxing those noises out of you. Finally, you breathed deep and answered him. “Fuck me, Hitoshi.”

Ignoring the protesting whine that left your lips when he removed his fingers, he brought them up to his mouth, maintaining eye contact with you as he sucked on them, tasting you. “You’re delicious, kitten. I’ll have to make sure to taste you properly later.” 

Wasting no time, he lifted your legs up to rest your legs over his shoulders, one hand on his cock. He lined himself up with your entrance, grabbing at your hips and pushing himself inside you. If he thought your mouth was hot and wet and basically everything he thought was heaven, he was mistaken. This was it. This was everything. He wasn’t even inside you all the way and he was fighting back the need to cum again, cursing himself and breathing deeply. He leaned forward, forearms on either side of your head as his mouth crashed against yours, all lips and tongues and teeth, his need for you growing tenfold as you wiggled your hips in an attempt to feel more of him.

Groaning, he bucked forward, filling you up, the both of you sighing in relief at the feeling. He gave you a moment to adjust, lips moving down your jaw and tongue laving at the mark he’d left on your neck earlier. “You feel so good, kitten.”

“Toshi, you can move…” Your hands were gripping his biceps, nails leaving crescent shapes in his pale skin, breathing ragged as you clenched around him.

Hissing, he followed your instructions, hips pulling back until he was almost completely out, before sliding back in. Your arousal made the glide easy, your back arching underneath him. He started a steady rhythm, grunting quietly and letting the feeling of you pulsing around him keep him grounded. He let one of his hands wander, shifting his weight so he could ghost his palm over your side, fingers pinching your nipple and rolling the hardened bud between them. You keened, chanting his name like a prayer, the sound of blood pounding in his ears almost masking the sound.

It spurred him to move faster, his chest tight, sweat pooling at his temples and between his shoulder blades, purple locks sticking to his forehead. His gaze was locked on you, and it stole his breath. Your chest and neck were flushed, the most beautiful sounds spilling from your lips as he fucked into you. It became clear to him that he wasn’t going to last much longer, and neither were you.

“Hey, kitten. You gonna cum for me?” He shifted back to his knees and trailed the fingers on his left hand down your stomach, coming to rest between your parted legs. “I want to hear how pretty you sound when you come apart.” He kept a firm grip on your hip to keep you from sliding away, rolling his hips and rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

“Fuck, Hitoshi!” The effect was almost immediate, your body and lungs seizing, eyes rolling back as you fell over the edge, your cunt clenching around him like a vice. 

Falling back over you, his thrusts became sloppy as he chased his own release, barely able to move with how tight your pussy was gripping him, your orgasm still rolling through you. He felt your hands on his face, guiding him to kiss you again, fingers carding through his hair and down his back, your nails raking red trails down his back. He felt like he could barely breathe, lost in you. “Y/N…”

He felt his muscles tense, and moved to bury his face in your neck, his hips stilling as he came hard, filling you up with his release. You squeezed around him again, and he sighed into your skin, eyes closed as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Rolling over to the side, he hissed when he pulled out. You chuckled, and he turned to look at you, a lazy smile on his face. “What?”

“Is that what you call showing me your record collection?” 

Snorting, he propped his head up on his palm, leaning on his elbow, his free hand reaching out to push a piece of hair away from your face. “You attacked me, remember?”

“I couldn’t help it!” Protesting, you blushed. “I wanted to kiss you from the moment I walked into the cafe.”

It was his turn to blush. “Yeah?”

Shrugging, you turned on your side to face him. “Mm. Can you do me a favor?”

His body was still buzzing, muscles loose and pliant as he shuffled closer to you. “Anything.”

“Can you thank your friend for being a weird internet troll and finding my post?” 

Shinsou coughed a laugh, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “Please, I can’t do that. It’s all he’d ever talk about for the rest of our lives if I did.” 

You leaned up and kissed him, your fingers pushing back his hair. 

He hummed against your lips, feeling content, shifting himself on the bed and wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging you into him. “Maybe I’ll send him a text later. For now, I have other plans.”

--

Kaminari’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he picked it up, eyes widening at the message that appeared on the screen.

Toshi: I owe you a crate full of Pokemon cards and my eternal gratitude for being a weirdo meme king who trolls the internet.

Denki: Oh, you’re in a good mood. Did you get laid?

Toshi: Fuck all the way off. 

Denki: That’s a yes. You’re welcome.

[light-yaers]

No Saints: Chapter Nine

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

A/N: Hi guys! So, I got too excited about this chapter and have decided to post it early, hope that’s okay! Thank you all so much for the support on this fic, we’ve reached 400 kudos and almost 8,000 hits on Ao3! And that’s so incredible aaaa! I can’t thank you all enough for the support. 

Once again, no beta we die like men. Please excuse any small grammar mistakes, I am just one woman. 

Enjoy, and feel free to tell me what you think in my ask box or messages!

Word Count - 6k

Chapter Nine

The shop seemed quieter than usual. It was like the dust was settled too densely, too silently, in the aftermath of the fight between you and Mando.

You tried not to think about him. You delved into your repairs, you shot at the firing range, and on many nights, you were tempted to go to the bar; but you never did—

Until it all got to be too much.

You’d run out of your whiskey on day five, indulging too heavily in the way it blurred your thoughts and worries so you simply didn’t have to think—about Mando, about Kalahan, about Karga. You were old enough to know that it was becoming a coping mechanism, but you were also too far gone to care.

You went in earlier than usual, shutting your shop on a weekday to avoid a possible bump in with Mando. It had been just over a week since the fight, so you expected he was already off world again, hunting and shooting down more quarries. Maker, this was the first time you didn’t want to see him.

It would only bring back the image of him leaving, cape whipping behind him, until he was far away from the shop. The silence that had settled over the shop then had been inescapable. His boot prints were still on the floor, his helmet still behind your eyes, overcome by the sickening thoughts that your brain was firing at you mercilessly, until you were nothing but a mess.

This was why getting attached to people on Nevarro was a bad idea. This was why letting anyone into your life was something you’d tried to avoid since fleeing Ah’era. That had all gone tits up as soon as your heart had let in the Beskar clad man.

You wanted to believe that he felt it, too. The ache; the want; the hurt and pain and everything in between from the intimacy that you’d both shared. But stars, you never really knew the man, not the way he knew you.

You almost wanted him to spill your true identity, just so you could get over with the inevitable—they would find you eventually. And they’d either kill you, or force you back into their ranks. They’d never let you pull the same stunt you’d done before, not again. You’d be a prisoner until you died.

The bar was almost empty when you slid into a booth. Karga wasn’t even present, which was almost unheard of. Maybe he was staking out your shop from atop a building or plotting something to make your like even more difficult. Maker, why the fuck had you agreed to the deal with Mando, way back when? Was it really for the money? Was it really from fear that he’d harm you if you didn’t?

No. You know what it was about.

“Loneliness is a disease,” You muttered to yourself, tapping your glass of bright blue liquor. You downed it in one, then, clicking over to the droid behind a bar for another round. Was this how you were supposed to be for the rest of your life? Trapped on Nevarro, pretending to be someone that you weren’t, always waiting for a fight to happen or for Mando to come back?

“You’re a difficult woman to track down,” His voice cut through your thoughts. You whipped your stare onto him, then, trying to lessen the expression of shock on your face.

Kalahan slid into the booth opposite you, sliding over your new drink and placing one down for himself. He’d grabbed it from the bar for you, and now you were face to face with a monster once again. There was a moment, when you stared into his eyes and got flashes of the things he’d done. You were sure he was about to tell you that he knew, he knew who the fuck you were, and he’d spent seven years trying to find you.

But he didn’t, he simply sat back, draping his arms over the back of the booth and giving you a sickening smile.

“I went by the shop,” He explained further, and your heart jolted. “Rough day?”

Rough day? Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“On Nevarro, there is no such thing as a good day,” You replied bluntly. You didn’t drink what he’d brought over, in case he’d slipped something into it on his way over. You needed to get the fuck out of here. “I was just about to leave, actually,” You said.

“You just ordered another drink,” He hit back with.

“I’ve had too much already, need to cut down,” You said almost immediately. He only smirked at you. It was no doubt that he sensed your bluntness, your want to leave, but he made no indication of letting up.

“One drink,” He said. “One drink with me,” He stuck his pointer finger up, hovering it before your face. You knew this tactic— one finger wasn’t meant to be threatening, but it also made the opposition think; it made them believe that one wouldn’t be so bad.

You didn’t want to give him any more reasons to kill you, but right now, you were Melissa—repair shop loner from Nevarro. This was the safest you’d ever been around the man, even if his mere presence made your skin crawl, your gut warp, your fingers shake.

“Melissa sounds like a foreign name,” He began, eyeing your drink. “Where were you born?”

You grabbed your glass defensively, staring him down suddenly. He was asking an awful lot of questions, questions that you wouldn’t answer to anyone on this planet. “I don’t know if you’ve frequented a lot of hunter planets, but there’s never this many questions,” You replied. You didn’t try to hide the scowl from your face or the clench of your jaw.

Kalahan laughed lowly, picking up his own glass. He took a sip of his drink, never once taking his eyes off of you. “I apologise. I didn’t mean to put you on edge,”

Stars, you wanted to strangle him. You wanted to choke the life out of him with your bare hands. This man who instilled so much fear in you, who was one of the reasons you became a monster yourself, who held no remorse for his killing sprees and cried no tears for the lives he’d taken; he was the worst person in the galaxy.

He was worse than Vader. He was worse than all of the Empire put together.

And you’d spent five years with him. You’d spent missions with him, you’d killed with him. You wanted to vomit.

“I see trust isn’t something that’s often shared here, then,” He continued, after absorbing your silence.

“Trust isn’t in anyone’s vocabulary on this side of the galaxy,” You said harshly. He scoffed boyishly. You had to ball one of your fists beneath the table, just to stop yourself from punching the smile off of his face.

“How did a woman like you end up so... cold?”

“A woman like me?” You raised your brows in offense. “What was your name—Reynard? You don’t know me, Reynard. People on this planet don’t take well to newcomers and strangers. We don’t take well to being interrogated, and we certainly don’t do this,” You gestured to the booth, referring to him sitting with you from a drink. “We get on with our jobs, we live our lives as comfortably as we can in our shithole houses, doing anything we can to get by and avoid getting shot dead as much as we can,” It was too late to take back your words as they poured from your lips.

Kalahan listened intently, his expression dropping with every sentence you ended and began. You could see the fight in his eyes, the way he was eyeing you up as you pelted him with your harsh words. For once, you weren’t scared. He was a stranger here, to everyone, and people in this bar knew you.

Hunters, Guild members, locals who’d fled here like you. You were untouchable in here. If he placed a hand on you, he’d be shot by someone faster than he could grab his own blaster.

Maker, this was your planet. Fuck him and Ah’era if they thought they could take it.

He could see you were seething now, as he treaded over his words carefully. “You sound like a fighter,” He spoke confidently, despite the frown on his face. “You sound like you deserve more,”

Oh, stars. No—

Fucking hell, no.

“My family move here in four days. There’s always a place for people like you with us,” You were about to explode at him repeating what he’d said before, but he leant forward quickly. “By people like you, I mean fighters. I mean travellers who haven’t known companionship in years, who’re skilled. You’ll be cared for with us,”

Us. Ah’era. This bastard was trying to recruit you.

Seven fucking years later, you were actually being recruited to join the creed. After all they’d done; ruined you, forced you to kill for them, tortured you when you fought back until the only option was to obey.

You stood abruptly, glaring down at him.

“Go fuck yourself, Reynard. I’ve come to enjoy my solitude on this planet, and the last thing I fucking need is others butting into my life,” He clenched his jaw, staring up at you and breathing shallowly. You knew he hated being spoken to like this; it was amazing that he hadn’t slit your throat yet. “Do yourself a favour and never ask anyone else on this fucking planet to join you and your family. They won’t be as kind as I’ve been, not by a longshot,”

You strode through the booths then, headed straight for the door. As you approached the exit, someone swivelled from round the corner—Karga stood before you, smiling like he knew a secret that you didn’t. You went to move around him, but that’s when he shuffled to block your way. It was intentional—it was planned.

“Hello, Miss,” Karga said slyly. You made no quick movements, despite your entire body telling you that you were in danger. He stepped towards you once, forcing you to move backwards.

“Karga,” You spat in reply. “Finally got bored of sending men into my shop?”

Karga chuckled, not once moving his gaze from yours. For an old man, you could sense his authority here. He’d done this his entire life, following the Guild for years. He knew how to swindle, how to hunt, how to cover a room with his power. Maybe, you’d underestimated him. Maybe, this was what Mando meant about him being bad news.

“You’re an interesting woman, Melissa,” Karga said. You ceased to breathe. In a split second, Kalahan was behind you. The men circled you together, trapping you between them.

Oh Maker, they were working together. They were conspiring together, staking you out together. Maker... was this ever about Mando? Or was it always about you? Your fingers twitched by your side, ready to grab your blaster as soon as you needed to.

“You made some new friends, I see,” You said to Karga, all too aware of Kalahan on your six.

“You and I both know that friends don’t exist here. They’re more like... business associates,” Karga replied. They. He was talking about Ah’era. Seven years ago, even the Guild hated Ah’era. They killed their hunters, their men—but this? Karga had buddied up with Kalahan after the resurgence. The Guild probably knew nothing about it, but if they did—

This was bad. Very fucking bad. Having the Guild and Ah’era joining ranks would be enough to bring down the New Republic, the same way the Empire had done decades ago.

“Mando was right. You’re a snake in the grass,” You let out. Having his name leave your lips was enough to make your gut catapult into your stomach. Karga let out a colossal chuckle, stepping towards you again. You stepped back once more, but you were only getting closer and closer to Kalahan.

“Not as much of a snake as you,” Kalahan spoke up. You looked round to him slowly, keeping yourself in a defensive stance. “You really think I wouldn’t recognise you?” He said slyly. “It was just a matter of time until we found you again, Wraith,”

At the sound of your old name, you thought that maybe you’d vomit. You thought that maybe you’d faint, or your heart would simply stop. But all that happened was the opposite—

You felt the blood in your veins burn, as your head plummeted back into the space that it had seven years before. You analysed the stances of both men, located their weapons. You knew how Kalahan fought, and you wanted to bet that Karga was good with a blaster; but you. Maybe Kalahan had forgotten how good you were at being an assassin. Maybe he’d forgotten the merciless ways in which you took down your enemies—

The only difference now, was that he was your enemy. When once he was your teammate, you were now on opposing sides.

“Where’s the Mandalorian now, Miss?” Karga said roughly. “He was here yesterday, you know. It came as such a shock when he didn’t visit you. A lover’s spat, perhaps?”

“Keep his name out of your fucking mouth,” You shot at him, your eyes red.

“I thought you’d be smart enough to check for bugs,” Karga continued. “But evidently, not,”

Fuck. They bugged your shop. They’d heard every word that you and Mando had shared over the past few weeks.

“You really should have listened to him. You should have thought about yourself,”

You let the tension in the bar grow, allowed it to float over the three of you as you played a game of who will shoot first. You were radiating with adrenaline, fingers armed and ready to kill both men if you had to. You didn’t have time to think about what you’d do, where you’d go, how you’d settle into a new life for a third time—

But you did have time to turn on the communicator on your wrist, despite knowing it was probably useless. Mando was off-world. He wouldn’t be able to hear you.

“So, what happens now?” You asked in a lethal whisper, all of your senses were dialled to a hundred. Kalahan took a step forward then.

“Don’t act dumb now, Wraith. You know what happens,” His hand travelled to the blaster on his belt. “Come with us, and there’s a small chance we won’t kill you. Ah’era has missed you,”

Maker, there was a moment after he spoke where you just laughed. You let out the most hearty of chuckles, allowing it to course through your entire body, to fill you up, to penetrate your bones—

And when you stopped, you felt powerful. You felt strong.

“Over my dead fucking body, Kalahan,” You whispered at him. His eyes flashed when you said his name, his body shivered as the syllables left your lips.

“That can be arranged,”

As soon as Karga’s hand grasped your elbow, your entire body lurched into a fight that you hadn’t felt in seven years. You kicked behind you, striking the old man between his legs, before propelling yourself towards Kalahan. He grabbed his blaster skilfully, firing at will as blasts ricocheted off the dark, metal walls of the bar.

You slammed your body into his, pushing him backwards as you used all of your strength to curl your fingers around his wrist. The two of you staggered backwards, as his arms came round to box you into his chest. You let out a wheezing breath as he punched you in the gut, but reciprocated with your elbow to his stomach.

The two of you halted, still in each other’s grasp and seething with anger and pain. “You’re out of practice, Wraith,” Kalahan whispered into your ear. You smiled to yourself slowly, taking in a shaky breath and chuckling painfully as you exhaled.

You pushed both of you backwards then, until the sound of Kalahan’s spine slamming into a booth table sounded throughout the bar. You scrambled away from him, twisting his firing arm until his blaster clattered to the floor. You kicked it away in the second of time you’d gained for yourself, before you jumped—you stretched your legs out in mid-air, striking Kalahan directly in his gut with the full force of your momentum.

He yelled in pain, as his spine curled over the booth table even more. It was a miracle it hadn’t snapped in two.

You fell to the floor with a thud, but it wasn’t long until you were up again. You swiped up his blaster from the floor, clipping it onto your belt as an extra weapon. That’s when you turned back to Karga—

He smiled at you with his blaster raised, pointed right between your eyes. You didn’t indulge him by raising your arms to the sky. You simply glared at him unwaveringly, collecting all of your anger and pain and strength and firing it at him.

“Somehow I knew you’d take the wrong route,” He said, his body still reeling from the hit you’d given him first.

“You took the wrong route when you agreed to help Ah’era,” You spat at him. “If the Guild finds out you’ve done this, they’ll stick your head on a pike,”

“If anyone else finds out that you’re the Wraith, they’ll do the same,” He said sickeningly. “If you join them, us, you already know the power you’ll receive,”

“I don’t want power if it means killing innocents, if it means leaving every ounce of humanity behind to rot. I did it once, and I’d fucking die before I did it again,” You spat at him. Kalahan stirred behind you, limping up to your six again. The look on his face wasn’t the playfully disgusting grin he usually donned; it was red. Red, rogue anger. Directed solely at you.

Within a second, both of your blasters were raised to each man. Kalahan stopped where he was, as the smallest flash of fear shone on his eyes. Karga, however, laughed. You looked at him bluntly. “So, you’d become a killer not to become a killer, again?”

“Shooting men like you would be a service to the galaxy,” You said through clenched teeth.

“Except, you don’t really mean that, do you?” Karga replied, softening his voice. “I’ve known you for seven years, Miss, and even I can see that you’re kind-hearted,”

Maker, this bastard was trying to appeal to your lighter side. He was trying to get in your head, to make you second guess the violent nature that was drilled into you—he was trying to save his own fucking skin.

“Tell me, what will it feel like having two more dead men on your conscience?”

And the worst thing of all, was that it was working. You kept your blasters raised, but even you couldn’t deny the way your soul was cracking beneath the surface. You didn’t like killing, you resented it. You resented the way blood stained your fingers, got under your nails, was stuck to your skin for the rest of your life after another death.

You resented the way he was wiggling his way into your mind—and was right.

Maker, you didn’t want to kill him. You didn’t want to kill anyone, but that was a privilege that you’d never had. It was a privilege that you’d never have for the rest of your life, whether you were forced to join the creed again or not.

“See?” He said finally. “You won’t do it,”

“Maybe she won’t, but I will,” It was like time slowed, when his modulated drawl trickled throughout the empty bar—and then he was there, rounding the door until he was behind Karga.

Kalahan sprung towards you before you could realise, but with one blast from his gun, Mando struck him in the shoulder, leaving nothing but a burning hole through his skin. Kalahan dropped to the floor, and you came back to reality.

You bombarded into Karga, twisting the blaster from his grip and striking his extended arm with your knee—it snapped in two, just like you’d done to that young hunter a few months prior. Karga dropped onto one knee, clutching his arm, but Mando had already grabbed your arm, tugging you out of the bar.

Now you were running—you were running so fucking fast, his cape whipping behind him as the sun began to descend on Nevarro.

He ran you back to the shop, kicking the locked door open and allowing you to scramble inside. Your head was fucking racing, your thoughts nothing but gibberish as you tried not to break down into anger filled screams.

“What the fuck are you doing—,” Was all you managed to get out, before he was holding you by the shoulders sternly.

“Pack. Now,” Mando said lowly. You stared into his visor, trying desperately to locate his eyes, like you always did. “We’re getting off this kriffing planet,”

He didn’t give you any time to take in his words, before he was shoving you into your room. You sprang into action, grabbing a sack and stuffing as many clothes and other belongings inside as you could. You opened your safe and poured all of your savings inside, before rushing back to the workshop and picking up your most valuable possessions.

“How did you even know I was there?” You said in a rush, hitting the Beskar clad hunter with blunt look. Mando raised his arm, gesturing to the communicator on his wrist.

“I passed out on the Crest last night after seeing Karga. Woke up to your voice cutting through the comms,” Maker, he’d heard you. You’d turned on the comm on a whim, not expecting him to be in signal distance. But he was there, he was there all along.

Stars, everything came flooding back. All the shit from last week hit you like a truck, bombarding into you as you continued shoving things into your sack. As much as you wanted to lift his helmet, to feel him, to remember the way his fingers affectionately grazed your skin—you were still hurting.

He was willing to whisk you away, to take you with him—to abandon his routine here and run away with you. Harbouring a fugitive for the second time in his life, he was willing to do that for you.

“No,” You boomed suddenly. You stopped packing. “I won’t let you—your life will be ruined—,”

“My life has never been as full as this,” He interrupted. “I can get hunting jobs anywhere,” You clamped your eyes shut, trying not to allow yourself to so easily accept his words.

“You said it yourself, Mando,” You said sternly. “You never asked for all the shit that follows me around like a plague,”

He froze as you repeated his words from last week. “I know,” He said, softening his voice slightly. “But I’d much rather have you, than not,”

Stars, was this man real? Had you both been alone for so long to so quickly accept a reality that was this traumatic, this complicated, this dangerous? If he left you, you’d be doomed for a life on the run, with the threat of death around every corner and the immense anxiety of people finding out your true identity—

Together? You were roping him into the same life. And he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care.

“Okay,” You whispered, looking at him in a way that communicated everything, but the words simply couldn’t be said; not here, not now.

You finished packing frantically, as Mando guarded the broken door. You draped the sack over your body, slinging a scarf round your neck. You stopped then, as you weighed putting it over your face—adopting the Wraith, going back to what you knew.

But you chose not to. You wore your face proudly, unashamedly. You wanted them to know that you got away, that you fled for a second time, that for the rest of your life you would fight to see Ah’era burned to ashes.

Mando nodded at you then, as the two of you bombarded out of the door to your shop. “Stop,” He said, just as you were about to run towards the Crest, on the other side of town. You stared at him anxiously, knowing that it would be mere seconds until they reached you both. Mando rushed towards you, slinking his arm around your waist tightly. “Hold on,” He said, and you did as you were told, as much as you were confused.

With a few clicks upon his arm’s control panel, rocket thrusters on his back exploded to life. You yelped, wrapping yourself tightly onto him, before you took off into the skies. You held on for dear life as the two of you gained altitude. Mando held you close to his body the whole ride, not ever letting his embrace falter.

You didn’t think when you shoved your face in the nook between his shoulder and neck. You didn’t think how it felt to have his arms wrapped around you again, even after the fight, the hurtful things you both said to each other. You’d always been so afraid of admitting this unspoken thing between yourself and the Mandalorian, but in one rash act, he’d admitted more than you’d ever got from him in the nine months you’d known each other.

You’d gone against everything you’d vowed, everything you were wary of—just for this Beskar clad man that lit a flame within you that you’d never thought was possible before.

A masked man and his hair, green baby—

You couldn’t believe how much you cared for them both.

Mando and you dropped to the ground outside the Crest, rushing inside before the ramp had fully reached the ground. Mando immediately rushed to the cockpit, slamming the ramp controls back up before he was hurling himself up the ladder.

You kept a wary eye on outside, noticing the flash of lights and sound of mutterings in the wind as the breeze hit the ship. As the ramp fully ascended, you thought you caught a glimpse of a speeder in the distance. Maker, you didn’t stick around to see if you were hallucinating or not.

“Come up,” Mando sounded over the ship’s comms. You smacked your sack down in the hull, before making the climb up to the cockpit. It was a small room, with no space apart from the pilot’s chair in front of the controls and a passenger seat to Mando’s back right. The kid’s cubby was to his back left, with the little guy’s ears poking out as he looked around the room upon your entry.

His face lit up when you sat in the passenger seat and buckled yourself in. The doors of the cockpit sealed shut then, as Mando went about starting the engine. The kid cried anxiously as he felt the tension in the cockpit, and stars did it break your heart in two.

You shushed at him a few times, curling your fingers around the rim of his cubby and rocking him back and forth a few times. As the ship took off in a rush, it lurched forward as the landing gear retracted—the kid all but screamed out an anxious cry.

You cooed at him with furrowed brows, trying to calm him down in any way you could. You hovered the cubby over towards you, picking up the kid gently and placing him in your lap.

“He might throw up,” Mando said quietly, tilting his helmet to take a sneak peek of you cradling the kid against your chest.

“I don’t care,” You said in reply, not looking at him. You only had eyes for the little, green gremlin that was anxiously gripping your fingers for dear life. He looked out of the windshield as the Crest entered Space; stars flew within his huge, black eyes.

“Entering hyperspace,” Mando alerted you. You didn’t reply, too focused on the absolute vastness of Space that surrounded you. You hadn’t been on a ship in seven years, hadn’t left Nevarro, hadn’t been in Space since that time. You’d forgot just how many fucking stars there were, littering the skies of lightyears and lightyears, no telling how many planets and galaxies and worlds there were out there.

Maker, you thought you’d be freaking out. You thought the anxiety would be eating you alive, travelling again, on the run, facing death once again. But as the Crest entered hyperspace and the blue and white lines of transit whizzed past you at a thousand miles per hour—all you felt was safe.

The cockpit was silent for a while. There was no telling how long, but by the time you finally tilted your gaze to Mando’s helmet, the kid was fast asleep in your lap.

His shoulders were tense, you could tell. He was rigid as he faced forward, using all of his concentration not to turn around or move an inch. You smiled to yourself sadly, not being able to stop yourself from feeling guilty about this situation. He’d saved your skin getting you off Nevarro so quickly, not stopping to think of just how hard life would be for him and the kid, now.

Stars, you felt terrible.

“Stop that,” He muttered suddenly. His modulated drawl made you shiver, as his low voice floated throughout the cockpit intimidatingly.

“Stop what?” You replied, moving back to stare at the brightness of hyperspace.

“Beating yourself up,”

You scoffed as soon as he said it, feeling your cheeks blush for the first time in a week. Maker, you hated how much he knew you. You fucking despised it. Or maybe, you just told yourself you hated it to ignore the fact that you adored it. That you adored him.

“I’ll stop beating myself up when you and the kid are free and safe,” You whispered.

“We’ll never be free and safe. I’m a Mandalorian, he’s a—,” He stopped himself abruptly, almost as if he was biting on his tongue to stop himself from talking. You looked down at the kid in your lap, wondering about what the hell he was. What did Mando mean?

“He’s a what, Mando?” You urged. He seemed reluctant, but nevertheless, he swivelled to you in the pilot’s chair, looking at you face to face, or helmet to face.

“He’s got... powers,” Mando said slowly. You furrowed your brows at him.

“Powers?” You repeated in confusion.

“Jedi powers, or something,” He continued. Your face immediately softened into an amused grin.

“You mean the Force? He can manipulate the Force?” You couldn’t help it as you imagined the look of utter confusion on his face. Mando didn’t know shit about the Jedi, or the Force, and that much was certain. You understood why—Mandalore and the Jedi never exactly got on. But it was funny to witness him straining like this. When he was so often the most mysterious, smartest being in a room, you finally saw a side of him that was human.

“Do you know what it is?” He asked, interested all of a sudden. You nodded at him slowly.

“My mother. When she was young, she knew a Jedi, before the Empire rose to power,” You began, but you treaded over your words carefully. You hadn’t told a soul of your true family, simply because you didn’t want anyone to know about them before. “She told me stories about him and the powers he possessed,”

Mando was quiet as you spoke, clutching onto your every word. “Your mother,” Was all he said in response. You nodded at him once, smiling sadly, before dipping your stare back to the kid.

“I’ve never told anyone that,” You said to your chest. “She was a great woman. I only got to be hers for twelve years,” You chuckled then, trying to distract yourself from the way your throat had begun to close. “You would have liked her. She was quiet, quieter than you,”

You had no clue where your words were coming from, but it was too late to take them back after speaking them to Mando. He had the ability to make you talk, even if you didn’t want to, or you weren’t planning on it. Maybe the quietness he exuded made you believe he was listening.

“What was her name?” Mando asked after a moment. You looked into his visor, ignoring the way your eyes had started to well uncomfortably.

“Melissa,”  

Little did Mando know that your fake name with Kalahan had actually belonged to your mother. Still, he was gentle, nodding his head once as your voice almost cracked while saying her name.

Mando was silent then, as the two of you relished in the blue lights of hyperspace whizzing over the cockpit. You were trying not to frown as you thought of the fucking mess that you were in. Mando had inserted himself into it, and it was too late to go back. If Karga was working with Ah’era, it wouldn’t be long until you were plastered on every bounty tracker in the outer rim.

Maker, there was no escaping it.

“Where are we going?” You asked him timidly.

“A safe place,” He replied. You nodded once, looking back down at the kid in your arms. His ears were back and his eyes closed tight, snoozing serenely in your grasp. His hand was curled around one of your fingers, holding on for dear life. “He likes you,” Mando continued. You let out a small chuckle.

“You’ve got to admit it, he is kind of cute,”

Gently, Mando stuck out a gloved hand to the kid. He swiped a finger over the child’s cheek, making him shuffle on your lap to lean into his father’s touch. He was smiling in his sleep, absolutely content with this life with Mando. You thought that maybe they needed each other—they needed the company, the love, the care that comes with looking after a child and his bond with his father.

Mando moved his hand then, coming up to slowly caress your jaw. You flicked your gaze up to him, gluing your eyes to his visor. You relaxed as his fingers traced your jaw, your cheek, until you fully leant into his palm. You fluttered your eyes shut, swallowing away your fear and anxiety and everything that had built up over the past two weeks.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered. “About the fight,” You opened your eyes once more, seeing the way Mando’s shoulders had relaxed considerably. He nodded once, and you knew that was all you’d get out of him as recognition of your apology. You had a feeling that he didn’t hold on to trivial things, that he had no space to harbour them in his soul.

Or maybe, it was just because it was you.

“Close your eyes,” He said roughly, his voice almost cracking. You did as you were told, shutting your eyes and ignoring the way your heart was crawling up your throat when the familiar sound of his helmet being tugged off hit your ears.

When his lips hit yours, you melted. They were soft, trickled with longer stubble from his moustache and so delicate as they pressed against your own. His hand came to rest on your chin, guiding your face towards his own gently and effortlessly. Stars, you would never get over this—

You would never forget the feel of the Mandalorian’s lips, fingers, body, pressed against your own. You would never forget the way your gut flipped within you at any opportunity you got to be alone with him.

But Maker, you would also never forget your own vow— you would take down Ah’era, one way or another, before you left the land of the living.

And you’d do it on your own, if it meant keeping Mando and the kid safe.

Tag List: @coaaster @14mcmd1122​ 

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[joheun-saram]

Whenever, Wherever (jhs)

Summary- Hoseok is a time traveller but that’s not the strangest thing that has happened to him. The strangest thing is when he meets a girl he’s never seen and she tells him he’s her best friend.

word count- 6.7k

pairing- timetraveler!Hoseok x Reader 

rating- R

genre- angst, fluff, smut

warnings- car accident, mention of parental death, mention of miscarriage, major character death, description of gun shot wound (but not gory), explicit smut (unprotected lovey dovey sex), hoseok pukes a lot (soz babe ily)

a.n- Ahhh I finally finished my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub! I’m so excited to reveal that I’m indeed @baepsaetan‘s secret santa 🎅🏼Day did you guess I was your ss? Did you like me subtly asking you questions about this during our sprints? hehehe! Happy new year, love! 💕

For people who can guess, this was inspired by the Doctor, River relationship and is loosely based on the Time Traveller’s Wife (eventhough I straight up have never seen the movie and literally only read the wiki page 🥴)

A huge thank you to Bella @hobisbeautifulass​ for beta reading for me! I’m sorry I made you cry at work!

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

-

The day his mother passed away was when Hoseok discovered his gift. 

Stranded by himself in a large suburban park in the middle of the night, there was an eeriness surrounding the dark expanse of road. There were no cars, no streetlights, and no solace to be found on the edge of the wooded trail he stood before. His heart was still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he remembered seeing the blinding lights of the trailer in front of him just moments ago, his mother’s voice ricocheting through his head. He didn’t understand how he got here, and how the loud honks and screeches of tires had fallen to give way to this deafening silence.In the distance, he hears footsteps. The crackle of crushed leaves echoing in the air as he sees a man with dark hair, dressed in a large black sweater and a pair of blue ripped jeans, step forward. In the eight years he had lived thus far he had never been as terrified. The man lifted his arm as if to reach out towards him, and Hoseok closed his eyes tight, wishing he could run away.

Before he knew what happened, he was lying in his bed under his warm, colorful duvet. He rubbed his eyes, his heart still pounding and feeling an overwhelming urge to vomit. He thought it was a dream till his father entered with a tear-streaked face to let him know about his mother’s fatal accident.

That was the first time he time traveled, but it wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t know why he could do it. He didn’t know how he could control it. All he knew was that he was drawn to certain places, certain times. It was never when he wanted, like the first time when he wished he could go back to a few hours and not be greedy for ice cream so his mother would not have to drive him. Or the time he wished he could go back to tell his grandmother he loved her. Or the time in university where he wished he had never got caught cheating and lost his scholarship.

For being a time-traveler Hoseok’s life was full of regrets but the one thing he would never regret was meeting her.

-----------

For most people time is linear. There is the past, the present, and the future. But for Hoseok, time is a tangled mess, a convoluted web of events that he can only watch unfold. Never having the power to control where he ends up, Hoseok felt helpless, like his life was a punchline for the universe. All through his life, he would wind up at weird places at weird times. He would never know how long he would be there before being zapped back to whenever he came from.

Hoseok was twenty-five, he was single, he was a music producer, but most of all, he was tired. Lately, his time jumps were too frequent, going from happening once a year or so to once every few weeks. He would find himself in odd places at odd times, sometimes it was a quaint suburban street at dawn, other times a posh private school at midnight. All to stay there for seconds before zapping in his bed, as usual, his entire day lost, nausea bitting at his throat.

“Hoseok? Oh my god! It’s really you!” The new barista at his favorite coffee shop squealed when he made it to the front of the line, jarring him from his thoughts as he aimlessly scrolled through his Instagram, trying to decipher if he missed out on anything important. He looked at her, dressed cutely in a yellow sundress with the establishment's blue and gold apron on her waist. Her hair was loose around her face, her smile brilliant, as she looked at him with excitement. She was beautiful and it took Hoseok a few moments to stop himself from his shameless ogling.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” he asked, confused. He would have remembered if he ever saw her. She looked pretty unforgettable. Maybe she was one of Yoongi's friends, although something tells him Yoongi would find her sunshine persona offputting.

“Yeah! You’re my best friend!” She pointed at him, as his mouth dropped. Okay, so she was crazy. Great...

“Uh…” Hoseok didn't really know how to answer that, so he decided to follow his gut and just ignore her comment. “I’m sorry. Can I just order?”

“Vanilla latte, no whip, half sugar coming right up!” She beamed as she wrote on the cup, leaving him dumbfounded.

“How did you…?”

“Told you! You’re my best friend!” She pranced away to make his drink, as he stood there confused. When she returned, she handed him a drink and Hoseok could do nothing more than smile half-heartedly as he walked away. Did he have a stalker?

He decided not to visit that coffee shop again. Better not give this crazy person any more ideas.

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

Hoseok stood in someone's home, someone's living room, dark other than the moonlight that filtered through the windows. It was a modest room, resembling one of those he would see on television. In the center of the room, there was a bright yellow rug flanked on three sides by a couch set facing a television hooked to the wall above a fireplace. It seemed cozy, somewhere he would have liked to live.

He had no idea where he was and he cursed his gift once again. This was getting ridiculous. This was the first time he had appeared inside someone's home. He shook his head as he looked at the clock placed on one of the small tables next to the big couch.

3 am. Great. He was trespassing in the middle of the night.

He decided to escape before the owners caught wind of him. As he made his way towards the door, a family portrait caught his eye. It hung right next to the front door, framed by a beautiful gold frame.

His mouth dropped. It was him. He looked a little older, the lines next to his eyes a little deeper as he sat smiling on a grassy field, his arms around a beautiful woman in a yellow sundress holding a small infant wrapped in green blankets.

He felt his heartbeat pick up. He knew her. It was the random barista girl. The one who insisted she knew him. What the fuck?

Before Hoseok could spiral any further he heard a noise behind him. Turning he saw her, dressed in flannel pajamas, walking down the stairs. She looked around her mid-thirties, nothing like the chipper twenty-something he'd seen last week.

He stood there blinking at her as she came closer, awe on her features that quickly morphed into sorrow. She touched his face gently as if in disbelief that he was there as her eyes glistened in the moonlight.

"Hobi?" She spoke, her voice was hoarse as a tear slipped down her cheek. Hoseok didn't know why but he felt his heart lurch at her tears. He had no idea who she was but he felt this innate pull towards her. He wanted to hold her, wipe her tears, and most fucked up of all, he wanted to kiss her.

"I- who are you?" He asked softly, his hand coming to hold hers as if he couldn't help himself, leaning slightly into her touch.

"We haven't met yet?" Her voice was wet with tears as she sniffled, moving closer to him. She hugged him, wrapping her arms around him tightly as if to feel if he was really there. He stood silently as she squeezed him close, and wrapped his arms around her when she started sobbing into his chest. He held her tight as she cried, his eyes brimming with sympathetic tears.

"I missed you so much Hoseok," she said as she looked up at him. He had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Before he could think, he was leaning down to capture her lips with his own, his heart in his throat. She tasted like strawberries and mint, and he felt his head turn into a haze. Before he could deepen the kiss, he felt the familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. He pulled apart as he saw her fade slowly, trying his hardest to hold on to her as she did the same.

All too soon, the familiar sight of his bedroom materialized as he stood there alone, her last words ringing in his head.

"No! Please! It's too soon!"

He didn't know when he started crying, but soon he was kneeling on his floor sobbing for a girl he didn't even know the name of.

-----------

Hoseok didn't know when he fell asleep, but he woke up on the floor of his bedroom, his face puffy and back sore. Without a second thought, he rose from his position, grabbed his keys, and bolted out of his apartment. He had to find her.

It took him six days to meet her again. Six days of anxiety, amped up from the coffees he chugged as he visited the coffee shop at different hours. He couldn't even describe her properly, every time he went to the cashier to tell them how she looked they gave him an odd look. Maybe it was because by the third day he looked like a deranged stalker, describing her height and her build to anyone who worked there. He was surprised they hadn't banned him yet.

On the sixth day, she waltzed in and sat across from him, not a care in the world. Her smile was wide, a juxtaposition to the sad, older version of her he was fixated on. She wore a polka-dotted dress which hitched up a little as she crossed her legs. Hoseok was speechless as he almost choked on his coffee.

"You told me to meet you earlier but honestly, I just wanted to annoy you a little." She giggled, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, her eyes lit with mirth, and the stress of finding her hit him like a ton of bricks. Hoseok jumped out of his seat, his arms around her shaking as he tried to control his breathing. His mind was fuzzy, he had no reason to react this way, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't know her but he missed her. His heart was beating a mile a minute as he held her tighter.

"What took you so long?" He asked his voice a little hoarse from not speaking all day, his breath coming out in puffs against her neck. She hummed a little apology as her hand reached his hair, stroking his scalp in a way that made him instantly relax. He melted into her, her sweet floral scent a balm to his anxious nerves.

"Do you even know my name yet?" She spoke, her voice light and airy, as he finally let go of her. He cleared his throat in embarrassment, the tips of his ears turning as red as the beanie atop his head. He settled back in his chair awkwardly staring at her, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants that laid on his thigh. He looked up at her smiling face, as she put her hand on top of his. "It's Y/N. It's nice to finally meet you, Hoseok."

Her words were simple but their effect was anything but. Hoseok felt like everything in his world made sense, that all those times he had puked after a shitty trip down the stitch of time was worth it. Her hand was so soft, skin so perfectly smooth as her thumb stroked his hand, that Hoseok had a hard time finding words to express how he was feeling.

He looked at her shyly, not knowing where his nerves were coming from, as he smiled, meeting her warm eyes.

"It's nice to finally meet you too, Y/N."

----------

Hoseok sighed in annoyance as he walked down the path of the familiar suburban neighborhood. The sun shone brightly, and all he wanted to do was to be zapped out of here so he could end up in bed next to his girlfriend. It had been barely thirty seconds since he saw her, her soft skin molded against his as she slept next to him, her hair tickling his nose as he spooned her. He missed her already. This wasn't fair. Why did he have to walk around this stupid cul-de-sac when he could be wrapped in her warmth?

Ever since the coffee shop, things with her had progressed extremely fast. He couldn't help himself. He never felt as close to someone as instantly before. Granted, he knew they were going to get married and have a beautiful child together, but that didn't mean he knew how fast he was going to fall for her.

The day he first learned her name, he couldn't wipe the giddy smile off his face. She was different than any other woman he had met. She was outgoing and optimistic, and brave. Much braver than him. While he stuttered to ask her for her number, she leaned across the table grabbed his phone, unlocking it as if by magic, and added her phone number in. While he wrote and rewrote eighteen different texts, pacing in his living room, she beat him to it with a casual "Stop overthinking, dummy. It's only me!"

How could he stop overthinking? It was her. His dream girl gift-wrapped and sent to him by fate. He never thought his gift would be good for anything, but she was here and all his previous suffering finally made sense.

As he walked along the sidewalk, biding his time, he approached a bus stop. It was cute, and definitely not from his decade. A janky blue bus stopped, and out she walked, making Hoseok miss his step and almost trip. She was dressed in a school uniform, a crisp white shirt with a plaid skirt, a cute flower-shaped backpack on her shoulders, and her hands full of college pamphlets. Hoseok couldn't help the smile that overtook his features. He wanted to run up to her but he realized even if she was his girlfriend now, it was still a crime to approach a minor. His gift was so stupid.

He stood there, averting his stare and looking at his shoes instead, as she walked closer to him. He promised himself not to be a creep and try to talk to her but her voice makes him break his resolve.

"Ew. Can you not get a hint? Get away from me, you creep!" she yelled and Hoseok's head snapped up. He felt his face flare with rage as he watched a kid around her age try to put his arm around her as she tried to shove him off. The kid was relentless, throwing cheesy pickup lines her way as she continuously rejected him. He wanted to beat that little shit to a pulp.

Clearing his throat, he approached the two. "Dude, she said no. Get off her," he spoke through gritted teeth.

"What's it to you, old man?" The boy rolled his eyes, his hand still wrapped around her as she pleaded at Hoseok with her eyes. Hoseok wasn't old! He wasn't even thirty yet! He hated this kid.

"It's not nice to forego consent, kid," he sneered, schooling his face into the coldest expression he could muster. It seemed to have worked because one look at Hoseok's face and the future sex offender had his hand to himself before he walked off with a huff. Hoseok glared at him as he disappeared in the opposite direction. Good riddance.

"Thank you so much!" Her voice was higher than it was now, a little spring to it that only comes from innocence as she looked at him with round eyes. "You're like my own personal superhero!"

Hoseok felt awkward. He never wanted to talk to her here. Running his hands through his hair, he smiled at her, throwing an awkward "Any time!" as he rushed away. The feeling in his gut was back and he had never been happier to want to throw up. The afternoon sun faded as he stood in his own room, blinded and running to where he knew his trash can was.

As he vomited into the plastic can, he felt a hand rub soothingly down his back. She handed him a water bottle when he sat up next to the bin, his head aching.

"Welcome back, babe. When did you go this time?" She giggled at her own joke. God, Hoseok loved that laugh.

----------

Hoseok was nervous. He hadn't been this nervous in a really long time. Surrounded by all his friends dressed in custom tuxedos, he fidgeted with his bowtie, and scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror he fixed the lapels of the blood-red jacket he was wearing. Who convinced him this gaudy suit was perfect for the occasion? Oh yeah, his bride.

Jung Hoseok thought he'd accomplish a lot of things by the time he was thirty-one. He thought he would have signed to a major label as an in-house producer (he did), he thought he would be living in a beautifully decorated apartment downtown (he does), he thought he would have a cute little dog to welcome him home (Mickey is adorable, in case you were wondering), but he never thought he would be waiting at the end of the aisle for someone who would want to share their life with him.

Ever since she came into his life, Hoseok felt like it was filled with sunshine. She brightened every aspect of it. The first time he kissed her, really kissed her, it felt like happiness was resonating through his entire skeleton - like she was the one thing missing in his world. The first time he told her he loved her he almost threw up from the nerves knotting in his stomach.

He promised himself he wouldn't cry, but he couldn't help himself as she walked in. She had foregone the usual white gown, quoting something about the patriarchy, as she walked towards him in a dress, equally as red as his suit.

Her smile was wide and he was in awe of her beauty. He sniffled through his vows and she winked at him through hers, a simple gesture that made him chuckle and relaxed the emotions brewing in him. She could always do that with the simplest of things, be it a touch or a look. He kissed her with passion as their friends and family cheered. He hoped she didn't mind how much he was blubbering. He promised himself he wouldn't cry.

Their wedding was one of the best moments of his entire life. Dancing to cheesy music, cheek to cheek, the couple in red stood out amongst others in black. Hoseok was so in love that he didn't even mind when at the end of the night he felt the familiar buzz in his ears. He was slightly upset that he abandoned his new wife on his wedding night, but is it abandonment when the hotel lobby fades into what he knows now is his future home?

He saw her there, sitting on the couch, a frown on her face as she seemingly stared into space, dressed in a set of comfy pajamas and he couldn't control himself. Whispering her name so as not to startle her, he moved towards her when she smiled up at him. Sitting next to her on the couch, he pulled her to him with a grin. She giggled as she settles herself on his lap, running her hands over his jacket, before soothingly scratching his scalp. Hoseok couldn't help but lean into her touch, a goofy grin on his face. He was sickeningly in love.

"If it isn't my handsome new husband. I've been waiting for my wedding night for years." She joked as she pulled his face to hers, kissing him deeply. Hoseok's heart lurched in his chest as a little whine escaped him. She isn't surprised in the least to see him there, and why would she be? In the past five years, Hoseok has visited so many different versions of her. In a way, it's part of how he fell in love with her. She may only be thirty-one to him, but he'd seen her at every stage of her life.

As she deepened their kiss, his hands went around her waist squeezing her tight as she ground on him gently. He remembers the different versions of her as he feels his blood rush through his body, each touch sparking electricity under his skin. He remembered when he first laid eyes on her in that small cafe, his nerves on their first date, her tears when he proposed, the first time he had her under him after she invited him for a movie. But he also remembered her at six playing in the sandbox in the park, sixteen and humming to pop songs while she walked home, thirty-six as she cried in his arms, seventy when she looked frayed and weak but still beautiful. He had seen all of her life, moments that he was lucky enough to be brought to more often as he fell more in love with her. He had visited her hundreds of times, and he couldn't wait to do that for the rest of his life.

He kissed down her neck, leaving little bites that he soothed with his tongue as she undressed him, his jacket somewhere on the floor, his shirt mostly buttoned. She moaned as he cupped her breasts, a beautifully airy noise that set his heart on fire.

Soon the two were breathless and naked as he hovered above her on the couch. She arched into him as he entered her, her little whines encouraging him. He latched his lips on her hard nipples, nipping them how he knows she loves. She fit him so perfectly, always so perfect for him. His wife, his soulmate, his Y/N.

"I love you, wife," he whispered and placed his forehead on hers, his hips thrusting into her heat, as he relished the connection between them. He kissed her deep, almost overwhelmed by how perfectly their lips slotted together. He could kiss her forever.

"I love you, husband," she whispered into his mouth, and his pace increased, a hand coming down to rub at her clit. She writhed under him as he pushes her off the edge. Her legs shaking around him, her heels poking into his back, as he savored the way her walls pulled him in. He was panting when he came, filling her up and babbling a chant of her name.

He pecked her face about a thousand times as they both laid on the couch boneless and giggling. When he, inevitably, ends up back on his bedroom floor, he saw her smirking at his naked body on the floor, dressed in his t-shirt, her hair still wet from her shower. She squatted next to him.

"And where is your suit?" she chided, her lips lifting, even when she tries to pretend she's mad.

"We'll get it back in a few years." Hoseok shrugged as he pulled her into a kiss, missing her body next to him already.

----------

The bar Hoseok sat at is loud, too loud for the conversation Yoongi keeps trying to have with him, and that's precisely why he chose it. Next to their table is a bachelorette party, a gaggle of women dressed in feather boas and plastic tiaras, sloshing drinks on themselves as they excitedly laugh. It's an odd contrast to the way he's feeling, the atmosphere on his own table somber.

"So what? You're going to leave your wife at home and get wasted here? Is that what you do now, Hobi?" Yoongi scolded his friend but Hoseok was already too far gone, having had a few bottles of beers before even inviting Yoongi out. He knew he was an asshole, he didn't need Yoongi to remind him, but he needed to escape.

His once happy marriage was becoming tumultuous, and, no it wasn't because they didn't love each other anymore, but quite the opposite. The past two years had really shown him that even if they were fighting and yelling, they still loved each other. Even when they were mad they crawled into bed together at the end of the day and held each other, not being able to sleep otherwise.

Their marriage started off great. There were cuddles in the kitchen, dance parties in the living room, vacations in Rome, and a night where they both sat next to each other on the floor by the bathroom holding hands as they waited with a little blue stick. They made love on that floor when it showed two lines, but that wasn't a surprise - Hoseok had seen his child in that photo the first time he kissed her.

The surprise was when she woke him up in the middle of the night, thirteen weeks into the pregnancy clutching her stomach, tears running down her face. He had never felt as scared as he did at that moment, breaking all the traffic laws he could get away with to get her to the emergency room. He held her hand through the ultrasound, through the exam where she winced, and through the doctor solemnly telling them they had had a miscarriage. He didn't let himself cry in front of her, always wanting to be brave, but he sobbed when she slept, knowing that he had a child but gaining little solace from the fact as he mourned.

The second time the two lines showed up, they were careful. He waited on her hand and foot, working from home, ensuring she got the proper nutrients. The result was another trip to the emergency room and another night of tears holding each other. By the fourth time, they stopped being surprised, just two zombies driving calmly to the hospital, before returning home. She went to the bedroom, while Hoseok drank himself into a stupor, before asking Yoongi to meet him here.

Hoseok knew he had a child, but he felt hopeless, drowning in the undercurrent of hurt and apathy. He loved his wife, loved her more than anything in the world but he couldn't bear to look at her tonight, couldn't bear to convince her once again that he had seen their child. Maybe they adopted he thought bitterly as he switched from beer to shots.

He walked home in a drunken haze despite Yoongi's worried insistence that he take a cab. Somewhere during his walk, he had started crying, tears painting his face and sending shivers down his body as they cooled in the evening chill. He wished he could fix it for her, she was always so brave, always so supportive of his stupid ideas and moods. Every time they had a fight, she was the first to apologize, a smile on her face as she cracked a joke and tickled him till all his worries were forgotten.

Drowning in self-pity, he barely noticed the buzz in his ears as he entered his house. Stumbling into the living room he saw her sitting on the couch with a cup of tea. He stared at her as he realized he was in the future, her hair greying, and her skin wrinkled. He didn't know how to react, but the tears returned as he rushed to her falling on his knees as he held onto her legs.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." He apologized again and again. He didn't care that this version of her wasn't the one that needed to hear him, but he felt like a terrible husband, a terrible partner, as he kissed her knees. She stroked his hair and shushed him with a soft smile.

"What happened, Hobi?" she asked, her voice gentle, and he felt all his walls come down as he told her things he was sure already knew. He felt exhausted, every cell in his body aching. He laid on the couch, head in her lap as she listened to him, consoling him with the wisdom of a life lived.

After he had fallen silent, sober, and unable to convey any more emotions, she spoke.

"Hobi. You have to be nicer to yourself. You were the perfect husband. The perfect soulmate." Her words were meant to be soothing, but as soon as he heard them he felt like ice was running through his veins. He sat up immediately, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Were?"

"I shouldn't have said anything..." She looked guilty, hurt crossing across her features, as she ran her hands up and down his arms.

"No! Y/N... I die?" His voice was small, almost timid towards the end of the sentence, as he held her hands to ground himself.

"I'm sorry, baby." Her eyes glistened as she cupped one of his cheeks, looking at him sadly.

"When?"

"I'm not telling you. You'll go insane." She was firm in her resolution, her tone taking cadence that she always used with him when declaring the end of a conversation. But Hoseok couldn't help himself. He was going to die, he was going to leave her. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

"I'm already going insane! You have to tell me. What if I can stop it? We can be together. I don't want to leave you!" He pleaded, his eyes wide in panic.

"Hobi... You've never left me. You visit so often." She spoke with a small smile, seemingly reminiscing.

"Please! Please or else I'll go every day knowing it's my last with you. I - I can't do that. Please." He was almost whining at his point and he didn't care how desperate he sounded. He just wanted to know how much time he had with her. He was so stupid, how could he leave to get drunk while she waited for him at home. He didn't deserve the way this version of her was looking at him with such love.

"I barely even remember when it happened." He knew she was lying, could see it from the way her gaze averted his. Hesitantly she continued. "I'll... I'll just tell you. It's the day after you see yourself for the first time."

"See myself?" He repeated, his brain running through his memories. He would have remembered if he saw himself. It would be hard to forget, but he came up empty, tears of frustration lining his eyes as he ran his hand through his hair.

"That's all you told me. That you saw yourself and you felt bad for not being able to give yourself advice."

"I won't ever leave you. I promise. I'll come back. As much as I can." He kissed her at that, repeatedly, her lips soft under his. She knew he couldn't control his ability, but she smiled at him anyway, agreeing with his promise, telling him she'll see him soon, even if she had no idea if that was true.

When he was transported back to his room, he couldn't help himself from heaving on the floor, the contents of his stomach painting the hardwood. As always, she rushed to him, wiping his tears and walking him to the bathroom. She helped him change, before cleaning up after him, despite his protests, as she glared at him every time he tried to sit up from the bed.

When she returned from putting the cleaning supplies away, she shut the door to their bedroom, and there, on the hook behind it, hung his wedding suit, the crimson a bright splash of color amongst the white. She followed his eyes, giggling a little.

"You already made up for being an ass, don't worry," she joked, fingers poking at his side to tickle him gently.

Hoseok had missed her laugh. Missed it so much. He cut her off before she could say anything else, whispering apologies against her lips. He was never going to leave her.

---------

He was in a park, the trees throwing looming shadows under the moonlight as he walked around. He recognized this park, it was the one near her childhood home. She had taken him there during their first Christmas together, and he still remembered the silly grin on her face as she showed him the sandbox where she used to spend all her days as a kid, making sandcastles. He smiled at the memory. It was the first time in a while that his time travels hadn't taken him straight to her and he missed not being able to see which part of her life he was visiting.

He walked about reminiscing about his day. It was his daughter's third birthday and he felt a little bad leaving his wife to clean up the mess. He couldn't believe Soojin was three already. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through photographs as he waltzed down memory lane. He smiled softly at the photo from the day she was born. She was so tiny then, her little, pink heart-shaped lips in a pout as she stretched, her eyes almost disappearing beneath her chubby cheeks.

He kept his eyes glued to his phone, looking at photo after photo. There was one of her covered in mushed peas and he remembered how long it took him to get the mess out of the living room rug. There was one of her dressed as spiderman who she had declared her favorite recently after watching the cartoon on Netflix, doing the signature web-shooting pose. There was one of holding on to her mom as she walked for the first time. Hoseok's heart felt full, and he couldn't wait to get back home.

He decided to keep up with the tradition of seeing his wife every time he skipped through time and started walking towards her house, deciding to take the shortcut she had shown him. Humming a little, he placed his hands in his pockets as he strolled along, thinking about the delicious cake he had custom ordered for the party. He could probably eat the whole thing. Would it taste as good after it's been in the fridge?

His musings came to a quick stop however as he looked into the distance, just at the exit of the wooded path. There, dressed in a yellow sweatshirt with a giant dog on the front and jeans that didn't quite reach the ankles, was an eight-year-old boy. He walked closer and his heart stopped as he saw himself for the first time. He was crying, sniffling in the air, and as Hoseok approached his younger self, he vanished into the air.

He felt the air leave his lungs as he stumbled in his steps, falling on to the ground.

"That's all you told me. That you saw yourself and you felt bad for not being able to give yourself advice."

No. It's too soon. He couldn't collect his thoughts as they rushed through his head barely leaving a trace. When he had that conversation four years ago he thought he had more time. Soojin was just three years old. He thought he would have years, that he would see graduations and intimidate boyfriends, and walk her down the aisle. It's too soon.

He could feel himself hyperventilating, his breaths short and his ears echoing with his heartbeat, as he tried to collect himself. He looked at his hands shaking in his lap and his eyes focused on his outfit. How could he have forgotten what the man in his memory was wearing? He put on these ripped jeans this morning, the same jeans that haunted him for the first sixteen years of his life. How could he have not realized that he was the creepy old man he had nightmares about as a kid?

Trying to control his breathing, he started to formulate a plan. He didn't want Y/N to know, he didn't want her to go through the emotions he was going through right now, because she would go through so much worse when he was gone. He sat in the park and let himself cry, hoping that he wouldn't have to leave soon because leaving meant saying goodbye and he was not ready yet. It's too soon.

---------

Hoseok awoke with a sinking feeling in his heart and a lump in his throat. It was the day he had been dreading since before he learned her name. He hated that he didn't have enough time. Enough time to hold her, enough time to watch his daughter grow up, enough time to build a bigger family.

He found the other side of the bed empty and standing up with a groan, he moved to the room next door. He stroked his daughter's cheek a tear spilling out his eye that he quickly wiped. Bending down, he kissed her little cheek, sniffing her calming scent.

"Daddy loves you, baby. Daddy will always love you. Please be good for your mommy okay?"

She only moved a little at his words, sighing before continuing to snooze. Hoseok ran his hands over his face, his heartbeat accelerating. He looked at the mirror in the corner and practiced his smile a few times. He had to be brave. He had to be brave for her, for both of them.

He walked into the kitchen, schooling his expression into one of bliss, as he saw her standing in her underwear and one of his t-shirts, and his heart felt hollow. He loved her so much. He hated that he had to leave this way, but that was his fate from the beginning, wasn't it? Their whole relationship, everything, started from and led to this moment. Padding over to her, he put his arms around her squeezing her tight, his chest molding perfectly to her back as it always did.

She giggled as she leaned into him, softly caressing his arms and making him nuzzle further into her neck. He took in her delicate scent and tried to control his breathing. He could not break.

"Someone's cuddly this morning," she commented, turning around with a grin.

"I just love you, that's all."

She cooed as he brought his lips to hers. What he intended to be a gently good morning kiss, turned into so much more as he lost control of his emotions. He kissed her like he would forget her taste, but it wasn't him who would be dwelling on this moment for years to come.

When the two broke apart, he cupped her cheek as he felt the familiar buzz in his ears.

"You know I love you more than anything in the world right?" He whispered before he started to see his kitchen fade away.

Her voice echoed as he was teleported into a dark room, momentarily blinded.

"Aww, I love you too, my Hobi!"

He fumbled around a little and then he heard it - a loud gunshot, shattering his eardrums. The sound hurt more than the sudden sharp pain in his chest, he thought, as he gasped for air, stumbling to the ground. The lights in the room turned on then and he saw the younger version of his father in law, demanding something, his voice inaudible.

She never told him details about this moment, but kind of fitting that it was in the hands of her father. He never did like Hoseok much anyway. His breaths felt shallow as he chuckled at the irony. Or was it justice? Karma? He didn't know. Nevermind, his chest hurt far more than his eardrums. Fuck, being shot is a bitch.

He felt the nauseous pull for the last time as he dropped into his bedroom. The last thing he saw was his wife  rushing over to him. Oh, she was so beautiful, he was so lucky she chose him.

For being a time-traveler Hoseok’s life was full of regrets but the one thing he would never regret was meeting her, even if that was the reason he lost her.

—

I hope you liked this super sad angst piece, for more fics of mine check out my masterlist

[prismartist]

Haul Away Jay

Fandom: Just Roll With It (Riptide)

Words: 3175

CW: implied/referenced character death

Relationships: Chip & Jay Ferin & Gillion Tidestrider

Summary: Jay is bored. Very, very bored. So, understandably, she tries to find a way to entertain herself.

She wasn't quite expecting the entertainment to come in the form of a song and dance, or that the other two would be roped into it.

None of them are complaining, though.

A/N: @tokencishetchip idk if you remember but you asked to be tagged for this a little while back !! here's the albatrio having fun with a sea shanty :D

Ao3

– – –

If there was anything that Jay Ferin knew as she leaned on the railing of the Albatross one peaceful day, watching the sun slowly set beyond the horizon, it’s that she was unmistakably, undoubtedly, incredibly, and painfully, bored.

Maybe it was the juxtaposition of the current situation to cursed islands, cursed casinos, or crewmates being dumbasses (well, that wasn't really a curse, but it sure felt like one sometimes), but standing on a boat in the middle of an endless calm sea under an endless calm sky wasn’t the most exciting event in the world.

Jay let out a sigh that floated out onto the indifferent blue water. She heard Gillion shout something from atop the crow’s nest, and Chip shouting back in turn as he walked down from the helm and started lighting the lamps. It was nice to see the two working in harmony.

Old man Earl was nowhere to be seen, probably in the kitchen making dinner and more orange juice. Jay was looking forward to that the most right now. She wasn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

Well, she thought as she redirected her attention back to the ocean, if only they could find the adventure they all hoped for.

Her mind drifted in an attempt to entertain herself, going back to her days in the tavern. She had spent hours there working her butt off for loud, gruff soldiers, laying down in bed afterwards and thinking that her aching bones and five hours of sleep weren’t worth it. Over time she had learned to ignore the exhaustion, but compared to the adrenaline-inducing fights and rewarding victories she experienced now, Jay didn’t miss it.

Suddenly, a melody started to creep into her mind, a tune that she didn’t expect to hear in a long while. While tied to the memory of the tavern, the feeling the song settled in her is calm, comforting even. Jay closed her eyes, allowing herself to listen to it.

Apple sang serenely as she sat on the crow’s nest, and her chirps melded into the melody that Jay now recognized.

It was an old sea shanty, one that Jay often heard from the navy soldiers that frequented the tavern. She recalled memories of drunk men singing joyously, unprofessional in their performance, as if they were celebrating being freed from their ruthless job even for a night. Sometimes though, the way they would sing would come out soft and genuine as they sat in relative sobriety after a hard-fought battle, reflecting as the first few hours of the dawn crept up behind them and the orange rays shone on the mournful men. Jay would look on, almost in awe, unable to believe these were the same people who maimed and killed and imprisoned.

Jay hummed the beginning of the tune to the best of her abilities, and did not notice Chip cast a curious glance at her. She faltered as she lost the words, struggling to remember.

How did it go again…?

Oh. Right.

“Oh maiden, oh maiden, the love to I,” Jay sang softly. “I adore the shimmer, the shimmer, the shine in your eyes.”

She smiled and started to continue, but was cut off suddenly by the sound of Chip’s voice. Her eyes flew open and she turned in his direction, having half a mind to snap at him, but stopped upon realizing what exactly he was saying.

Or, rather, singing.

“It enamours, enamours, thy light to my life.” Chip was as surprised as Jay, eyes wide as he continued easily as if by instinct. His voice was surprisingly smooth and not all that bad. “Thy touch, carries, it carries, my soul to the sky.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, processing what had just happened.

Jay tilted her head, and spoke, “How do you-”

“I-it’s a song, I– the Black Rose Pirates used to sing it all the time.” Chip saw a small flash of a memory, of fireflies fluttering around in hanging terrariums, of voices chanting the same song as Chip joined in. He gestured a bit wildly, as if he was trying to swat away the image. “You?”

“I heard it in the tavern a lot.” Jay chuckled, a little in disbelief. “I guess it’s more popular than I thought.”

Chip vaguely remembered being lifted into the air by a laughing Arlind, teasing him for messing up a line, the golden glow overhead. “I guess so-”

“And my love! I swear in the sun and the rain!” The booming voice of Gillion Tidestrider rang down, causing Chip and Jay to look up and see the Triton slide down the pole, landing with a flourish. He straightened and completed the verse in a perfect baritone. “That someday, our hands will intertwine once again.”

Gillion grinned at the other two’s astonished faces. “That's an oversea song, is it not? My sister taught it to me. I much enjoy it as well.”

Chip turned to Jay. “So definitely more popular than you thought,” he said.

“Yeah,” Jay muttered, feeling a grin grow on her face. “A little different in some places, but yeah.”

She found herself tapping her fingers against the boat to the beat of the shanty and humming the post-verse interlude. Gill and Chip noticed as well, and their eyes trained on her, silently assigning her the role of the shantyman.

Jay tensed up upon noticing. She’s not used to performing, especially in front of an audience (could you call two people an audience?). It’s far from one of her strong suits.

But after a moment of contemplation, she eventually decided that, fuck it, it’s time to sing.

They started this ballad, they might as well finish it.

“Oh damsel, oh damsel, my heart belongs to thee.” Her voice cracked a bit on the high note, which Chip snickered at, but Jay merely shot him a dirty look and continued. “If you are troubled, so troubled, you must only call on me.”

“And though it rages, it rages, the condescending sea,” Chip joined in, his smirk slowly morphing into a genuine smile.

“For you I know my journey will succeed,” he finished, noticing Gillion’s voice join in. Chip glanced at him for a second before letting out a soft chuckle.

Jay started stomping on the boat to get the beat going. To her delight, Chip clapped rhythmically and Gillion followed both their suits. Energized, Jay hummed louder.

“And my love, I swear in the waves and whirlpools,” all three sang together, “Soon we will meet and once again become whole.”

With a laugh, Jay skipped closer to the center of the ship. She spun and gestured, mimicking the dances she had observed at Loffinlot, imagining a band accompanying her as she sang as loud as she could.

La, la la la, la la la, la la la.

Gillion was quick to join her, imitating her dance. His heavy boots threatened to break the wood they danced on, but Jay only cared for the lovely bass beat and snare they happened to offer. She grinned at him approvingly, and Gill grinned back.

Off to the side, Chip hung back, providing the main melody.

“Oh lover, oh lover, don’t you dare cry.” Jay reached out a hand to Gillion, who took it. “But laugh and laugh under the pristine blue sky.” She raised it and lead him in a spin. “And never, oh never, would I ever lie. I wish nothing more than for us to reunite!”

Gillion grabbed Jay by the waist, catching her off-guard, but as he lifted her into the air, she loosened up and cheered, feeling the song come to an end.

When she landed, Jay made a show of dusting herself off before bowing to Gillion. Gill, ever the gentleman, bowed back, and Jay giggled.

She looked over to Chip, leaning against the railing and watching with a rather deflated smile. Jay raised an eyebrow. That didn’t look right.

Absent-mindedly tapping his toes, no longer minding the beat, Chip stewed deep in his thoughts. Seeing his friends dance their hearts out was a nice scenario, don’t get him wrong, but despite the undeniable want to join in the festivities, there was a hesitance that Chip couldn’t quite get over. Maybe it’s the weird ache when he remembered voices that he’d never hear again. Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to interrupt the others’ joy. Who knew. Chip sure didn’t.

And Chip definitely didn’t know why the sight of Jay marching towards him made him panic.

“Hey,” Jay said, and Chip immediately heard the over-friendliness in her voice. “What’re you doing, moping in the corner? You said you and the Black Rose Pirates sang this all the time, right?” She leaned forward and locked eyes with Chip, who tensed up. “So, show us what you got.”

She daintily held out a hand, and with it, a challenge. “Dance with us.”

Chip’s eyes grew impossibly wide as his face flushed. “Oh, nah, nahh, that’s okay, I’m really not a dancer,” he stammered. “And you guys are already done with the song, so I really don’t-”

“Gill.” Jay smirked. “Take the beat.”

“Wha-”

“On it!” Gillion grinned with sharp teeth and began to stomp and clap again. He hummed deeply, the tune once again emanating through the ship.

“Jay,” Chip begged, taking a step back. “I don-”

“Nope, round two, coward!”

“Ja-AAAAY!”

Chip yelped as Jay grabbed his arm and dragged him to the newly appointed dance floor, guiding his kicking and screaming form into one of dance. She took one of Chip’s hands and held it up, putting her other hand on his shoulder. “Your free hand on my waist,” she reminded him, ignoring his confused sputtering. “And one, two, three, go.”

She lead the dance in a sort of wild, messy foxtrot, stretching their clasped hands in the direction they move in, side skipping energetically. Chip stumbled at first, caught off-guard, but he quickly adjusted to her same pace, glancing at the ground to make sure he was keeping up. Seeing his face relax and the corners of his mouth quirk up, Jay smiled at him encouragingly.

“Sing, shantyman, it’s your turn,” she said.

Chip’s expression turned into horror once again, gulping as he scrambled to remember the words in time for the melody.

“O-oh maiden, oh maiden, the love to I,” sang Chip.

“I adore the shimmer, the shimmer, the shine in thy eyes,” he and Jay sang together.

“It enamours, enamours, thy light to my li-IIFE, JAY!” Chip screamed as Jay gave him a spin, laughing at his surprised shriek. “Jay, don’t just spin me without warning!”

“You’re being sloppy, shantyman,” Jay teased. “Keep up with the song.”

Chip glared, but continued nonetheless, “And my love, I swear in the sun and the rain.”

Jay gave him another spin, but this time, Chip didn't miss a beat. He gave Jay a smug, triumphant look. Jay raised an eyebrow in turn, admittedly impressed.

“That someday, our hands will intertwine once again!”

“Alright, nice,” Jay complimented, grinning widely.

Chip caught a mischievous glint in her eye, and his face consequently fell.

“One more spin, pretty boy!”

Before he could protest, Jay suddenly spun Chip away with a greater force than before, and the world around him became a blur, the air swirling with the sound of Jay’s devilish voice.

“Gillion,” he heard her yell, “catch!”

And Chip is spun into the arms of Gillion, who beamed at Chip’s very red face.

“Come, Chip.” Gill took both of Chip’s hands. Chip, still trying to recover from the jarring switch of partners, only blinked down at their now clasped fingers. “It is our turn.”

“Oh my god.” Chip laughed nervously.

Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp.

“Oh damsel, oh damsel, my heart belongs to thee,” Jay belted as Chip and Gillion figured out their dance. “If you’re troubled, oh so troubled, you must only call on me.”

The other two started to push and pull in tandem, reminiscent of a cha-cha with a bit more energy and spins thrown in every once in a while. They surprisingly guided each other with more harmony and grace than Jay expected.

“And though it rages, it rages, the condescending sea.” Gillion leapt and circled with Chip, almost lifting the latter off the ground. “Just for thou I know that my journey shall succeed!”

“Gill, calm down!” Chip chuckled, partly in amusement and partly in fear, as he started to lose his footing.

Jay looked on, not ignorant to the warm fuzzy feeling in her chest, the beat pulsing along with the adrenaline in her veins.

“And my love, I swear in the waves and whirlpools, soon we will meet and once again become whole.”

Soon she joined them, whooping as she jogged, and they welcomed her with wide smiles, one pair of hands separating to reach out. Jay took the offer to form an interconnected circle, spinning and bobbing as they shared the melody. They sang, as loud as they could, filling the air with a joyful energy.

“Oh lover, oh lover, don’t you dare cry,” Chip started.

The others joined in. “But laugh and laugh under the pristine blue sky.”

And laugh they did, the pure euphoria of indulging in fond memories emitting from them. They stumbled and laughed through mistakes, put their all into the performance, harmonising wonderfully.

Jay caught Pretzel doing somersaults in her globe and Apple circling the crew, chirping the tune with them. She’s reminded of a joking conversation about starting a band. Perhaps they had a chance after all, she thought amusedly. Gillion and the Tidestriders. Chip and the Bastards. Jay and the Dumbass Bluebirds. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Now, though, they were simply three friends, holding hands and dancing, rattling the wood of the ship without a care, singing a sea shanty that they all happened to know.

The stars slowly flooded the darkening sky and twinkled at them like they were dancing along.

To one, the fresh air, the touch of familiar calloused hands that had fought alongside her, and the spray of the ocean was a welcoming contrast to past memories of stuffy spaces and dispassionate work. To another, though the memory was a bit painful, it still brought him the same comforting feeling from years ago, sharing laughter and celebration in a tight kinship that was expected in that of crewmates, deepening the bond with experiences that were not just in battle, but in recreation. And to another still, it was a reminder of a time when he was desperate to learn the oversea culture, and that he still remained ever so curious now as he learned its differences and similarities to his world, forming relationships with its inhabitants, people who were perhaps not as cruel as the elders had suggested.

Those who share such joyous experiences with others must not be that selfish, after all.

“And never, oh never, would I ever lie. I wish nothing more than for us to re-u-nite!”

Jay grinned up at the sky as they hummed the outro melody, a gust of wind sweeping down on them and carrying their voices away, out onto the shimmering waters.

La, la la la, la la la, la la la…

A tug from Jay led the trio up in one final leap, whooping and cheering with the others as they followed. And once their feet landed simultaneously with a bang, the song ended.

As the rush receded from her mind, the pumping blood in her ears quieting down, Jay took in the sound of the waves crashing up against the ship and her heaving breaths. She looked up at the now star-filled sky, wondering when it got so dark. She allowed her hand to slip from her friends’ grasps, moving to lean on bended knee. Jay heard the other two breathing quite heavily as well, and even a plop as Chip seemed to collapse out of the corner of her eye. She followed suit, sprawling onto the wood and closing her eyes, catching her breath. Jay wasn’t extremely tired, but she needed to recuperate.

“Oh god, you kids just had to make a racket up here, didn’t ya?”

Jay breathed out a chuckle upon hearing the raspy voice. “Hi Earl.”

“We were partying, Old man Earl!” Gillion said preppily, unsurprisingly not as out of breath as the others.

“Earl, you got…” A huff from Chip. “You got orange juice? Perhaps? Please?”

“Hmph, you’re fuckin lucky I do.”

Tired cheers chimed from the pirates.

“But you have to go down to get it with dinner. Chop chop.”

“Ohh, come onnnnn,” Chip whined, joining in with the groans of Jay.

“I’ve seen you work, you’re not that tired,” Earl scoffed. “Maybe you shouldn’t have wasted all your energy on destroying the ship! And your vocal chords.”

“Hey, I don’t think we sounded that bad,” Jay said.

“Whatever, just come down and have dinner, I’m definitely not hefting everything up here.” Earl barked out a laugh and proceeded to go back down, ignoring the cries of Jay and Chip.

Soon Gillion’s face popped into Jay’s view. “Are you alright, Jay?” He glanced over. “Chip?”

“I’m coming around,” Jay assured. She stretched her arms up, making grabby hands. “Pull me up?”

Gillion complied, grabbing her arms and lifting her, though at a faster-than-preferred pace. Jay let out a yelp as she got back on her feet before stretching with a groan.

“Thanks, Gill.”

“Hey Giiiilll? Big man? Can I go next?”

Jay looked to Chip, who also had outstretched arms. Gillion walked to him and helped him up as well.

“Thanks, buddy.” Chip patted Gill on the back.

“No problem. Honestly, I did not think you would tire out so easily.”

“Well we need to gain back our energy, then,” Jay said, starting to follow Old man Earl.

“Hey, uh, Jay, um.” Chip caught her attention, and she turned back to see him with a raised hand. He moved it to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. “That was… that was fun.”

“I agree,” Gillion said with a nod. “I was reminded of some… rather fond memories, actually. And it was a good exercise. We should do it more.”

“Yeah, yeah actually, same. I agree.” Chip looked up at Jay, his face rather tentative. “So, thanks for that, I guess.”

Jay smiled. “You’re welcome, dweeb,” she jabbed. “You’re being more affectionate than usual, but I appreciate it.”

“Hey, don’t call me a dweeb!” Chip’s expression morphed into one of offense. “I just thanked you, that’s so insensitive of you. That’s actually insensitive.”

“I let you fulfill your showman dreams, you’re the one being insensitive right now.”

“Showman- hey, I actually like the sound of that.”

“Yeah you would, you drama queen.”

“You’re calling me dramatic? Have you seen Gill?”

The sound of bickering paired with Gillion’s oblivious chimes trailed below the deck, leaving a fond memory to the glittering dark waters and the twinkling stars still dancing along.

[sherrybaby14]

Still Feel Alive

Request:  Perhaps for Geralt, you could have the reader be effected by an Incubus. I have no idea of the lore of the games and how that would play into this, but I can totally see Geralt killing the Incubus and then finding it's victim. Now he's gonna help them before the Incubus' venom kills them? Supernatural Sex Pollen Hoo! 

Pairing:  Geralt x reader

Warnings:  Smut, dubcon (Cause of the incubus effects), Sex pollen-ish 

Words: 3k

A/N:  I did not follow The Witcher Incubus lore.  Instead, I just made my own.  

The rush of the evening dwindled.  Now all that was left were a handful of regulars.  You glanced around the room, table after table needed busing.   You tucked your rag into your apron and grabbed the tub.  

“He’s making you clean tables now?”  Landid stood up from his chair.  “Who will serve us our drinks?” 

“Pour your own.”  You shook your head as you rounded the bar into the dining room.  “And I sent the rest of the wait staff home for the evening.  We were slow.”  

“You trust me to serve myself?”  Landid’s eyes went wide with awe. 

“Come now.”  You laughed.  “You are my best customer.  If you stole you would never be allowed back.  I imagine you would rather face death than that fate.” 

“Right you are.”  Landid shrugged and took a sip.  

You put your bin on the first table and gathered all the dirty dishes then moved on to the next until the bin was overflowing.  A groan left your lips as you carried the thing with both arms.  

“Let me get the door at least.”  Landid jumped up and rounded the bar.  He pushed open the swing doors to the kitchen. 

“Thank you.”  You smiled at the man, trying not to roll your eyes.  You could have handled the doors yourself.  

You let out another groan as you set down the bin on the counter. 

“You know he is in love with you.”  The chef and owner walked over to you.  “Why not give the man the attention he desires?  He would make a proper husband.” 

“Aye.”  You started to empty the dishes into the basin of soapy water.  “It is I who would not make a proper wife.” 

“Why is that?”  Your boss helped wash the dishes.  “Poor love-sick Landid isn’t the only one.  I have watched mand after man approach you, and you rebuff every single one. Is it a woman you are after?”

The right person, male or female or witch or wizard or dragon or werewolf will catch my eye someday.” You smiled at him.  “And I will disappear without a trace..”  

“Ha! A werewolf?”  Your boss shook his head.  “Landid never stood a chance.”  

“I can close up.”  You wiped your hands.  “If you want to knock off early.”

“Let me finish up the kitchen.”  He pushed at you.  “Once it is clean back here, I will take you up on your offer.”    

The rest of the night would be boring.  You doubted a new soul would even walk through the door.  Just Landid and his pals until they drank their fill.   An easy night.  

You walked back out into the bar and your heart almost jumped in your throat.  A new person at the counter.   

“Did I frighten you my lady?”  The man wore a smile on his face, and what a face it was.  

Beautiful, with sharp features and shoulder-length black hair.  Slicked back away from his face.  Eyes so brown they were almost black, and skin smoother than you thought possible.   

“What can I get for you, Sir?”  You cleared your throat and approached the customer.  

“Toussiant Red.”  His head tilted as his eyes studied your face.  

That was the most expensive alcohol you sold.  A glance of the man up and down told you he could afford it.   

“Do you have it?”  His voice was smooth, it made your ear vibrate.  

“Uh.”  Your head felt a bit fuzzy, you shook it and you turned toward the alcohol.  “Yes.”

You went for the cabinet below and reached into the back. It felt like there was a weight on you, a shadow coming down.  You stood up and grabbed a glass.   The strange presence almost surrounding you, sending a chill to your bones.  

It wasn’t welcome.  Your body and mind tried to fight off the force.

“Strong.”  The stranger’s voice almost sounded like music.  

“Excuse me?”  You turned to face him, unsure if he was reading your mind.

“The wine.”  He nodded to the bottle.  “It is a strong varietal.”  

“Yes.”  You gave a nervous laugh, feeling silly.  “Not a frequent purchase here.”  

“What is frequent here?”  His lips turned into a twisted smile.  

You blinked, feeling the slam of the shadow again.  Something was not right.  Had the dinner soured your stomach?  Was illness coming on?   It was spreading fast, bearing down on you.  

“Are you alright?”  Landid asked from the other end.  “Is this man bothering you?” 

Your attention turned to Landid.  The distraction was an error.  Your attention was not on battling off the sickness and you gasped as it crept in.  Horror flooded your veins, but then in a moment it vanished and a clarity spread over you.  In fact, you felt good.

“No.”  Your voice was confident as you turned back to the stranger.  “He is not bothering me.”

So handsome.  So beautiful, even with the offputting grin.  He rose from his seat and walked to the end of the bar, signaling for you to do that same.  

When you met you looked up at him, his eyes dancing as they looked down at yours.  

“Would you like to get out of here?”  He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.  “With me?”

“Yes.”   There was no other answer in the world as if ‘yes’ was the only one in existence.  

“Come then.”  He took your hand and wove your fingers together, kissing the top.  “I have a horse waiting.”

“Hey!”  Landid was following you.  “Where are you going?” 

You did not respond, because you did not care.  The only this in the world that mattered was the stranger guiding you.  Stranger was not the right word for him,  no.  He felt like home.  

“Y/N.”  Landid was outside.  “What are you doing?” 

“Here we are.”  The man set you on a horse. 

“Where are you taking her?”   Landid yelled.  

“I am no concern of yours.”  You looked at Landid, the thoughts having no filter.  “I do not and will never love you.  Now fuck off.”

The words sounded cruel, nothing you would ever say to such a sweet man.  But the voice was your own.   Any misgivings vanished when your man swung his leg over the horse and secured his arm around your waist.  

“You hear the lady.”  He kicked the horse, turning away from the tavern.  “Fuck off.” 

With that, the animal took off and a smile spread on your face as you leaned into his chest, wanting nothing more than to melt into the stranger. 

~~

Geralt barely stepped inside when he knew this was the place with certainty.  

“Irresponsible of her.”  A man behind the bar was wiping it down.  “We were just talking about running off.  She said she would do it with the right person.”

“I am telling you.  Something was wrong.”  The younger man pleaded.  “It was not her.  Like he put some daze on her.  They barely spoke and she runs off with him?  Does that sound like her?” 

“She is impulsive.”  The elder man put his hands on the counter.  “Looking for a first love.” 

“Landid is correct.”  A third man caught Geralt’s eye.  

“Landid is a lovesick puppy.”  The older one hadn’t noticed.  “There are no magical monsters running off with women.  She left with him willingly.”

“Then why is a Witcher standing here?”  The third man pointed and all heads went to Geralt.  

The color drained from the older man’s face.  

“Witcher.”  Landid stepped forward.  “Please, a man enchanted my girlfriend.  They went off on a horse.  Headed north to the woods.”

“She is not your girlfriend.”  Geralt turned to the exit.  “And he was not a man.”  

He noticed the tracks on the way in.  The confirmation who they belonged to was the only information he was after.  

“She will be soon.”  Landid and the group followed him.  “Let me help you.  Assemble a search party.”

“You will slow me down.”  Geralt turned his horse and climbed up. 

“Will you bring her back safe?”  The man looked up at him.  “I love her.”

“If I can.”  Something in Landid’s face struck sympathy.  

“I know you feel no emotions, but my love for her.  It is pure and strong and genuine.”  Landid walked next to the horse.  

Of course.  Witchers felt no emotion.  Hearing that made a fire of rage go off inside of him.  The sympathy for Landid vanished.  

“If she loved you, an Incubus’ power would not affect her.”  Geralt grunted.  “And if you loved her, you would have formed that search party when they left. Not thirty minutes later.”

Landid looked dumbstruck.  Geralt kicked his horse and took off after the tracks.  Being the only rider would give him an advantage.   He hoped it was enough to close their distance and save the girl before the monster had his dinner.

~~

This was not right.  This was not you.  Riding off into the forest with a beautiful stranger?   Standing here, staring at nothing while he built a fire.  

“There.”  He set the pile of wood ablaze.  “I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Are you going to kill me?”  There was no inflection in your voice.

“Oh my, you are a strong one.”  He shook his head and took your hands.  

It felt like something was vibrating against your insides, seething back into your mind.  You whimpered, wanting to force it out, trying your hardest to not let it seep deeper.  

“Here.”  A finger was on your chin.  

You wanted to pull away but were frozen, lips were on yours.  Soft, plump, inviting.   A tongue flickered out and you parted your mouth, inviting the thing inside.  Rich, coppery liquid flooded your mouth.  

You squealed and tried to pull away, but his hand went to the back of your head.  He continued to kiss you,  You didn’t want to swallow but there was no keeping him out.   

Soon the vibrations merged, the coppery taste turning sweet.  He was a fantastic kisser, the best you had ever had.   Your body relaxed and you lifted your arms, grabbing a hold of his shirts with your fists, coaxing him to kiss you harder.  

“There.”  He pressed his forehead to yours.  “Much better now?”  

You let out a moan and pressed your lips to his again.   

“You’re going to taste delicious.”  His hands went to your skirts.  He kissed at your neck as you helped him take off your clothes, the fabric too hot and heavy for your skin.  “It’s been some time since I had a fighter.  Never one I had to use my blood on.”   

You stepped out of your bottoms and then took your shirt off, undoing the undergarments, the fire growing between your legs hotter than the flames next to you.       

“So smart and aware.”  It felt like you were floating as he laid you down on the forest floor.  “Quite the find.”  

“Please.”  You brought your hands between your bodies and began to tug at his pants.  “I need you.” 

“And you shall have me, darling.”  He went to his belt.  “I will devour you.”  

You through your head back as tingles spread down your body.  

“NO!”  You cried out as you sat up, the pressure from his body vanishing.  

You heard a large groan and saw him across the clearing, next to a tree.   Your vision began to blur and you blinked several times, swearing you saw horns.  

“Witcher!”  The horned creature seethed. 

“What?”  You looked to the other person, white-haired.  

“You interrupted  my meal.”  Everything started to turn.  

A sword was swung, slicing through the air.   You watched as best you could.  It looked like an angel fighting a devil.  

“Ahh!”  A cramp in your stomach formed. Hard. Tight.  Burn. 

You brought your hands between your legs, trying to add pressure, give some relief, but your parts were numb.  It felt like nothing was helping as you pulsed with want.   

Tears stung your eyes as another wave of pain came, your pussy clamping down on nothing, so empty, so painful.  

The fighting continued on in the background, but your blood grew hotter and hotter inside your veins.  It was turning into fire.  Only one thing would smother the flames.  

The two figures continued to grunt and scream as they battled each other.  You tried to reach out for them, form words, ask for help, but right now your body only had one function, making you hotter and hotter.  

A shriek erupted through the air.  You tried to open your eyes to see the victor, but they were blurry.  Everything was blurry.  

“Did you drink its blood?”  Hands touched your body, giving you a brief relief.  “Answer me.” 

“Made me.”  You were sat up and parted your lids, the white-haired victor holding your shoulders as he kneeled on the ground.  “Please.  Help me?” 

“Fuck.”  His hand touched your forehead.  “You’re burning up.”  

“Please.”  You collapsed forward, forming a ball against his chest.  “It hurts.  I need.”  

Your hands found his cock and you stroked it over his tight pants.  You didn’t know how, but you were certain this would ease you.  The dampness between your thighs agreed.  

“You smell so.”  He tightened and tried to back you away.  “Fuck.”

“Please.  I’ll do anything you like.  Just please?”  Your shoulder shook as you sobbed.  “It hurts.”  

 He was hard.  Eager for you as well.  You squeezed around his form with one hand while the other went to his belt.  

His hand came to yours about to push you away, but he paused.   You lifted your face to look at him.  Being close to the man brought back a fraction of your strength.  He was gorgeous with yellow eyes and fair skin.  

You were successful and his cock sprang free from his pants.  So hard for you.  You moaned in satisfaction, pinching your eyes shut in the process.  A step closer to your goal.  

Your lips found his chest and you kissed down his shirt, the fabric softer than you expected.   Your hands hit the ground and you backed away, staying on your kees as your tongue pulled away from his body, running down the top of his cock.

When you reached the tip you swirled around it, relaxing your jaw and swallowing him.  The precum on the tip making you moan when it hit your tongue.  The taste intoxicating.  Your body responded with another wave of need.  

“Your smell.”   His hands were on your shoulders and he pushed you off of him.  “I need more than your mouth.”  

With that his hands went to your hip as he pushed you back, falling on top of you and catching you both with his other palm.

Your back hit the dirt and you spread your legs as he slid his hand to his cock.  You looked up to see him coat himself in your juices, before pressing against your entrance.  

“Mmmm.”  You moaned as he pushed inside.   

The sight of his cock disappearing inside of you so erotic.   It looked like he was never going to finish as if more and more of him kept coming, but once he was fully satiated you let your head fall back.

In a second his lips were on yours.  You ran your hands through his hair as he rocked his hips, filling you with thick, hard thrusts.   

Every bit of cramp and pain you’d been feeling were replaced with pleasure.  The needs of your body being satisfied in every way possible.  Your exposed nerves that had betrayed your body now rewarded it with ecstasy.   

You started to roll against him, lifting your body in rhythm with his thrusts.   

“It has never felt like this.”  You broke the kiss as you panted.  

“I know.”  The man kissed your shoulder as his hand found your breast.  

You whimpered as he kneaded your chest, massaging and tugging at you until you were a stiff peak underneath him.  

Your hands found the top of his shirt and you began to tug.  Needing to feel his skin on yours.  Confirmation this was not a dream.  

He responded by lifting his body and stripping the fabric away.   Your eyes flared at the sight of him.  Gigantic and muscular.  A true prize.  

When he came back down your chests smashed together and your lips met again.  You both went into a frenzy, kissing and slamming into each other.   

A swirl began to form in your center.   Dragging every but of energy and being into a ball.  It grew and grew with each thrust.   You tried to keep up, to move your body steady with his, but you were growing weak and useless as the ball got tighter and tighter.  

Your lover responded by taking over.  He didn’t slow, in fact, the opposite, he went faster and faster, doing all of the work for the two of you. 

Just when you thought your mind was going to join the rest of yourself in your core the ball lit on fire.  An intense vibration went off as pleasure spread everywhere, your vision blackening as you convulsed underneath him.  

“Fuck.”  He ground down hard and joined you in the release.  

Your body collapsed and your head lulled to the side.  Sleep came instantly.  You were never before this satisfied. 

~~

When you woke in the morning you shoulder was sore.  You let out a little moan as you moved, a heavy arm covering your waist.  

Images on legs, arms, riding, fucking came to mind and your eyes popped open.   There was a chirp of birds and a long-dormant fire.  

You sat up and looked down at Geralt,  having taken a pause during one of your many times last night to at least learn the Witcher’s name.   The corners of your lips started to smile.  

His eyes opened as he looked up at you.  The same realization dawned on him as he sat up.   

“Good morning.”  You touched his shoulder.  

“Morning.”  He looked uncomfortable.  “Incubus blood has an effect.”  

“I figured that out.”  You smiled at his awkwardness.  “Thank you, for helping me.” 

“Ah, Uhm.”  He bit his lip.  

“The proper response is ‘you’re welcome’.”  You pressed on his shoulder, rolling him to his back and straddling him in the process. 

“What are you doing?”  He lifted his neck as you kissed your way down his chest.  

“Showing you that my mouth would’ve been enough.”  You licked your lips as a fire grew in his yellow eyes.  

You were grateful for him saving your life in more ways than one the last night.  You had every intention of repaying him every chance you were given.  

[liquorisce]

High School Years, Ch 3: aftermath.

pairing: eren x mikasa (SnK)

rating: M. (nsfw)

Summary: for eren and mikasa, love was easy; they'd loved each other forever. but physical attraction? that's a whole other story.

read on ao3 | chap 2 | chap 1

The morning after the… “confrontation���, when they walk to school, they hold hands. It's a new dimension of their ‘relationship’, and the thought of calling it that, of calling Eren her ‘boyfriend,’ is something that makes her feel so many things.

“So um,” she begins, squeezing his hand a little bit, soft pink dusting her cheeks, as he turns to look at her questioningly. “... Are we going to tell the gang?”

For the briefest moment he looks confused, but when he sees her shy expression, not spelling it out because she doesn’t know how to say it yet, his eyes widen in understanding. “Ah that you and I...,” he colours, just a little bit, because it wasn’t until the words were literally at the tip of his tongue, that he realizes he doesn’t know how to say it either.

She’d said it last night, called him her boyfriend, and it did things to him, making his heart constrict with a nervous kind of excitement. Because he was Mikasa’s boyfriend, and that was something of an honour.

But another part of him, the part that recognizes what it means for a high school kid, just finds it completely lacking, he doesn’t want to announce that he’s ‘dating’ Mikasa Ackerman, the word simply does not do it justice. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to hear her name in the gossip rings, from the mouths of shallow, boring girls who have little better to do than keep track of their high school reality show or from the dirty whispers of teenage boys who can’t control their hormones (if Eren is one of them, he doesn’t acknowledge it).

“... Maybe we could just keep it quiet? Just for a little while…” He watches her expressions searchingly, and she does that thing that she does, hides into her bangs when she doesn’t want him to see what she’s thinking and he panics, just a little.

“Hey, listen,” he stops her by the wrist, before they round the corner onto the street of their school.  “... It’s not that I want to hide it,” he whispers, resting his forehead against hers, because god forbid she thinks he’s embarrassed or ashamed or anything short of absolutely ecstatic, “You know that, right?”

She closes her eyes and she lets the waves of insecurity pass her by. Surely, there was nothing more to worry about. He’d made no secret of the depth of his feelings last night. “Mm-hmm.” She feels his minty breath cool on her lower lip and she reaches up to press her mouth against his. It’s tentative, the way she does it, reserved and shy but completely incomparable. It’s like everything she does, he thinks breathlessly, as he deepens the kiss. There’s no one like her.

She threads her hands into his already messed up hair, breathing harshly as she breaks away from his kiss. “I don’t mind,” she agrees, “... I think I’d like it to be just between us for a while…”

And because he’s so grateful that he’s in love with his best damn friend, who knows him and understands him like nobody else, he kisses her again… just because he can.

…

They know. He doesn’t know how they know, but they fucking know, and he mutters unhappily under his breath, “... fucking vultures, the whole lot of them.”

Armin smirks, not unsympathetically. They’d mutually decided to tell him (rather, he spotted them holding hands, and he’d almost cried in happiness), even though Eren had been somewhat sour about it, sulking when Mikasa had pointed out that they obviously needed to tell Armin. Eren was a brat, and a jealous one, especially where Mikasa was concerned, so despite having ample proof by now that the kiss between Armin and her had meant nothing, it remained a sore topic for him.

“Isn’t it easier this way? At least now you won’t have to stare down all the boys queuing up to ask for her number in the cafeteria.”

“... That’s not the point,” Eren sulks, even though he knows Armin has a point (he always does), the phenomenon he’d described was a canonical and frequent event that he actively loathes, because Mikasa was quite free with her personal details that way.

( It’s high school, Eren , she’d told him exasperatedly one day when he’d actually brought it up to her, if I don’t give them my number they’ll get it from someone else anyway. Besides, the block functionality is quite useful .)

Somehow Eren is fairly certain that knowing she was in a relationship wouldn’t be enough to deter potential suitors (/ fanboys) and as they walk towards their class, he spots the best example of this crass behaviour in none other than his horse faced friend chatting up his girlfriend, who seemed to be fairly liberal with her smiles.

Armin watches the scene from right next to him and snorts, barely able to contain his laughter. “... You’re so transparent, Eren.”

“Clearly the news hasn’t reached everyone,” he clears his throat, tearing his gaze away from the beauty and the beast, trying his best to remain civil and not scare his girlfriend away in less than 24 hours of them being, you know, together .

“This is what you wanted,” Armin reminds him, clapping his shoulder sportingly, barely able to contain his grin.

…

She tugs nervously at her hair, feeling ridiculously exposed despite the fluffy maroon scarf around her neck. She hadn’t been prepared for the events of yesterday, be it the emotional confession, or the heated kisses, or the possessive nips at her neck.

She certainly wasn’t prepared for the self consciousness that came with the marks he left on her, and had absolutely no knowledge of the make up skills required to cover it. (It hadn’t helped that it had taken Armin less than two minutes to spot the hickeys.)

But what she was least prepared for, is how almost everyone seemed to know, without her even having to open her mouth, and how they all seemed to have an opinion.

… Aw, but I was really counting on him getting back together with Krista… they were so cute…

… I wonder how long he’ll stay with this one…

… wait, Mikasa Ackerman? Aren’t they like practically siblings or something? Ewwww~

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to gag, or if she wanted to hide… or both.

She doesn’t hide. Because Mikasa Ackerman is a class act and despite feeling completely torn up listening to bitchy people talk about her like she does not possess hearing, she goes through the day looking outwardly untouchable.

But after trudging through the entire day of listening to absolute bullshit rumours and whispering, she’s pretty sure she feels a migraine incoming. Groaning to herself, as she takes out her notebook from her locker, she finds herself face to face with a chirpy voice that she once hated.

“... Hey,” Krista says, with a small smile. “... rough day, huh.”

Mikasa nods, it’s not that she dislikes the cute blonde in front of her (not too much, anyway), it’s just that today was not the day she wants to be visually reminded of her existence. Because watching her, in her white miniskirt and pink sweater, perfect blonde hair and her perfect smile, is reminiscent of all the days she hid in her room with only her insecurity for company.

“So um,” Krista begins, because Mikasa can be comfortable in her silence, just looking at Krista questioningly. “... Everyone’s talking about it, basically,” she blurts out, unable to help herself.

“And if you want to know whom to smack, it’s Hitch, because she says she saw you guys holding hands outside school and making out, and she snapchatted it to the whole world, because that’s what she does and,” - Mikasa’s eyes narrow and Krista takes a deep breath.

“Look, I just wanted to reach out, and you know,” she clears her throat, like it was obvious what she was doing here. Mikasa just looks blank, feels blank. “... Like, I don’t want it to be awkward or anything, between us,” Mikasa is genuinely confused at this point, because there didn’t have to be an us, between her and Krista, their social circles were comfortably distant enough to have as minimal interaction as possible. “... You seem like a great person, and honestly, I’m not even surprised you guys ended up together. It was just a matter of time, I guess.”

She smiles earnestly as she says this, and Mikasa finds herself liking the short blonde despite herself, and offers a smile back. “... Thanks, that’s sweet of you.”

“And um,” Krista offers, completely casually, “... I could lend you some concealer if you wanna… you know, cover that up.”

…

“Snapchat!” Sasha wails theatrically, “... I can’t believe this is what our friendship has boiled down to.”

Mikasa has the grace to look guilty. “Explain to me, bestie ,” Sasha can be quite scary when she has her manic face on, “why, I had to receive a snap from the school’s number one hoe, informing me of the fact that my best friend had finally hooked up with her absolute thirst trap of a roommate.”

She doesn’t have much to say to defend herself, she simply slinks lower into her seat. “... I’ll buy you lunch for a week,” Mikasa whispers, defeated.

“Oh you better,” Sasha declares, still fuming. “... Snapchat, are you fucking kidding me…” She turns around once more, sizing Mikasa up deliberately. “... What about that time I walked in on you guys, in the kitchen, and he didn’t have a shirt on?” Sasha narrows her eyes accusingly. “... Were you two already…? Did you lie to me back then?”

“No! God, no,” Mikasa vaguely wonders why she sounds so defensive and apologetic about her own love life, but she remembers that Sasha is upset and for what it’s worth, she loves her like a sister, so she says, “... I swear, there was nothing between us then. It only happened, like… last night.”

Mikasa blushes as she says it, and the twinkle returns to Sasha’s brown eyes. “You must tell me everything,” she commands, and despite her sighing and blushing and giggling, Mikasa does exactly that.

...

He waits for her as they walk back from school. This is new too. Well not entirely, they’d walk back together, the three of them, Him, Mikasa and Armin, everyday in middle school, but high school had brought them different routines, and a distance that he was happy to get rid of.

“So…” he says as he slips his fingers between hers. “So much for our plan to keep it quiet.”

She burrows her head into his arm, “... everyone knew. Literally everyone.” After a minute, she adds reproachfully, “The hickeys you left on my neck didn’t help, either.”

He grins despite the glare she gives him. Embarrassing or not, he didn’t regret it one bit, not the moments that led up to those anyway... the way she’d found herself on his lap, fitting so perfectly in his arms, and against his mouth. The way she’d gasped when he’d let himself explore the sensitive skin on her neck.

He understands her situation, but god, there was no way he’d apologize for the sheer sensation he’d felt in that moment.

Tugging at her scarf to see his own handiwork, he can’t help his disappointment when he sees only a faint outline of them on her pretty skin. “... I see you’ve covered them up.”

“Ah,” Mikasa grins, “... that was your ex, actually.”

She feels him still, letting go of her hand for a brief moment. “... What?” Eren blinks nervously. They don’t really talk about his ex, not much more than they did yesterday anyway, and he wishes they’d never have to, not now that he knows perfectly well how much it had hurt Mikasa.

“You… um, spoke to her today?”

Mikasa nods, “... She came by to say hello, yeah.” And because Eren looks extremely uncomfortable at the thought, she giggles and tells him, “She says she didn’t want things to be awkward between us.”

Eren groans, “... this sounds like the teaser to every high school drama ever.” But despite his sarcasm, he was worried because despite Mikasa’s unassuming popularity in school, she lived her life outside of the cliques, the gossip rings, the drama… and Krista, sweet that she was, was somehow always in the thick of it.

“Don’t worry,” Mikasa says sweetly, “... if you want me to tell you that we had a catfight over you, prepare for disappointment.”

He grins in relief and asks, “... Is it so wrong to indulge in the fantasy of you fighting with another girl over me?” And because he can’t help himself, he adds, “You’d win for sure, Mikasa.”

…

As long as she can remember, Mikasa had been in love with Eren. It wasn’t complicated, or confusing for her, she’d loved him and she’d always known it.

When she was younger she had less trouble expressing it, they played together all the time, and she shared her toys with him, her sweets, and promised his mom she would take care of him when he got into trouble.

During her darkest days (after losing her parents), he would look after her, keep an eye out for her, tuck her in sometimes and sleep by her side when she had nightmares. Back then it was easier to ask for his attention - Eren could you stay with me, she remembers her 12 year old self asking, sniffling in the night, with no inhibitions, just a young girl asking for comfort from the boy she shared everything with.

(He’d given her everything she asked for graciously, fussing over her in his own way, watching over her even when she didn’t notice.)

It’s the ‘how’ that increased in complexity, the way she wanted more and more as the years went by, until the point where her love for him was a complete stranger. It was frustrating when she first realized it, when she realized she looked at him more often than usual… when she realized she wanted him to look at her too.

Growing up they’d watch movies together, and she’d often wonder about the way the hero kissed the heroine at the end of the movie, and wondered if someday Eren would kiss her like that. Most of all she wondered if Eren thought about it too.

When he started dating, that became amply clear to her - he thought of kissing, and to her unfortunate attention, it became clear that he thought of much more too. Those months were incredibly difficult for Mikasa because not only did she have to go through life like nothing had changed - ostensibly nothing had, not between them - but she had to police every indiscrete thought when he walked around after his shower without a shirt on, she had to control her gaze every time it fell on his beautiful mouth, wondering exactly what it would feel like against hers.

And for the first time in the longest time, Mikasa could no longer love Eren the way she always had, openly and without shame, she could no longer ask of him his care and attention.

But it feels like overnight so much has changed, she can barely comprehend it. Eren is so generous with his attention (his love), she wonders if the last couple of years of distance was the doing of her own imagination.

He is so free with his touches, sometimes gentle on her waist, sometimes tender on her face, sometimes rough in her hair (this excites her most of all). She no longer has to wonder if he’d ever kiss her like in the movies, he kisses whenever he damn pleases, and it always, always takes her by surprise. And it is so much better than she has ever imagined.

…

He saunters in as she prepares the tofu carefully, and because Mikasa is a perfectionist in everything she does, she’s concentrating completely on flipping each piece at the perfect moment when they turn golden brown.

But because Eren finds literally everything she does impossibly cute, he wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her gleefully on the cheek. It has the desired effect, she gasps, dropping her fork, and he catches her in an open mouthed kiss.

He manages to distract her for a good couple of minutes until she smells the tofu becoming decidedly darker than golden brown. “Erennn,” she whines, “... my tofu is ruined!”

“I’m sure it’ll taste wonderful,” he says because she’s an excellent cook, but also because he’s slightly affronted that by the way she pulls away in complaint.

“Please. Go sit,” she swats him away, making him pout adorably. He does as he is told and waits till she plates the food minutes later, and he’s pleased to say that he was absolutely right, it did taste wonderful.

But he’s more eager to eat up as soon as possible and finish what he tried to start a few moments ago.

“What are you going to do after dinner?” The answer he wants to hear is I’d like to make out with my boyfriend , but just as he expected, Mikasa’s mind is on a slightly different wavelength.

“... Hmm,” she eyes him suspiciously, “... I guess I’ll finish cleaning up and read the latest chapter in English Lit before bed, and just drift off to sleep. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he states innocently. “... I’ll help you clean up.”

He changes the topic before they have a chance to linger, and does good on his promise to clean up as fast as he can. It’s ridiculous the way he’s acting, and he doesn’t understand it himself, but he can’t seem to help himself. He can’t seem to stop looking at her, can’t seem to stop craving her, whether it’s the closeness of her body or the taste of her lips, and he’s pretty certain the way he’s acting right now is downright embarrassing, but somehow since its with Mikasa, he feels emboldened.

Or at least that’s how he’d felt until recently. Of late there’s been just the slightest amount of doubt that’s crept in. He finds himself wondering if it’s just him who feels this way, this inexplicable urge, and he wishes that she’d be the one reaching for him more often.

“Thanks, Eren,” she murmurs, breaking him out of his intense internal monologue, when she reaches over and brushes a chaste kiss on his cheek. It warms him instantly, immediately making him want more.

He dries up and follows her out of the kitchen, and as she turns into her room, he grabs her wrist and says, “... Mikasa, wait,” and when she flips her head to look at him, he nestles her against the wall and whispers, “... I just wanted to say goodnight,” before kissing her full on the mouth.

For all that he internally complains about her not initiating their kisses enough, she responds beautifully to him, opening her mouth to him, and slipping her tongue inside, gasping when his fingers slip under her shirt, brushing softly above her ribcage. She slides one hand around his neck and the other clutches his shirt, pulling him so close to her, he revels in the feeling of her body pressed against hers.

He doesn’t even know how, or why, because he isn’t thinking when he’s kissing Mikasa, just going with it, running on the sheer feeling of it all, because he just gives into her - but she’s got both arms around his neck and he’s pressing her so firmly against the wall, tongue shameless in its exploration of her mouth, he slips one of his legs between hers.

She likes it, likes the pressure between her legs and she finds herself moving against him, grinding almost, embarrassingly, and she doesn’t even register consciously, until she feels him hard and pressed up against her thigh. She makes an embarrassing noise, something between a gasp and a moan, and suddenly his eyes snap open, all too conscious of their position.

She feels him twitch against her, and she can barely breathe with the excitement of it all, the newness… the feeling. He looks at her like a different person, green eyes heady and searching, holding her in a heated gaze. But in the most crushingly confusing move, he steps back and whispers “good night,” before turning towards his own room.

Quite frankly, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Any more of that and she would’ve melted into jelly all over the leg that was between her thighs. And instead of pursuing that intense, boneless feeling, she finds herself catching her breath alone in the hallway with a confoundingly novel ache between her legs.

…

He watches her at the tennis court the next day; he drags Armin with him.

He’s never cared much for the game itself, only knows the basic rules because Mikasa’s been playing for years. She has a practice match today, against Jean, and he’d claimed he’d only wanted to see ‘his girl’ crush that horse face to the ground.

But the more he sits next to Eren, the more Armin feels decidedly uncomfortable. “Oi, Eren,” he says, when he’s fairly certain he’s had enough. Eren looks at him annoyed for being distracted from the game. “... What?”

Armin pinches the bridge of his nose before speaking, because how does he say this politely? “... You’re staring.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t huh me! You’re literally ogling her,” he hisses under his breath, “... it’s embarrassing, so please stop.”

He feels his face burn as he splutters, “I, I’m just watching the-,” he’s quite literally red by this point, “... Armin, what the fuck?” He just wants to hide, and so he hides his face in his hands.

He was right, he was staring, and he knew this because his mind had memorized the way she looked in that outfit, white tank top low cut and body hugging and giving him an excellent view as she moved. And he didn’t even want to comment on the way those shorts hugged her curves and how it flowed perfectly into her long, glorious legs.

If he could kick himself he would.

“What’s going on with you?” Armin asks, after he gives Eren a moment to recover from absolute mortification. Hesitating, he says, “... This isn’t the first time I’ve caught you staring at her like this recently.”

He looks at Armin helplessly, because he doesn’t know how to put it into words. “You can talk to me,” Armin coaxes him, “... you do embarrassing shit in front of me all the time anyway,” he supplies helpfully.

There’s conflict in his green eyes as he considers just how to say it, if he wants to at all. He’s still not a hundred per cent over the fact that Armin was Mikasa’s first kiss and if anyone could hold a (pointless) grudge it was Eren.

“However if you still choose to not talk to me about Mikasa because you are hung up over a stupid drunk kiss, then that’s completely fine with me too,” Armin says, reading Eren’s mind cheerfully.

“... You didn’t have to bring it up,” he says sullenly. Armin rolls his eyes. “... You’re thinking about it anyway, so I might as well talk about it.” He’s known him far too long to not understand the very simplistic nature of Eren’s thought processes.

“... I can’t stop looking at her,” he confesses, deciding to gloss over the discomfort of their kiss and focus on the main problem instead. “I hadn’t noticed,” Armin quips dryly, and Eren glares at him - so much for ‘ You can talk to me, Eren.’

“I’m losing my mind here, Armin,” trust Eren to always be dramatic, without fail, “... You can make fun of me all you want, but everytime I look at her, I,” he inhales sharply. “... God, I feel disgusting. It’s Mikasa for fuck’s sake.”

And It’s Mikasa whom his friend had always been slightly unhinged for, but Armin thinks better of saying this.

“... I feel like I just don't know how to look at her respectfully anymore,” and he says

this almost choked, so distressed, that Armin tries very very hard to suppress a laugh.

…

She wishes she hadn’t done it.

In a rare moment of weakness that she now regrets, she had given into Sasha’s ever curious inquisitions into her love life. And by love life here, Sasha was explicitly digging for the good stuff.

“Eh?!?”

Mikasa waits patiently for Sasha to return from her high pitched look of disbelief.

“... What do you mean you haven’t slept together yet?” Sasha asks, a bit calmer this time, but still urgently distressed about the matter.

“We just… haven’t,” Mikasa explains rather unsatisfyingly.

“So… do you like, want to wait or something? I thought you’ve been in love with him since forever…”

No matter how much she’s accepted that fact herself, it still makes her blush when she hears it out loud. “... It’s not like, I want to, um, wait or anything,” she confesses. Because she’s found herself thinking of the same thing every night since the time Eren had her against the wall, pinned against him and his hardness. It’s almost like it created a monster out of her, a monstrous desire that has her eyeing him out the corner of her eye whenever she gets the chance. It makes her seek him out more often, seek him out after his workout, after his shower, innocently, by accident of course, and she’s ashamed of herself.

“... You just need to jump him,” Sasha says, with the utmost seriousness. Like she knew anything at all on this subject. “And boy have I got the perfect thing to help you.”

…

Mikasa Ackerman is a huge fan of Marie Kondo. It was one of the curiously annoying yet cute things about her that Eren has an impressively large list of.

She’s watched the Netflix show more times than he can count, follows her on Youtube, and once he’d seen her pray to her room or some shit before she started cleaning. It mystifies him, and he doesn’t care enough to understand more so he just goes along with it.

Today she’s decided she has way too many clothes and she will only keep what “sparks joy” in her, so she’s strewn out her entire closet and demanded in the sweetest way that he helps her with her mission.

(She throws in the offer of trying out all her outfits before she throws them out, and Eren is horny for a fashion show or the moments in between so he readily agrees)

“... I’m not sure about this one,” she says, eyeing herself in the green dress critically.

Eren’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “... You’re kidding, you look like a fucking goddess, Mikasa.”

She blushes happily with the compliment, but Eren isn’t exaggerating. It’s a slinky strapless number which was incredibly short. And it had a slit. According to Eren, the slit could not be emphasized enough.

“... Your legs look incredible,” he says, providing her the only decent compliment he can muster. The rest he does his best to convey with eyes.

“... It just doesn’t feel like something I wear usually, you know… so I don’t know if it sparks joy...”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, “Well, you should wear it. C’mere let me help you spark some joy,” he says, playfully pulling her down into the pile of clothes that made a poofy bed on the floor.

She giggles, settling over him happily, and for a moment his sappy little heart feels like it’s going to explode. He’s pretty sure her giggle is his most favourite sound in the whole world.

“... You’re insane,” he breathes, relishing in the way she feels on top of him, his hands sliding up her legs and resting just beneath the hem of her dress (just beneath her ass). She kisses him sweetly, tongue flicking gently on his lip and making him groan softly. His hands brush past her ass, caressing ever so softly as they come to rest on the small of her back.

She deepens the kiss, and he grabs her hips roughly, angling her mouth onto his in a way that suits him, gives him access and he sighs into her mouth. The view of her on top of him, is unparalleled, her thighs around his hips and her chest heaving temptingly with her harsh breathing. He closes his eyes and captures her mouth again before he makes a fool of himself in front of her again.

But she has her hands in his hair, and she’s pressing down, grinding down against his crotch, and he can feel himself pulse at every brush of contact, and he groans knowing fully well that there’s no way she can’t feel his length brush against her legs.

He doesn’t want to stop, or run away, because he’s ridiculously turned on at this point, and unwilling to let go of her, so he simply turns her around and pins her beneath him, taking advantage of the way she squeals, to slip his tongue into her mouth and taste her.

It’s so tempting having her beneath him like this, so he gives in and slips his leg between hers again, eager to have her rub against him like she did that day, with the faintest hint of a moan, like he hasn’t been able to forget.

His fingers entwine with hers and he stretches them above her head, wanting so much to just kiss her senseless, but they collide with a cardboard box and he spares a glance at it, in annoyance.

Until he squints and actually sees what it is. The label alone makes him blush, not to mention the contents that he could clearly see under the transparent plastic covering.

Mikasa looks up, dazed and a little bit disoriented from what was possibly the most intense make out session she had ever experienced. “... Eren?”

“Babe,” he rasps, choked, “... are you trying to tell me something?”

She follows his line of sight, and wants to hide, wants to die, wants to erase this moment from her very existence.

Her Sensual Pleasure kit, he reads, his mind effectively going numb as he comprehends the contents: a vibrator, a blindfold, some pink fuzzy handcuffs and what looks like a generous bottle of lube.

Somehow even though she forgot about this ridiculous thing, having stuffed it into her closet to forget all about the ridiculousness on her friend’s face when she gave it to her, it seems to have stumbled out into the light of day at the worst possible moment.

If she could murder Sasha and get away with it, she would.

“... I-It’s not what you think, Eren,” she mumbles, cheeks red and panicking, even though she has absolutely no idea what she wants him to think.

“I assure you,” he manages, “... I’m not really thinking right now, Mikasa.” Sure enough his mind had somewhat short circuited, barely able to handle the pressure of having his extremely sexy girlfriend beneath him and somehow simultaneously having discovered what appeared to be her sextoys .

Gingerly, he reaches for it, and he almost gasps, because the box had been opened and fiddled with. “Did you actually…”

He looks at her face, and it’s the colour of a tomato by this point, teeth biting her lower lip nervously, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or if he is even more turned on.

“The vibrator, Mikasa, did you…?” His voice is so hoarse just imagining, it superseded any fantasies he’s had up until this point. “... Eren,” she whines, embarrassed, hiding her face in her hands.

“Please for the love of god, Mikasa, please just tell me, baby,” he’s pleading because he really needs to know at this point. He needs to know if he’s been going to bed in the room besides her without the potent knowledge that she’s been using this to relieve herself at night.

When she nods, just ever so imperceptibly, he’s pretty sure he’s going to combust. “... What did you think of when you were using it?” His voice sounds like a stranger’s.

She looks conflicted, looks unbelievably embarrassed, but he’s pretty sure he isn’t imagining it when he hears the faintest whisper from her saying, “... you.”

But that isn’t going to cut it, because he’s spent countless nights with a raging boner and raging guilt, as he jerked off to the most tantalizing moments he’s had with her… and he barely ever manages to look her in the eye the next morning. So he has to, no, he needs to know that he hasn’t been the only one in this absolutely ridiculous situation.

He kisses her hard, teeth grazing hers, mouth eager and greedy, and she responds to him with equal fervour. His head drops to her shoulder as he kisses her bare collarbone. “... If you knew how many times I’ve touched myself thinking of you, you wouldn’t be able to look at me the same again.”

His words are a deep, throaty confession that he whispers on her skin, and it brings a tingle down to her spine and all the way to her toes. She thrusts her chest upwards against him subconsciously.

“... I think of you too, you know… all the time,” she confesses, forgetting the very meaning of inhibition. It’s hard to remember it when he looks at her that way, heat burning from his verdant eyes, his grip firm against her hips. She doesn’t want to; doesn’t need it, if it means she can be this close to him.

“... Do you think you can show me?” he whispers, barely thinking through his requests through his lust-filled haze.

He sees her hesitating, contemplating, and he finds himself praying as his fingers inch up the dress and dig into the curves of her ass, lips delicate against the tops of her breasts.

“Only if you show me how you touch yourself,” she murmurs, and he can feel himself twitch in excitement.

She backs up against her bedpost and slips out of her panties, and Eren is absolutely, positively certain, he has never seen anything more appealing than when she slowly, deliberately, hikes up that beautiful green dress and spreads her legs.

He’s so lost in the sight before him, he forgets what he’s promised until she says, steel eyes determined, challenging him almost, “... your turn, Eren.”

He shucks his pants off gracelessly, he couldn’t make it look as artful as she does even if he tried, but he’s happy to be free of the restrictive material as he springs heavy and erect at the sight of her. “... Could you um, pass me the lube,” he asks, and she does, but not before squeezing some onto her own hand.

It’s hypnotic how she rubs it into herself, wet, and pretty and pink, and he jerks into his hand, slick and wanting, as he whispers, “... God, you’re beautiful.”

His words only serve to enhance the needy pressure between her legs, the tingling feeling that her slow circular motions were only making worse. She picks up the vibrator and turns it on, pressing it to her nub, the way she’s done a few lonely nights by herself, wishing it was him against her skin.

It’s different this time, because even though it’s her and the silicone toy, Eren’s gaze is like liquid fire on her skin, dark and licentious, and almost greedy. She throws her head back, shivering with pleasure and gasping.

“... What did you think of when you played with yourself?” He asks again, and this time she knows he wants a more specific answer.

“Your fingers,” she mumbles, and she finds the pleasure makes her startlingly more honest. He could ask anything of her, and she would tell him.

The idea, the thought of it, makes him twitch happily in his hand, and he jerks erratically, feeling an unbelievable urge come over him. “... Did you get wet thinking of my fingers on you, Mikasa?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, blushing prettily, high off the vibrating sensations. Without planning to, he crawls over between her legs and kisses her deeply, murmuring on her lips, “... then let me touch you, baby.”

It was her who was being stimulated, but he nearly groans into her hair at the feeling of her soft wetness, the way it feels against his fingers, the way her arousal coats him so eagerly.

“... I’ve wanted to touch you for so long,” he murmurs hoarsely, rubbing delicate circles across her nub, diligently favouring the area she had favoured mere moments ago. “Then why didn’t you,” she gasps at the last syllable, at the sudden intrusion of his long finger having slid deep inside her.

“... Sorry,” he says, sounding far too turned on to be sorry, “... you’re so wet, Mikasa.” He’s in awe, almost reverent of how warm she is, how easy.

She hangs on to his neck now, teeth grazing his neck, whispering, “... I want you, Eren.” Her breath is warm and damp and he’s unmistakably certain of what she asks.

“... Are you sure?” He asks, panting, hoping to god she’s sure, because he’s so ready, he’s been ready for a long time now, and he can barely control himself from leaking onto his own hand, when she says, “Yes.”

He makes sure she’s comfortable, or as comfortable as she can be on top of her clothes, and he commits everything to memory, the way she looks beneath him, the way her breasts heave when he pulls off the entirety of that dress, the way her nipples stiffen against his warm kisses. “... Please,” she whimpers, when he takes his time with her, taking the peaks of her breasts into her mouth and teasing ever so slightly with his teeth.

“... I can’t help it,” he rasps, “I want to touch you everywhere, you’re so pretty, babe, I,” -

He chokes, cut off, by the feeling of her delicate hands circling around him, pumping slowly as she guides him to her entrance. “Shit, Mikasa,” he curses, closing his eyes as he feels the sensation of her warmth against his tip.

It’s not his first time, but he feels like a stumbling virgin, murmuring desperate things as he feels her sheathe him completely, pausing only to pay attention to her comfort. Barely coherent, he asks, “... you okay?” She nods quietly, and his eyebrows furrow, looking at her questioningly. “Feels… so full,” she manages, with a feeble groan, and he can’t help but grin at how irresistible she is.

“... That’s because I’m supposed to fill you up, babe,” he whispers, not caring how far gone he is, because he slides out just a little only to spread her legs for him again, and slide back in. He tests the rhythm carefully, watching her expressions for any sign of discomfort, but the way she squeezes her eyes, the way she throws her head back with a gasp, just makes him lose whatever little control he had.

“Please tell me if I need to go slower,” he tells her, but judging from her reaction, from her moans, she only seemed to be egging him on.

It’s too much, he thinks, too much for him to possibly handle, not with the way she bucks her hips, and definitely not with the way she clenches needily around him.

And in a moment that he’ll probably never live down, he groans, “Fuck, babe, I’m going to,” - barely realizing with some consciousness to pull out of her tight, wet, core, and spills onto her stomach.

Mikasa’s never seen him make a face like that.

When he opens his eyes, she’s looking at him in wonder. And he’s looking at the mess he’s made on her stomach, and even though a small part of him only feels arousal at the sight of that, today he just feels like a massive asshole. “Shit,” he curses, not happy with how this played out at all. He reaches for the panties she’d so easily discarded and mops up his sticky release, mumbling, “... God, I’m so sorry, Mikasa. This was your first time, I can’t even believe,” -

“Eren,” she interrupts, because she doesn’t have time for this, his self-derision can come later. “... I, um…,” she clenches her thighs together, and he suddenly realizes that he hadn’t yet completely fucked shit up, he could still make her feel good, and that’s all he wanted.

He settles himself between her legs and spreads her folds open for him, feeling a familiar twitch at the pretty sigh in front of him. “I’ll take care of you, baby,” he whispers earnestly, before she feels his mouth on her folds. He kisses her like how he kisses her lips, like he wants to consume her, and if she thought it felt good against her own mouth, it felt only a million times better down there. He’s generous with his tongue, probing circling, sending her into a frenzy that only he could have managed.

She threads her fingers into his hair, gasping his name, prettily, holding on to him as she rides wave after wave of pleasure against his tongue.

When he lifts himself up and looks at her, he grins, his mouth shining because of her juices, and she closes her eyes swearing to herself that she will never forget that sight.

He collapses next to her, this time of a happier countenance because somewhere in his mind he’s judged this to be a fair exchange, and because Mikasa knows him so well, she can’t help but giggle.

“I’m not usually like this,” he asserts, once he’s caught his breath, and she’s barely managed to catch hers. She raises an eyebrow at him, amused. Trust Eren to be bothered about the unnecessary mechanics of his ego, barely minutes after their first time. “... I swear, next time I’m not going to let you go unless you have at least three orgasms. Minimum.”

“I guess I’ll have to hold you to it, Eren,” she murmurs, chuckling. “And before you freak out about the other thing; I’m on birth control, so don’t worry.” There’s silence, remarkably guilty silence, because he hadn’t thought about it, and that’s ridiculous because he’d never done it without a condom before, and if he ever feels like the biggest idiot on the planet, it’s at this moment.

“... I fucking love you, Mikasa,” he says sincerely, thanking the gods and this insane goddess right beside him, and this time she can’t help but laugh out loud.

a/n: edit: two whole weeks after posting ao3, i finally got around to putting this on tumblr.

to all those who have been on this journey with me, thank you so much. it's been so fun with these guys in the hsy verse.

i can't believe the story is over; i'm not ready to let go. going forward i may or may not right 3 more chapters each focusing on armin, historia, and jean respectively. i'm still mulling over it :)

i've recently been made aware that some people who read my stories are minors and i should be more mindful. so the note below -

i'd just like to clarify that it's fairly normal to be 18 yo in senior year of high school (at least where i'm from), which is when this last chapter takes place, so i did not feel the need to write age anywhere. i just want to clarify this; im no one to lecture any body on the appropriate age to be sexually active - as long as the person who you're with treats you respectfully and honours your consent. and respect your own limits and body.

HOWEVER I WILL ABSOLUTELY TAKE THIS MOMENT TO LECTURE YOU ON THE USE OF BIRTH CONTROL - PLEASE USE CONDOMS. please discuss birth control or std prevention with a sexual partner. DO NOT BE LIKE EREN AND FORGET JEEZUS. i'm 27 when i'm writing this so the last scene was just meant to be funny, especially his unbelievable sigh of relief when he finds out she had the foresight to be careful.

anyway, see ya and if it might interest you pls check out my mikasa stripper au ;) i'm very excited about it.

[whump-town]

Heart Attack

This one goes out to whoever said “death. this is how i confess love”. 

I will write the other fic as well 

Warning: Major Character Death (rip my favorite big old idiot)

The initial weakness in his left arm is not noteworthy. The deep ache, daggers shooting from the inside of his wrist to the clavicle, are sadly not either. Chronic pain is just a part of his daily life and after the ugly, deep scars Foyet left on his forearms, not even simple movements are free. He’s always assumed Foyet put them, the long slashed scars that look nearly self-inflicted, there just for show, claiming him perhaps but certainly to maim. Doesn’t matter right much now, all he knows for certain is that it hurts and there’s nothing he can do about it.

It happens so frequently that it nearly slips his mind-- as much as pain can but what he really means is that the coffee in his hand slips. He’s standing in the kitchen, contemplating taking an Advil to at least dull the pain enough to better concentrate on the book he’s been trying to finish since Friday. “Fuck.” His left hand just releases the mug. He liked that mug. Advil it is.

His days pass in quiet contemplation. Just him and these beige walls. He misses the days that were filled by Jack’s toddling steps, rampant little footsteps, and happy squeals of delight. Coming home to the sound of some new band Jack’s conjured up and is going to torture him with for the next week until he moves on to the next. He misses Emily and Dave and having drinks on his couch. Being forced to go to Dave’s for family dinners and Emily coming by, uninvited, of course, to eat his ice cream and make fun of his documentaries.

Now he’s alone most of the time. Well, unless Jessica coming by to count to his pills counts. He doesn’t really think it should but she means well. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t just die on them but would they even notice?

Not immediately, not for a while.

Maybe if something strange happens on a case but those calls come less and less frequently. No one needs his specific knowledge. Emily is becoming an assured leader and she doesn’t even call him to fuss about the idiots that he hired and left her to deal with. He and Dave don’t really talk anymore. The best he gets, these days, is a quick update if someone gets hurt just so that he doesn’t worry if it pops up on the news.

Jack is off at college now. Hotch can’t blame him for being fairly radio silent but it does give him something to work with every few weeks when Jack does remember that he exists and sends a thousand-odd texts his way.

So, if he just… died no one would notice until Jessica’s Thursday visit. Even then, she’s just here to look at the pillbox he leaves on the counter for her easy access. She just checks what she has to and leaves. Life goes on.

As he’s crouched on his kitchen floor, mumbling very inappropriate and obscenity-ridden things, he feels that lightheaded fog encroach. Something that he really only knows from other encounters, one that he doesn’t associate with immediate danger. He takes a fist-full of medication each morning and roughly two list lightheadedness as a side-effect. While a dangerous fallout of Foyet’s stabbing is this strange platelet problem that messes with his iron. So while he sits for a moment and breathes through the feeling of his body trying to give out on him he assumes this problem is what it always is: his awful health.

He gets the coffee cleaned up with a towel but leaves the towel over the broken bits of the mug. The cartilage in his knees saw better days roughly twenty-years ago and by the time that the coffee has been contained, he can hardly stand the pain in them. So, guiding himself with a hand on the counter (then leaning on the wall and using a kitchen chair and so on and so forth until he gets to the couch) Hotch limps away from the kitchen.

He’s never been so thankful for his habitual manners as he sinks into the cozy couch and finds his heated blanket already plugged in and sitting on the lowest heat. A fire hazard? Yeah probably but if this damned blanket kills him one day then so be it. He finds some background noise in a nature documentary about penguins and closes his eyes, waiting for the blanket’s heat to soothe his old bones.

Despite how far he’s pushed himself down into the blanket, his body breaks out in a cold sweat. His chest tight and arm throbbing or maybe stabbing-- he can’t tell the difference right now just blinded by the pain. Blind and so stupid and as he sits up, shaking he’s shivering so hard, he knows what’s happening.

Haley used to dismiss his fears with soothing promises. She wouldn’t let something like this happen to him. They’d get old together “so old we start to wish one of us would just die and get it over with but every day I’ll turn over in our bed and find your craggy, old face right beside me and I know I’d still love you so much it hurts”. But Haley died before she even turned forty and he’s spent too many birthdays and anniversaries alone to know she couldn’t have meant that.

Drunk, vulnerable with the recent loss of Haley and the sudden return of Emily he’d admitted to this fear. Not just dying alone but of dying like his father-- a hated bastard on the outside with no family and no loved ones. To paint the wall with the horror in Dave and Emily’s face could stand as a solid reminder that he is loved but those faces mean nothing. The way that Emily had hugged him that night is nothing. Despite their assurances, he can feel his heart skipping beats. Painful kicks, each one.

He is alone. Gasping as he struggles to fight off his anxiety and crying through the agony ripping chest. Alone. Curled down into himself to try and find some comfort.

He manages to call 911. As he’s blinking tears from his eyelashes there’s a moment where the only number he can think of is Garcia. For years her number was his emergency number and now … He’s still thinking about her when the operator picks up but he’s losing his functions so fast. Settling back on the couch, using what’s left of his energy to tuck his feet back under his black he does his best to stay awake and hum in response to questions.

He thinks about Garcia. She’s always there, he finds, in his mind and every accident he’s had. Even during Boston despite the fact that she just joined the BAU. She’s always there and he wonders if she’ll appear this time. Talk his ear off about David Bowe but hold his hand tight enough that he never has to question if she’s really there.

Heart attacks hurt a lot worse than internal bleeding but he’d, personally, still put it under being actually stabbed.

He doesn’t hear the paramedics arrive or even feel the IV being placed in his arm. Though unconscious, he gives the faintest whimper of discontent as he’s lifted and pulled away from the couch. Not given the chance to brace for the cold winter air of March in Virginia just moving and moving fast.

“Agent Hotchner?”

He groans, turning his head from the penlight shining down in his face. Though he moves his face, he can’t escape the tight pressure across his ribs. Constricting tightly. The agent bit catches him by surprise-- he’s been “Mr” now for some time. Very few people still throw the “agent” in there.

“There you are--”

The sirens make it hard to hear. His hearing has been going for some time but if there’s one thing he can take from this encounter it might be that he should invest in the hearing aids he’s been putting off for a while now. He blinks up at the woman talking to him. Gently pumping a blood pressure cuff around his bicep and calling his name when his eyes slide back shut. He does try to stay awake but he’s in a lot of pain and he’s tired. Even retired he doesn’t get much sleep.

He’ll have to remember to tell JJ that. She’s always worried about his sleep schedule (or lack thereof) and thought, or rather hoped, his retirement would bring him the chance to finally catch up on two decades’ worth of lost sleep. She’ll be disappointed but not surprised.

It’ll give him a reason to reach out, to talk with them.

“Stay with me, Agent Hotchner.”

The world rocks and something that taste like plastic is placed over his face, wrapped around the back of his head.

“Deep breathes, you’re doing just fine.”

The cold air hits his sternum and his eye fly open, panicking as hands touch his bare skin. Oh, God. Foyet. I have to stop-- someone much stronger than him grabs his wrist. Two hands push his shoulders down into the gurney and he can’t fight. Can’t move.

“Agent Hotchner,” someone tries to calm him. “We’re trying to help you. I understand you’re in a lot of pain--”

He wants to go home. Away from the cold and the hands that keep touching him. “Dave?” he pants, turning his head and searching through the hazy mess of people. He cries softly, tears stinging his face as they slide down his face. He wants to recognize one person, to know one of the hands belongs to someone he trusts. Dave is okay. He likes it when Dave touches him. It’s calming and reassuring and he wants someone to call Dave. “Please,” he whimpers, curling his legs as he feels someone tear the worn fabric of his jeans. “No. No.”

He’s confused and he’s in pain and he wants all these people to stop touching him.

“Aaron--”

No, no he doesn’t like that. He cries out, failing to dislodge the hands as he kicks out. All his height, all the power he’s spent decades learning to command is useless. “I want to go home,” he rasps desperately. He can’t move, anymore. They’re holding him down and he can feel the drugs pumping into his arm. Too cold and too fast and it all hurts. Why are they hurting him?

“Just stay with us, Agent. We’re almost done and then--”

For the first time in nearly twenty years, all of his pain just is gone. He feels nothing for a blissful second. Around him, there’s a panic. The machines attached to him frantically going off as his heartbeat goes from rampant, wrong to gone. The pain comes back suddenly, sharper than before, and he turns his head with a moan as his lungs contract painfully. He coughs, rasping as his chest heaves.

He slips back under the haze but this time the pain stays.

He chokes as they try to intubate, fighting weekly but he’s too far gone to even move away from the touch anymore. Dave isn’t there. He wishes Dave were here. Dave always cups the side of his head, speaking in soft Italian that he’s never managed to pick up. But it’s soft and gentle and Dave. Garcia doesn’t hold his hand-- she always holds his hand. There’s not the soft scent of lavender that comes in with the hard rain that is Emily Prentiss. No one to jostle him for his carelessness and then crawl up into the bed with him. Reminding him of memories he’s nearly forgotten of when they were just kids.

No Jack.

Jack’s at college.

He comes in at 9:45 a.m.

By 10:15 a.m. there’s a doctor over his chest. A nurse makes quick work of trying to get a hold of a medical proxy. There’s a kid, he has a son, but there’s no contact information listed for him. She gets voicemail twice from the numbers that are listed.

Jessica is in a meeting. Her phone is on silent. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d had her phone. He’s thirty minutes away and his heart gives out only twenty minutes after he arrives at the hospital.

Dave is in Seattle, sitting in a puddle of rainwater and trying to contain his anger as Luke changes a tire on the SUV. His phone is too wet to work. He won’t get the news until nearly two hours later when he and Luke arrive back at the precinct. Emily will not cry for nearly a week after she gets the news. She tells Jack.

The doctors assure them that there was nothing they could have done. It was a freak accident. They always knew this was a possibility, an outcome that was very real with the amount of damage done to Aaron’s heart. It’s been broken so many times… And standing in that hospital, shivering under the intensity of the air conditioning and the white burning paint, they are left with the burden of knowing he protected them tell the very end.

But they never reciprocated that care.