#to warrant my jaw pain

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

.

[bookyeom]

to care for you — lc

pairing: dino x reader word count: 4.4k warnings: mention of blood and injuries, mention of fainting, swearing, hurt and comfort, kissing request prompt: Okay so tumblr ate my ask 😭 but this is in response to @darkypooo’s request for Dino + “do you want to kiss?” “Yeah.”

Author’s Note: Yes, this is a Spiderman AU — but you don’t need to know much other than the bare minimum about the Spiderman universe to understand the story :) It’s set in college instead of high school, though. I’m actually so, so proud of this one, and I hope you like it!

Thanks so much for all the support on my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I’m doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

He‘s exhausted. 

It’s an exhaustion that’s begun to seep deep into his bones lately, but it feels extra heavy tonight. After a not-so-brief brush-up with some bad guys, he’s hurting in places that he didn’t know existed — even after all of his years spent studying science. He can’t remember the last time he got this hurt — to the point where even breathing is hard. All he wants to do right now is give up. He’s not sure what good he’s doing out there, anyway.

He’s exhausted, and he’s hurting all over, and honestly? All he wants to do is see you. 

He feels like that a lot these days.

He knows he’s not supposed to want you like he does, to need you like he does — for so many reasons. First and foremost, because you’re one of his closest friends — his confidante (in everything not Spiderman related, anyway), his safe place. You’re his friend, and friends aren’t supposed to love each other the way he loves you. Besides, he’s Spiderman. He’s not supposed to need anyone at all. In this line of business, feelings are a weakness.

You, thankfully, have no clue about his alter ego… or his feelings.

Well, at least you didn’t know about the superhero part. Until now, when he drags himself into his room and you’re there, curled up in his bed. He thinks he must be hallucinating. He’s too out of it to really register it at first, but then your eyes meet his from where you’re sitting up against his headboard, duvet pulled up to your chin, and he’s frozen. You blink back at him in the dim light of his room, your face lit up solely by the lamp on his bedside table.

“Chan?”

Your voice is small — so quiet that he thinks without his heightened senses he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. He can’t think straight enough to really process that his mask is off — he must have dropped it somewhere between the living room and here. All he can register before he’s stumbled back and slumped into his desk chair, eyes screwed shut from all the pain, is that you don’t look nearly as scared as he thought you would. Then everything goes black.

There’s a warm pressure against his jaw and his cheeks. 

He slowly comes to as he registers the feeling, struggling to open his eyes and find the source of the sensation. He can hear a faint voice call his name, once, twice, and when his eyes finally manage to flutter open just a little, he’s met with your concerned gaze.

“Fuck. Hi,” you mumble, and he blinks. The pure worry in your voice helps to bring him back to earth a little bit more, and he tries desperately to clear his head. How long was he out?

“Why…” He tries to speak but fails, his voice weak and his throat hoarse. 

Why are you here? 

He sees you wince when he tries to move, to shift into a more comfortable position even though he knows nothing will be comfortable right now, and your head is suddenly shaking back and forth so fast that it almost gives him whiplash.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he dazedly wonders why you don’t sound mad. Or frustrated. Or anything but concerned, really. He’s confused, his mind swirling even more as he tries to understand why your hands are holding his face like that. Hadn’t he kept things a secret from you for far too long to warrant your concern? Don’t you hate him now?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you say, and Chan fights the urge to try and speak again, to blurt out everything that he’s wanted to tell you since he met you. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you hastily continue, “but you have to tell me how to help you, Chan.”

His eyes flutter shut once more at the sound of his name coming from your lips, and he feels your thumb brush against his jaw. 

“Chan,” you say again, and you sound more panicked this time, so he does his best to calm you down. 

“Off.”

You blink at him again as he finally speaks. You’re not sure what he means, and you’re desperate to know, because you can’t look at him in pain like this any longer without doing something to help.

“Off,” he repeats hoarsely, and your eyes widen as you hastily remove your hands from his face.

“Shit, sorry!” Your eyes frantically wander across his face, searching for any damage your fingers might have caused. “I don’t know where you’re hurting, I didn’t mean to—“

As you babble on, all he can do is shake his head minutely. That’s not what he meant. The last thing he wanted right now was for you to take your hands off of him. He manages to lift a hand to press gently against his side, where a dark stain has formed. He glances down at where the material is clinging to his skin before looking back up at you. 

“Oh!” You reply, realization dawning on your face. You try to hide the flush of your cheeks. “Can you stand up to move to the bed so I can help? If not, I can—“

Already, he’s attempting to move, desperate to make any of this easier for you. He wants to apologize, to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know exactly what for. For not telling you? For you having to see him like this? 

You help him stand, his arm reaching to rest on your shoulders as you do. You can tell he’s trying not to hurt you with his weight, and you almost laugh — how very Chan of him. You’re grateful that in the shock of survival mode, you’ve managed to avoid for now the way you know your heart is going to break when you register seeing soft, kind, selfless Chan beaten down like this. 

Cry tomorrow, is the message your brain is sending. Figure it out tomorrow. Right now, you need to help him.

“I’m strong,” you try to joke, though it’s a weak attempt, and Chan looks at you in confusion. “You can put your weight on me,” you elaborate quietly. He understands and gives you a sheepish smile, before doing as told, though you know he doesn’t want to. 

The two of you maneuver the few steps to the edge of his bed. Chan hisses involuntarily at the pain as he sits down, and you whisper soft apologies, though he has no idea why. Once he’s down, you immediately get to work, reaching behind him to find the zipper at the top of his suit. You manage to get it down as smoothly as possible, your eyes falling to where Chan is still clutching at his side.

“This part is going to hurt like a bitch,” you tell him softly.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It always does.”

You freeze for a moment from where you were about to begin to slide the suit off of his shoulders, but Chan doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said. You feel a sharp pain in your chest as his words replay, and you blink back tears, taking a moment to steel yourself. 

It always hurts.

You don’t respond, your fingers beginning to move again, and you’re surprised that they’re not shaking. Chan shivers when your fingers brush against his skin as you begin to slide the suit over his arms and off. You ease him out of the material on his uninjured side first, before coming around to the front of him and crouching down. You meet his eyes, his brown ones clouded over with pain, and your fingers gently reach to rest on top of his hand that’s still clutching his side. You give it a squeeze and he nods in understanding, closing his eyes tight, and you help him remove his fingers from the wound. You stand back up, and begin to pull the rest of the suit down his side and to his waist. Chan barely lets out so much as a whimper when you peel the rest of the material off of him. 

His lack of reaction is not what surprises you the most, though. The biggest surprise comes when you reach the spot on his side where you know a sickening amount of blood should be, and you find that it’s all dried — and that the wound has already begun to heal over. 

Huh?

Your brain can’t compute it. You glance up at him in complete confusion, but his head is hung low, and your heart breaks enough to distract you from all of the questions you want to ask. You force yourself to push the confusing mess of thoughts away until later. You can’t think about any of that right now. You can’t. 

“Chan?” Is what you say instead, knowing that you need to keep him awake enough to help him clean up, long enough to know he’s alright. Your hands are on his knees as you kneel between his legs and peer up at him. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to trace the newly-forming scars on his chest and arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss each mark and its associated pain away. You desperately want to know what happened, who hurt him like this, but you’re not sure you can handle it. You briefly register the older, faded scars that mark his skin, unsure of where they end and the new ones begin. 

You can’t figure it out — in front of you sits Chan, but it can’t be the Chan you know. It can’t be the one who giggles at your stupid jokes or falls asleep in your 8am lectures, or the one who remembers your coffee order every single time. The one who you swore had never fought with anyone in his life. The Chan in front of you looks so broken that you can’t put the two of them together. 

“You… okay?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his again as he speaks, voice cracking and hoarse. Your heart stutters a bit in your chest as he attempts to look down at you, his eyes hooded over and half closed with the effort. He looks like he’s about to fall over, and still, he’s asking if you’re okay.

You’re hit so hard with sudden emotion that it causes you to inhale sharply without warning. Your hand lifts involuntarily to brush his hair back from where it’s falling into his eyes, and as he continues to try and hold your gaze, you register it all. This Chan is still your Chan. It’s the same Chan that has stirred feelings inside your chest that you were certain you could never feel again. The Chan whose intelligence and kindness still astounds you every single day. This Chan and your Chan are the same.

Your head spins.

When you finally make it to the bathroom, it’s all Chan can do to slouch down onto his bathroom floor. You help him out of the rest of his suit before crouching down beside him, wracking your brain for everything you’ve ever learned about cleaning wounds. You remain numb as he gives you single-word answers to where things are in his bathroom. It’s funny — you’ve been in his apartment so many times, but you’ve never needed to know where the antiseptic was. 

Chan’s eyes remain half-open as you work. He’s fighting with all his might, you can tell, and you can feel his eyes on you the whole time. You don’t think his gaze leaves you even once. It becomes monotonous: you clean the cut, he winces, you apologize. And repeat. Your mind wanders in what you’re sure is an attempt to protect yourself.

You’d come over tonight for your weekly movie night, letting yourself in with the code you’d long since been given access to. When hours had passed with no sign of Chan and no texts from him either, your heart had broken a little — had he forgotten? Was he okay? It was so unlike him that you’d stayed just in case, your heart racing with every little noise as you waited. 

You hate so much that your worst fears had come true.

Chan’s pain seems to ease in record time, bruises forming on his skin faster than you’ve ever seen. You have so many questions, but you push it all down, down, down. He falls asleep on his couch and you stay up all night, blanket pulled around your shoulders as you sit on the windowsill and make sure he’s still breathing. 

He wakes as the sun is beginning to rise, and you watch as he shifts to sit up, letting out a breath of what sounds like relief when he’s able to move without much trouble. Some of the cuts on his face and chest are already scabbed over. 

How?

When his eyes finally land on you, he jumps a little.

“Hi.”

”You didn’t sleep.”

It’s an observation rather than a question. You pull your knees up and rest your chin on them. “I was worried.”

It’s quiet, and he doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small, and he immediately feels guilty.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what he expects you to do, what he expects you to say. You level him with your gaze, searching his face. Your eyes linger on the scabbed-over cut just above his brow, and you bite your lip before you speak again.

“It was…” You can feel your lower lip start to tremble in an act of betrayal, and you bite down on it to try and stop yourself from crying. “It was terrifying to see you like that, Chan,” you finally manage, and you know that after all these hours, the dam is about to break. You can tell he knows it, too, by the way his brows furrow even more, and his eyes widen just slightly.

“I know,” he murmurs, and that’s what does it.

Your hands move to cover your face as you finally let yourself cry, sobs muffled by your palms. You can hear the couch creak as Chan moves, and you can feel his presence as soon as he’s close. He whispers your name once, his voice breaking, and when he moves your hands away from your face, you don’t have the strength to stop him. He’s sitting next to you on the windowsill now. You sniffle, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Chan holds onto your wrists, rubbing gentle circles against the skin. 

“I’m so mad at you,” you finally say, and he lets go of your hands. He doesn’t retreat to his side of the window though, staying put as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks down.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he says, voice quiet. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t… but you still have every right to be pissed at me.”

It’s silent, and you stare at him in disbelief. There are so many thoughts running through your head, and it takes you a moment to settle on just one. “You think I’m mad because you didn’t tell me that you were Spiderman?” You finally say, causing him to look at you again in surprise.

“I mean, yeah? Why else—“

“I’m mad,” you emphasize, “because you’re out there getting hurt, and my heart literally can’t take the thought of that, oh my god, Chan.” Your voice breaks, and fuck, you’re about to cry again, but you can’t stop. Your eyes trace over his face, pausing where the bruise is starting to form on his cheek, and you feel frustration begin to build again as you angrily blink back tears. “What the fuck, Chan. Why the hell are you… I mean, if I hadn’t been able to help you last night, I wouldn’t — I just, I can’t even imagine—“

Your words are cut off as Chan’s hands find the side of your face. His gaze is firm as he looks at you, and his sudden boldness catches you off guard, your words dying in your throat. Once he seems to realize that you’re not going to run, his thumb moves to caress your jaw, and you can’t help the shiver that spreads through you at the gentle touch. Your hands lift to rest on his arms where they’re holding you, and you’re speechless, your eyes unable to leave his. He takes in a deep breath, and you follow.

“I’m here,” he says, and you draw in another shaky breath. You don’t think he’s ever been this forward with you before, but you’re grateful for it. He’s warm, and he’s here. He’s alive.You’re torn between wanting to never leave his side again, and needing desperately to be away from him so that you can think.

“I think it might be good for me to go now that I know you’re okay,” you say softly after a moment, and you can see the hurt that briefly shadows his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, though, and he nods, removing his hands from your face. 

“I understand.”

“And I… I probably need some time.”

He nods again, and your heart breaks at the thought of leaving him, but you have to. For now. Your feet feel leaden as you get up, going through the motions as you grab your backpack from the hook by his door. You barely register putting on your shoes, your mind on autopilot until it’s broken by his voice from just behind you.

“Y/N?”

Your name coming from his lips feels like a punch to the gut, and you almost reach out for him again, but you hold firm.

”Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Can you just…” he sucks in a breath. “Can you please not tell anyone? About, you know—”

His words hit like a ton of bricks. You cut him off, expression full of silent fury at the insinuation. “Yeah. I won’t.” 

You’re pissed that he even had to ask, and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he can do. His secret is more important than anything — he just wishes it didn’t have to be more important than you. 

It takes three days for you to end up back at his door. He’s missed all of your shared college courses so far this week, and you’re worried. You’re terrified, actually, and you need to see him.

When he opens the door, you do a double take. It’s almost like nothing happened to him at all. The bruises and cuts are barely-there, and you’re reminded of the miles-long list of questions you have stored in the back of your brain. He’s surprised to see you, you can tell, and he blinks slowly before stepping aside to let you in.

“How are you?” You level him with raised eyebrows as you take off your shoes, and he nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know. I was worried that—“

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you interrupt. “Don’t worry.” You look down, your heart twisting painfully in your chest when you remember the words he’d said to you. ‘Can you please not tell anyone?’ You cross your arms as you head over to the living room, but you don’t sit down. You don’t really know what your plan had been — you’d just needed to see him. 

“Oh,” comes his soft reply before he adds, “I mean… I didn’t really think that you would.”

Your eyes briefly meet his across the room, confused, before you recover and look back down at the floor. “So then what were you worried about?”

You can feel his gaze intent on your face. “You.”

Your breath catches and your eyes swiftly meet his again. You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Chan,” you say after a moment, trying to push down the bubble of irritation you feel building in your chest. “You didn’t even text me once.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he says quietly, “You said that you needed time.”

“To process, yes! But you didn’t even text me that you were okay. I was worried about you, Chan. Why would you be worried about me? I’m not the one coming through your window and fainting from injury, now am I?”

You can see the guilt flicker across his face. “I know,” he says, and then he suddenly feels the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t message you, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He pauses. “Ever again, maybe.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and your heart breaks. You feel the anger in you start to dissipate as he looks away from you. Your eyes catch on the barely-there faded scar across his eyebrow, and your mind is filled with painful memories of the Chan you’d seen that night. 

“You’re so fucking stupid, Chan.” 

He knows. But judging by the way you sit down on his couch instead of storming out again, he thinks that somehow, his stupidity has already been forgiven. 

It’s quiet as he joins you. You can feel him looking at you, and when you can’t take it anymore, you look back at him pointedly. He blushes, quickly looking away when your eyes meet. You sigh, your head falling into the back of the couch before you turn and curl up against it, your eyes drifting shut. 

"Is that my sweater?" 

Your eyes shoot open, and it's as if he's finally grown the courage to look at you directly again now. His brown eyes search yours, and he motions to the shirt you're wearing. You look down — even though you know he's right — and your cheeks are on fire. You’re wearing the sweater he’d leant you forever ago on a cold night for your walk home — the one you’d never returned. You slept in it almost every night, and he hadn’t asked for it back. 

"Keeps me warm," you mumble, tugging on the hem. It's silent for a beat before you continue, voice even quieter than before. You pause, ruminating on your next words before you take a deep breath and say, “The last few nights, wearing it kind of made me feel like you were safe.”

You can hear his intake of breath before he says, soft, “Are you mad at me?”

You shake your head, because you’re not. You’re scared, stressed, worried sick — but you’re not mad. Not anymore. “No, Chan.”

The nickname sends a flood of relief through him more than your actual reply does. 

“I’m not mad,” you continue, “because of course you’re Spiderman. Of course you’re putting yourself in danger trying to protect others. I love how selfless you are, Lee Chan — I always have. But me? I’m selfish. And I’m scared to death of losing you.”

All he says, all he can say, is, “I’m scared, too.”

You look at him again now. You search his face as you ask, “Of what?”

“Of getting hurt. Of… of losing you, too.”

Your heart is suddenly beating so fast you think it might soon break free from your rib cage. You don’t know why you say it, because you’ve already got his undivided attention, but his name comes out breathlessly anyway. “Chan?” 

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you with those beautiful, big, questioning eyes, and you can’t help it. 

“I think it might be a terrible time for me to say this,” you blurt out, “but I — Chan, I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Chan blinks.

“Wait, what?”

Your face flushes, and it’s your turn to look away. “Sorry,” you murmur.

“No, don’t — oh my god. What?”

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You’re embarrassed now, pulling your knees up to your chest in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from your feelings. Your face is flushed as you turn to look out the window, and you can almost hear Chan’s brain buffering as he remains silent.

“Do you mean that?”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Your voice comes out a bit harsher than you intend it to, but you don’t take it back. 

“I…” He trails off. He doesn’t say anything more, and the quiet is almost deafening. You’re finding it a little harder to breathe as the seconds pass, and you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to fill the stifling silence.  

“I’m going to go,” is what comes out, and then you’re standing up so abruptly that you feel a little dizzy. The scene is familiar — you, running from what you’re feeling, running from him. 

“Wait,” he blurts out, and you do. You pause in spite of everything in you that’s begging you to run, and then he says, “Can I… I mean, do you want to… kiss?”

You turn back, eyes wide. It’s such a ridiculous question, such an innocent thing for him to ask in light of everything that’s happened in the last few days — but it’s so Chan that you almost forget about it all. This is probably a bad idea, you both know that — and you don’t care. You don’t know how this is going to work, but you’ll figure it out. 

Because it’s your Chan — the one who cares so much, the one who gives you hope, the one who wants nothing but for the world to be a better place.

“I mean — I love you too,” he says into the silence, and you realize that you haven’t given him an answer.

“Yes,” you breathe out before he can panic. “Fuck. I have so many questions, but first, yes. Yes, I want to kiss you, Lee Chan.”

You can hardly believe the giggle and shy smile he sends your way before he kisses you breathless. 

Yeah, you think to yourself as he pulls back, as your fingers lift to gently trace the barely-there bruise on his cheek, as he leans into the warmth of your hand. As you think about how he’s been doing all of this — trying to change the world — alone.

Yeah, you think. You’ll figure it out. 

TAGLIST: @waldau @minisugakoobies @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @wqnwoos @wheeboo @christinewithluv @lvlystars @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @bewoyewo @kyeomkyeomi @mingyuscoffee @harry-the-pottypus @lightprincess-world @icyminghao @bella-l @darkypooo

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Moments Posts w/ the LADS Men - "No Bugs"

I wanted to do a moments feed type of post and this request was perfect. This is also inspired by bbyjackie right here on Tumblr go check out her blog if you want to see socials w/ one piece boyfriends she's amazing

Zayne

_thedrzayne

Location: Some strangers house

❤️ liked by yvannamama, gray_sun, misshuntermc and 27k others

_thedrzayne: I’ve never seen someone move so fast to get away from a mere insect

tagged: misshuntermc

Comments

talkthat_tara: 📸 cred me

nene.nero: Where are your shoes? @/misshuntermc

↳ talkthat_tara: She literally ran out of them ↳ nene.nero: the wheeze I just whuzzed is unreal 😭😭 ↳ talkthat_tara: It took an hour to get her down

yvannamama: @/misshuntermc when did you move into a house?

↳ _thedrzayne: She didn't.... ↳ _thedrzayne: She ran onto the roof of a strangers residence ↳ gray_sun: @/misshuntermc GET OUT OF THOSE PEOPLES HOUSE! ☠️

misshuntermc: THAT WASP TRIED TO JUMP ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET

↳ _thedrzayne: that insect was not worried about you ↳ talkthat_tara: It flew right passed you

Rafayel

seagod_raf_

Location: A sea of heartache

❤️ liked by misshuntermc, thomasthomas_, and 32.5k others

seagod_raf_: Tell my girlfriend to stop being mean to me

tagged: misshuntermc

Comments

misshuntermc: You killed a wasp on my head and then laughed when I ran into a shelf trying to get it out

↳ seagod_raf_: You screamed bloody murder out of nowhere IN A STORE I thought you were being kidnapped

misshuntermc: Use me as a dislike button —>

↳ seagod_raf_: I said sorry 😢 ↳ misshuntermc: Not good enough there will be 12 cats waiting in your art studio 😘 ↳ thomasthomas_: lmk if you want help ↳ seagod_raf_: Remind me why I haven’t fired you?

talkthat_tara: 😟 Are you okay mc?

↳ misshuntermc: No come get me my head hurts ↳ seagod_raf_: Do not come get her I got it ↳ misshuntermc: I’m calling the authorities ↳ thomasthomas_: Already called them

Xavier

lumiere.who

Location: damn near the morgue

❤️ liked by misshuntermc, whosjeremiah and 27.3k others

lumiere.who: Advice of the day - don’t kick the driver in the face because a bee flew in the car

tagged: misshuntermc

misshuntermc: it was a wasp get it right

↳ lumiere.who: oh my bad the molly whop kick from hell to the head has me a little dizzy 😐 ↳ misshuntermc: my life flashed before my eyes I’m still crying…. ↳ lumiere.who: my jaw still hurts… ↳ misshuntermc: I said I was sorry I panicked ↳ lumiere.who: doesn’t stop the pain

imjenna: @/misshuntermc I’ve seen you remain level headed in more dire situations

↳ lumiere.who: I’m signing her up for more focus training

nene.nero: Not she kicked you in the face 🤣

talkthat_tara: Passenger princess? More like passenger menace

↳ misshuntermc: Tara be on my side ↳ talkthat_tara: babes you almost killed your man and yourself over a bug I’ll hold your hand when I’m done laughing love you 💕

Sylus

skye.109

Location: mind the business that pays you

❤️ liked by thing1_luke, thing2_kieran, misshuntermc and 35.7K others

skye.109: She really doesn’t like wasps….

tagged: misshuntermc

Comments

misshuntermc: who took this picture??

↳ thing1_luke: me 🙋🏻‍♂️ ↳ misshuntermc: photography skills? chefs kiss ... taking pictures of me passed out? devious work

thing2_kieran: the bride passing out from a wasp was not on my bingo card for the wedding

↳ misshuntermc: wasn’t exactly part of the plan

misshuntermc: Sylus delete this

evolpoliceofficial: Sylus Qin? Sir you have an active warrant for your arrest check your inbox

↳ misshuntermc: WILD not y’all showing up like fans even got his full government 🤣 ↳ thing1_luke: YoU hAvE aN AcTiVe wArRaNt 🐤 ↳ thing2_kieran: who’s mans is this??? ↳ skye.109: Blocked.

[innerfare]

A Lucky Injury - Law

Summary: Your Captain, whom you've been crushing on since you joined the Heart Pirates, was injured in a fight, and his wound is in a place he just can't reach, forcing him to ask you for help bandaging it. Features pining (reader is down bad).

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff

CW: SFW // Slight Mention of Blood and Injury (no real gory details though)

Word Count: 643

———

It was a lucky injury. You were a bad person for thinking it, a horrible person for gleaning any amount of pleasure from your Captain’s pain, but it was a lucky injury. Somewhere between mild and moderate on the scale, closer to moderate though Law claimed it was mild, the gash on his shoulder blade was just out of reach. For him, at least. The gash was well within your reach. It was also serious enough to warrant medical attention, but not so serious that you had to worry about his future health. 

It was a lucky injury. 

“Take off your shirt,” you ordered him, doing your utmost to act normal as he sighed and went to pull his hoodie off. To your sick pleasure, he flinched a little when he did, allowing you to step in and pull it the rest of the way off. You caught the lingering scent of his soap and that special laundry detergent he used for his sensitive skin mixed with his sweat, and you had to stop yourself from pulling the garment to your face and inhaling like some sort of lunatic. 

“Y/n-ah, I can do it myself.” His voice sounded lower than usual, similar to when he was tired or battling a cold he insisted he didn’t have. It was gravelly, like it might give out at any moment. 

“Just like you could fight those guys yourself?” You set the hoodie beside him on the exam table and assessed his wound, drying some of the blood from his tanned skin. You took extra care not to look at his bare chest, knowing full well those heart tattoos and lithe muscles would make it too difficult to concentrate on your work. 

“I did fight them myself,” he said. “And I beat them myself, too, so don’t-” He hissed as you dabbed his wound with antiseptic. 

“Yeah, you’re a real tough guy.” 

“I’m a Warlord,” he reminded you. 

“And the most terrifying one, to boot.” You continued cleaning his wound, a little bit too aware of the way his jaw clenched as you worked. Oh, and the sinewy line of his shoulder. You knew your captain was a nerd, but he certainly didn’t have the body of a guy who spent much of his time hunched over a desk. 

It was a lucky injury. 

“Why are you taking so long?” He asked. “It’s clean by now, just bandage me up.” 

“Doctors make the worst patients,” you tutted, giving his wound one more pass with the antiseptic. It was for his own good, not because you wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to touch him. 

“If you’re dragging this out to punish me for going in by myself-” 

“I would never prolong your suffering,” you interrupted, reaching for a bandage. “That would be unethical.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered, “a pirate would never do something unethical.” 

“Is the Warlord going to lecture me now on ethics?” 

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat, and you realized there was a slight pink flush to his cheeks, though you had no idea why. You could only imagine he was embarrassed to be caught in a position where he needed help. 

You considered messing up the bandage so you had to redo it, now not even so enamored by his naked upper half as you were enjoying the way he squirmed, for once not in a position of power, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Of course, you regretted it as soon as he grabbed his dirty hoodie and tugged it back on. 

“I’ll need to change that in a few hours,” you told him as he stood up. “Come find me after dinner.” 

“Thanks,” was all he said before slipping out, leaving you with the fresh memory of his shirtless form and warm skin. 

It was a lucky injury. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Geralt realising how pissed you are after running into you again…

It was another busy day where knights, men and women of all corners came in to rest their battle-weary feet and drink mead. There would be the occasional brawl but they were nothing when you compared it to battling a cursed wyvern with a blindfold.

You exited the back room having just refilled the pitcher of cool mead when a familiar grunt caught your attention. Just behind a rowdy table of farmers, in the corner, sat the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia - and a bard who was far too chipper while sober.

Inching a little closer, you busied yourself with empty flagons while remaining within earshot of the pair.

“Come on - it’s not a bad lyric. Ah, what do you know? You can wield a sword but not understand the complex meaning behind a beautiful string of words.” The bard said.

Geralt scoffed. “It wasn’t complex.”

An old man slid a few coins across the table for the service which you pocketed and then moved on to the next.

“We can’t stay long.” Geralt told his companion. You glanced back briefly and saw the brightly dressed man staring into his coin satchel, concerned.

“I could swear there was more silver in here. Geralt, I think I’ve been indecently swindled.”

You wanted to confirm that the man could easily have fallen prey to the notorious pick-pockets that haunt the tavern but you stayed silent, now distracted by a customer who ordered some pies.

“Don’t forget the carrots this time.” He reminded.

You wanted to tell him where to shove his carrots but heard your name being shouted from across the floor.

“Y/n, I need a word!” It was the tavern owner who enjoyed paying you less than what you were owed. With a sigh, you trudged over to him away from most prying ears. “You’ve been waiting on those tables long enough. Deliver those pies and refill goblets on the double or I’ll show you out the door.”

You had half a mind to bite back but chose to hold the words at bay. In ten minutes, the pie was ready to be collected from the kitchens. As you walked it to the table, you made the decision to confront Geralt but upon approaching his table, found that the Witcher and his bard had vanished, leaving behind some coins for the hospitality.

Geralt would have heard your name being bellowed. He would have seen you answer the call. And yet, he still left?

Typical!

The farmer who had ordered the food found his plate empty as you swerved around his chair and rushed out the wooden door. Turning left, you followed the small path down to where riders often tied their horses, your own being one of them - spotting the familiar silver hair and lute of the bard.

Words appeared to have failed and rational thoughts had abandoned your mind the second you fled.

Your hand flipped the pie out of its casing and with one, well-aimed throw, found its mark. The bard screamed and the Witcher stopped in his tracks instantly stilling for a few seconds.

Then he turned, his jaw clenched. “Did you throw a meat pie at my head?”

You tossed the empty pan over your shoulder. “You bet I did and I’ll do it again.”

The bard at Geralt’s side grabbed his guitar and hid behind the broad-shouldered man fearing that he would be next. “Oh, they’re pissed. What did you do?”

Geralt exhaled as he pulled stray bits of pastry out of his locks. “I’m not sure…”

“Not sure? You fucking ignored me in the tavern! Friends for years and it doesn’t warrant a simple ‘hello’?” You yelled.

Jaskier peered out from behind, “Oh, he’s always like that. We’ve been friends for several weeks and he pretends to hardly know me - such a jest.” He chuckled to himself quite fondly.

Ignoring the brightly coloured song man, Geralt addressed you, now free from the discarded food. He had indeed acknowledged the your presence the minute he set foot in the tavern but found himself reliving old memories instead - some good, others painful.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after that business with the striga.”

“The striga?” You repeated, remembering the event he was referring to where he had taken claim over the beasts defeat instead of giving you proper recognition. “That was over a year ago, I was bitter for perhaps a few weeks but no more. But you wouldn’t know that because you ran off with Roach.”

“I didn’t run off - I just - you were injured and I had no reason to hang around while you healed.” The Witcher explained. “In hindsight, I probably should have checked in.”

You nodded vehemently. “And since you didn’t, you’re very deserving of that meat pie.”

“The pie was mean.” Geralt frowned.

“Oh a tale of a strained but beautiful friendship filled with battles and miscommunication - you must regale me with the details.” Jaskier grinned.

You would gladly do so if your old friend would have your company once more. Raising a brow at Geralt, you posed the silent question.

“Don’t you have a job?” Geralt asked.

You squinted in return. “I abandoned my post and stole a pie. I’m surely fired.”

“Fine - but only until the next village.” The Witcher negotiated, knowing full well that his friend would likely be staying for a longer time. He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on his horse with a small grunt.

You shared a similar grin to the bard and sent a high whistle into the air to call forth your own steed for the journey ahead.

When the horse approached, you took hold of the reins and walked alongside Jaskier.

“While we’re on the topic, I’ll tell you about the time when Geralt fought an ifrit almost fully naked.” You winked and caught the eye roll on your friends face.

Jaskier pulled his guitar to the front and strummed a few strings to start a catchy tune. “Oh, I’m ready for this.”

~ More imagines here ~

[star4daisy]

931 - detective - @stag-microfic tw: mentioned murder

happy birthday sweetheart, I tried to make this sweet I promise but you did say they could comit murder lmao @ecstarry

“Detective Potter, what brings you here?”

The man in question gives him a look as if Regulus should know, he has to hold in his urge to smirk, keeping his eyes wide and innocent as he looks at the detective from below. 

“Another girl is missing after leaving the bar nearby.”

“Oh,” Regulus pretends to be surprised. “What a tragedy.”

Potter hums, “Yes it is,” his eyes never straying from Regulus’s, considering all of his reactions.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re in my flower shop, though,” he points out.

“Bartender said you were open the night she disappeared, figured you could’ve seen something.”

“Nope,” he pops out the word, “I was in the back cultivating my garden.”

“I’m sure you were,” Potter’s voice is full of scepticism. “Would you mind if I checked this garden of yours?”

“Let me think,” Regulus makes a mockery out of it, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Do you have a warrant?”

Potter looks frustrated with him, “You know I don’t.”

“Then I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Regulus smiles sweetly at him, batting his eyelashes for good measure.

“Why are you doing this?” Potter looks so done with him. 

“I can show you my apartment upstairs, though,” he replies cheekily, ignoring the detective’s question. 

Potter snorts, “Hard pass.”

Regulus's smile dies on his lips. “Good luck on your search then,” his eyes narrow, accompanying Potter to the door.

“I’ll be back,” the detective warns.

“I’m sure you will.” They always do.

It’s past nine p.m. when he’s about to close the shop before being stopped by a certain pain in the ass - not even on the fun way - detective entering his shop again.

“What are you doing here, detective?” His tone is harder than it had been during the day.

“I’m off the clock,” Potter assures him.

“Oh?” Regulus knows he can’t keep the interest out of his voice.

“Yeah,” his stare is way more leisurely than when he studied Regulus before. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he flips the closed sign on the door.

Regulus can’t help his satisfied smirk, “Of course you were.”

Potter closes the window curtains before approaching him slowly. “You should be more careful, though,” he warns.

“What about?” Regulus doesn’t bother to keep the smugness out of his voice, satisfied with getting what he wants, he usually does.

“Who you tell things,” the detective messes with the cord that holds Regulus’s apron around his waist, pulling on it harshly until it snaps open falling to their feet. “You never know when one of them might decide it’s not worth it to keep your secrets anymore.”

“Why would they?” Regulus teases. “When what I can give them back is so much sweeter.”

 Potter swallows heavily, “How sweet?”

“Why don’t you try it for yourself?” he challenges. “Thought you said you were off the clock.”

“I am,” Potter leans in closer, finally giving in to the temptation, he runs his nose over Regulus's neck slowly, drinking in the smell he craves. It makes Regulus shiver and practically melt on the taller man's arms, the effect one has on the other is undeniable any time they step close. “And that’s why I’m giving you a fair warning. Be careful, love.”

“Well she shouldn’t have flirted with you in front of me,” Regulus retorts snidely, crossing his arms defensively between them.

James laughs against his cheek, taking Regulus’s arms in his hands and putting them on his waist, not allowing his boyfriend to keep any barriers between them. “Did you dispose of the body?”

“Of course, I’m not stupid.”

“I know you aren’t, baby, but people might start getting suspicious.”

Regulus scoffs, “Who would suspect the flower shop guy?”

James kisses his cheek, then his jaw, every time coming closer to his mouth, “Don’t get confident, love. That’s how everyone gets caught.”

“But you are not going to allow that, are you, Detective Potter?” Regulus raises an eyebrow in challenge.

After all, there was a reason why he had chosen to seduce the acclaimed James Potter in the first place, it didn’t matter if he’d fallen in love with him along the way, the end result was still the same. Regulus counted on his protection.

“Of course not, my love. I’d never let them come close to you,” James promises him earnestly.

Regulus finally turns his head and kisses him slowly as a reward. “Thank you, sweetheart. Have I told you how much I love you today?”

“No,” James's smile is so wide it’s blinding. “Tell me.”

Regulus smirks when he pulls James in by the collar of his shirt as he walks backwards to the stairs. “Why don’t I show you instead?”

James looks more than happy with the alternative, he’s always so willing to go along with everything Regulus suggests, which is one of the things he loves the most about him. He hadn’t even blinked when Regulus killed the first guy for flirting with James in front of him. 

Hell, Regulus was pretty sure James had gotten hard when he realised how far Regulus was willing to go for him. When he knew that was how Regulus proved his love for him. They both had very different ways of showing it, Regulus by killing and James by protecting him. 

But none of them felt any less loved by the other, they just expressed their devotion differently. Regulus wouldn’t choose it any other way. 

He is the happiest he’d ever been when he is by James’s side. That’s never changing. And to them, that's what matters the most.

[mirohtron]

The villain had never seen the hero like this. Twitchy. Vulnerable. Volatile. Wide-eyed and not quite present.

Of course, after the media outpour, after the merciless backlash, after the mess that had went down between them and their agency, the villain had expected some form of pain on the hero's face, but not...this. Some look like they'd gone through a revelation that had ruined their life.

They got the compulsion to take advantage.

"I always knew they would do something like this," they murmured pitifully. They brushed slow, careful fingers under their chin. "But not to someone like you. Never you. You were always so... good."

The hero's eyes snapped up, suddenly cognizant.

The villain flinched back from the rage they saw, and just as quickly it flickered out in the hero's face and they were back to sadly staring.

A moment passed.

The hero said nothing, so the villain continued.

"Would you like to exact revenge?" they asked, gentler this time. "I could help."

The hero looked up again, wide-eyed, but this time interested.

The villain slowly raised their hand, careful not to spook, and touched their fingers to the hero's cheek. "They hurt you," said the villain. "You. I think that warrants some retaliation." They dropped their hand and the hero didn't follow it. The villain wasn't sure if they were cognizant of anything at all.

"Do you know the details?"

"Of what happened? No."

Silently, the hero tilted their head to the side.

"I don't want to take advantage of you," the villain told them gently. "I just believe your rage has been suppressed and smothered and doused for far too long. It's unhealthy, you know—"

"They threw me away," the hero said flatly. "Like rubbish. Because I found things." They tilted their head to the other side. "They sent people to me afterwards. Tried to get me to kill myself. When that didn't work they sent a hero."

The villain buffered as they processed this information. Of course they knew the higher ups at the agency liked doing terrible things, but...

"Just them?"

"Not just them. And not just the people."

The villain opened their mouth, considered their next words. But they were not sure what would give another seething head tilt and what would give the weakness they'd prefer.

"Not just them," the villain repeated quietly. They eyed the hero's stray hairs, the blood and dirt and cuts on their face. All their time in this job they'd never seemed to fit a place like this; a gloomy room, a star-lit sky, tall, looming, spindle-shaped trees. They raised a careful hand to tuck hair behind the hero's ear. "What would you like to do?"

"A lot of things."

The villain trailed slow fingers down the line of the hero's jaw. Slightly, so slightly they could've imagined it, the hero leaned into their touch. Their chest swelled . "Bad things?"

They placed their fingers over the hero's throat to feel the inevitable swallow. "Yes."

"You'd be justified. All these years of overwork, crawling into your bed each thankless night, this constant persistence that you had to do better." The villain stepped close as the hero's expression twisted in pain. "I'd justify that. I think, anyone who isn't an idiot would justify that. Think about it." They cupped the hero's face with both hands, voice down to a whisper. "Think of what you could do to them with my help."

Something in the hero's eyes cleared. They leaned a fraction of an inch back, all the fog in their eyes disappearing.

The villain started to draw their hands back.

The hero caught their wrists in a vice-like grip. They were present. Their stare was fierce. "No. Not just revenge," they said. "I want them to feel helpless. Do you know how much I've contributed to their strategies? Their technological advancement? And yet they don't give me any weapon that's not years old. I want them wishing they could've been better, that this could've been prevented." They shook their head just slightly, and the hair the villain had carefully tucked back came loose to frame their face.

"I want them wailing for help," the hero said. They let go of the villain's wrists and touched their palms to their cheeks instead. "I want the city bending at my whims," they breathed, stepping close, "like I bent for theirs. I want them to resent me. I want them to fear me. I want them scared when night time comes, because they fear I'll pop out and steal them. Then they'll see. Then they'll see how great I am. How great I always was. How I was their fault."

For the first time the hero looked like they belonged in this gloom, like the night sky was rising behind them; a lethal backdrop. The trees behind them seemed to rise up, pitch-black silhouettes. A bloody, dirty face, angry, wide eyes, horrible words spewing out their mouth—oh, the villain didn't know how they never saw it.

They looked like they meant every word. The villain was aware of every inch of them, suddenly alight with fury, with potential, with the need to ruin and desecrate.

The hero pulled them closer, until they were breathing each other's air, and the villain wanted to see their mouth dripping with blood that didn't belong to either of them. Such wild teeth they had. Such a cruel tongue. Such eyes, such hands, such looks. "I want them," the hero said, "to forever regret me. I want to grow like festering mold in their memory. I want to be a parasite in their history."

"You're wonderful," the villain whispered dazedly.

The hero snapped out of whatever had overcome them. They let go of the villain's face and moved back.

The villain snapped out of their stupour, straightening. Back they looked, and the hero had returned to looking like a fawn, all traces of that destructive sadism gone. The villain clenched their fist to collect themselves, bit the tip of their tongue.

"It'll be a pleasure to help you exact your revenge," said the villain. They thought of new ways to take advantage of the hero. Thought, distantly, how they could amplify their terrible side. "But you have to trust me."

"That'll be work."

"I will have to trust you, too," they said. "And—don't wear these colours." They traced the collar of the hero's ruined shirt. "I've always thought black looked much better on you."

The hero looked at the villain. "Your colour."

The villain tugged lightly on their collar. Looked back at them. "My colour." They righted it and brushed off lint that wasn't there from their shoulder. "Now, to work."

The hero followed.

In ten months they brought despair to the city.

In twelve the hero had made the villain theirs.

[ohraicodoll]

okay am actually obsessed with feral reader & i saw you’re taking prompts/requests!! so how would feral reader react to joel being injured 👀 either while on patrol in wyoming or on their journey there w ellie

Aww thank you!! I'm so happy people have taken to her! And yesssss I'd had something along this line roughly in my head so I'm definitely down with this prompt!

Beast Joel Miller x fem!reader The Last of Us (Show/Game) 2.3k Words Warning: Gore, violence! Really putting the feral in Feral Reader lol

Later, she’d tear herself apart because they knew better. They knew to stay in pairs, knew to still be cautious, knew to not be so casual about the trips to the outskirt cities during patrols. It didn’t matter how long they’d been at Jackson, they knew what life was like outside the walls and it wasn’t something they could be nonchalant about. Complacency led to death and Jackson gave you a taste of that life. Life before a monstrous fungus destroyed everything. They were paying for that delusion now.

She grit her teeth at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, of Joel’s growl of pain and anger coming from around the corner where she was hiding. Something had felt off and she’d come back only to find he had been ambushed, wrist shackled to a pipe low to the ground and cut on his forehead bleeding down into his eye. The bruise blossoming on his cheek told her he’d already taken a few punches.  

From her hiding spot, she could see there were two guys in the room with him. One crouched down holding a knife close to Joel, blood smeared across his face from a busted lip and black eye already forming. The other was standing closest to her, watching what was unfolding with a pistol hanging loosely in his hand. She almost snarled at the site of the blood spreading from Joel’s side, turning her favorite denim shirt dark red from some injury she couldn’t fully see. He was as angry as she was, brow heavy and glaring up at the two with a sneer. It was a stare that had promised violence, had signed death warrants and delivered it. They’d hurt him. They’d hurt Joel. It wasn’t an impossible thing. He was human. She’d seen them get into fights before, but this time they’d cornered him and there was no Ellie barrier. No leash that told her to be quick and efficient and not freak the kid out. No second focus for her. No one besides Joel to protect. All she could feel was rage because they’d hurt one of her people and were enjoying it, grins on their faces and chuckles leaving their throats. Her hackles raised, teeth grit together to the point her jaw hurt, as her hand gripped the bow she’d brought. They had planned to hunt. Got tired of dinner experiments and attempts to cook so they were going back to what they knew. Hunting wasn’t entirely off the table, just a different kind of prey was the target. She’d have to move fast. Move before the one closest to Joel could hurt him, move before they could react and shoot either of them. She didn’t have the same brutal strength her partner did but she was quick and quiet and that was all she needed. Taking a deep breath, she swiveled around the corner and drew the bowstring back taut, feeling it almost kiss her cheek before releasing with a quiet swish. It was fast and at close range the arrow hit home hard and brutally into the back of the guy closest to her’s skull. 

A choked gasp left his throat from the impact then he was sliding to his knees, crumpling and drawing the other’s attention. Even in the chaos she could see Joel’s eyes flick over, take her in as she ran in a dead sprint towards the one crouched by him. He was still kneeling, knife in hand, but he was slow to react. In the back of her mind, she wondered how these men could have gotten the jump on him. Maybe all the jokes about him getting older were starting to ring true, her complaints about settlement life making them complacent coming back to haunt them. Domesticated. They’d been domesticated and for some reason that pissed her off more. The stranger hadn’t managed to get off the ground fast enough and instead was the perfect height for her to get the bow around his neck and yank him hard into her knee. He choked and wheezed, arms flailing as she growled and pulled. She pulled with all her strength, using her arm strength to keep the bow as tight against his windpipe as she could while her knee pushed him harder and harder into it. Ellie had asked once if they had ever snapped anyone’s necks. Like in the movies where they simply yank the goon’s head slightly in the other direction and it cracks, easy peasy. She’d told her it wasn’t that easy. Spines and necks are actually a lot tougher, can take a lot of strain and usually need a lot of pressure to break. Right now she wished it was that simple. Wanted to see how much pressure she could drive into his spine before that crack would reach her ears. The guy finally stopped flailing in panic and decided to use the knife still in his hand, stabbing wildly over his shoulder in an attempt to reach her and get her off him.

Joel was bucking and yanking at the cuffs, yelling as he attempted to get free or reach them to help. His hand was turning purple from the pressure and the blood in his side was spreading even more. She wanted to tell him to quit it, to think and focus because he was only hurting himself. 

Both her hands were starting to hurt from the strain of pulling the bow and he wasn’t going down. With a hiss, the knife managed to skim her shoulder, slicing through her shirt sleeve. It was a gamble but she couldn’t keep it up, was going to exhaust herself before the guy would be out. When the stranger went to stab her again, she dropped the bow abruptly and grabbed his arm, wrenching it far back and ripping the knife from his grip as he screamed in pain. The knife found its home soon after, stabbed into the side of his head, cutting off the sound of his strained gasps. Jerking it back out, she took deep breaths while holding the knife, panting and watching the body collapse at her feet. There was silence for a bit, the slight clinking of the cuffs rattling against the pipes all she could hear for a second and adrenaline shooting through her veins. She enjoyed that silent moment after the fight was over where all she could hear was the sound of her heartbeat and lungs expanding and collapsing. It was the sound of still being alive. Joel’s eyes found hers and she relaxed a bit, seeing the way they burned. Either from want, gratefulness, wonder, she wasn’t sure. But never fear or disgust and that’s all she cared about. He was safe, they were alive, the people were dead. And maybe that small moment with him was what distracted her right before a third attacker came barreling in, tackling her to the ground. The man was big and angry and screaming in her face. The tackle had put her at a disadvantage, shoving her onto her back with her arms pinned between their bodies along with the knife. She couldn’t get her harms free or make any room to get leverage against him. The third attacker was heavy and her breath had been knocked out of her. She struggled to gulp in the air, to get breath into her lungs, before the man’s hands were around her neck. Joel was shouting her name. The man was spitting and yelling so close to her she could feel the spit land on her skin while his hands squeezed. They were big, were wrapped all around her neck easily. All she could do was buck like a trapped animal, teeth and claws bared as she struggled wildly under his weight. If she got taken out, Joel would be next. If she died, Joel would die. He couldn’t get free, couldn’t get back to Jackson and Tommy, couldn’t get back to Ellie. Her throat was raw and lungs burned, her mind desperately trying to find a solution but all she could hear ringing in her ears was Joel’s yells. The man was almost nose to nose with her, dirty face twisted in rage.

As hard as she could muster, she smashed her head into her attackers, feeling the clatter of bones and teeth shake her skull. He shouted and jerked back, hands loosening just a bit. Not enough she could get her arms free, but enough that she rushed forward and latched onto his neck with her teeth. She clamped down as hard as she could. His skin was dirty and salty and bile rose but she bit down harder and harder. Flesh tore beneath her teeth and blood rushed into her mouth, metallic and sharp, as he screamed and tried to get away from her. It only helped her to do more damage, ripping the skin. Jackson was home, but it wouldn’t tone her down. If anything, it gave her more to protect, more things she would tear herself apart to keep safe. She’d rip the throat out of anyone who dared to hurt what was hers. The man rolled off of her, desperately trying to cover the large hole in his neck as blood flooded out. She spat out the chunk of flesh with a growl and turned over with a hard swing of her hand, the knife skimming off bone before sinking into his chest with a hard thud. There was a wet gurgling sound coming from him and she panted, spitting some of the blood in her mouth onto his body. There was no appreciating the silence this time, no letting the rage simmer down. It stuck to her, hot and bright, like the blood coating her mouth and jaw. “Which one had the handcuffs?” she bit out and almost startled herself at how rough and raspy her voice came out. It felt raw, painful, but she swallowed past it and climbed unsteadily to her feet. Joel’s face was a mask as he took her in, took in the three bodies around him and the blood covering her. He didn’t say anything, only jerked his head at the guy with the shiner she had attempted to strangle. Her body didn’t feel grounded, a second delay in her processing making her feel out of it, but she focused on the taste of copper on her tongue and roughly went through the guys pockets searching for the key. Her fingers wrapped around a small piece of metal and she sighed in relief, thankful she wasn’t going to have to find a way to break the pipe and get the cuffs cut off in Jackson. Joel still didn’t say anything as she walked over and kneeled heavily in front of him, hands going to the cuffs and working to get them undone. His hand and wrist were torn up from all the yanking he had done and she was thankful it wasn’t his dominant one or he’d be pissed. Not broken, but the skin was bruised and purple and would need one of the doctors to look at it along with the wound in his side. The metal clicked and she pulled his hand free, not letting go, instead checking it over completely before she cupped his cheek and took in the gash on his forehead. “Hey,” he bit out the word, eyes dark and lips pressed together into a hard frown. She ignored him, focusing on checking him over and taking a mental log of all his injuries. She should have killed them slower. “We’ll have to scrap this run and get you looked at. I don’t trust those cuffs and the last thing we need is you getting infected,” muttering, she yanked up the bottom of his shirt without even asking and took in the long gash along his ribs, “You’ll need stitches. I can also see if Maria can get the blood out of the shirt and maybe patch the hole. This one’s a good one, I don’t want you to have to throw it away.” Joel growled her name again, this time louder, and grabbed her chin roughly in his hand to  force her focus onto his face.

She clenched her jaw under his fingers, swallowing blood and pain. Waited for the beratement, the breakdown of what went wrong and the self-punishment he liked to give himself so often. Waited for the potential disgust at the violence. But she wouldn’t apologize. He’d seen her do worse for less and she wouldn’t apologize for protecting him.

Instead, he watched her and took in the hard line of her brow, the blood drying across her mouth and chin and smeared all over, the bright fire of rage still burning in her eyes. And then he yanked her forward, kissing her hard and brutally, practically pulling her into his lap.

He didn’t cringe away at the taste of someone else’s blood on her tongue, of the way those teeth had ripped into someone a few moments before. He drank her in desperately, uninjured hand diving into her hair and tightening on the strands. The pain was still there. Her throat was raw and his hand stung as it clung to her side, knife wound bleeding even as he brought her onto his thighs. They both didn’t care, swallowing the other’s gasps of pain and pleasure.

Her whole body relaxed in his grip as if to say he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay and she let herself hold him tight and kiss him.

He would never say thank you. It was a process to get the words dragged out of him, but with him his actions always spoke louder. His fingers skimming her throat whispered that he would have killed them himself if he could, his tongue against hers spoke of his acceptance, his tight grip on her was his gratefulness.

Joel didn’t pull away from her, didn’t try and change her, and she’d rip the whole world apart for him for that fact alone. He was her family and she protected what was hers.

[ghostlyglimmer]

Unlikely Roads: Chapter 1

Summary:

Danny and his rival, Wes Weston, as they join forces to escape the GIW. On a tense road trip, they uncover personal truths and forge an unexpected bond while battling both the GIW and their own conflicts.

Fic is inspired by @greenglowinspooks's post!

The quiet of Amity Park’s night was shattered by the frantic pounding on Danny’s window.

Danny Fenton sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing. His first thought was that some ghost had decided to wreck his night. Again. But when he glanced at the clock—2:17 AM—and looked outside, what he saw wasn't a ghost at all. It was Wes Weston. Bruised, bloody, and visibly shaking.

“What the hell?” Danny muttered, more annoyed than alarmed at first. Wes had always been a thorn in his side. Always trying to "out" him as Danny Phantom to everyone in school, even though no one ever believed him. But this? This was...different.

“Fenton!” Wes’s voice cracked through the glass, desperate and raw. “Open up!”

Still half-asleep, Danny threw back his blanket and padded across the floor. He opened the window just a crack, enough to hear the panic in Wes’s voice more clearly. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“They’re after me,” Wes gasped, leaning against the window frame, struggling to catch his breath. His face was pale, and his clothes were torn, as if he’d barely escaped something—or someone. “The GIW… they’re after me. And you.”

That got Danny’s attention. “Wait, what?”

Wes took a shaky breath, wincing as he touched a cut on his forehead. “They’ve been watching me. For weeks. Ever since I started poking around, asking too many questions. An hour ago, they got a warrant. They want me in custody because of what I know... and they want you for what you are.”

Danny’s stomach flipped. The GIW—the Ghost Investigation Ward—had been a constant threat ever since they’d set up camp in Amity Park, hunting ghosts with their high-tech weapons and zero tolerance. But for them to be after Wes too? That was new. That was bad.

He could feel the cool buzz of his ghost sense curling in his chest, a sign that danger was near, though not supernatural this time. It was human—and that made it scarier. He narrowed his eyes at Wes. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I didn’t have to come here!” Wes snapped, his voice breaking. “I could’ve run. I should’ve run, but I didn’t! They’ll kill me just for knowing your secret, and you? They’ll do worse to you if they catch you.”

Danny clenched his jaw, weighing his options. Wes had been a royal pain for so long—constantly badgering him about being Phantom, always trying to expose him. But Wes looked absolutely terrified. There was no mistaking the desperation in his eyes.

“Look,” Wes pleaded, his breath ragged. “You’ve got powers. You’ve got a chance. But I can’t... I can’t do this alone.”

Danny stood frozen, staring at Wes. The easy thing would be to slam the window shut, let Wes deal with his mess. But if what he said was true—and Danny's gut told him it was—they were both in deep trouble.

“Fine,” Danny grumbled, yanking the window open fully and helping Wes climb inside. “But we’re gonna need more than your paranoid rambling to get out of this.”

“I have a plan,” Wes said, his voice still shaky but firm. “My uncle. He lives out of state. He doesn’t trust the government, hates the GIW, all that. He’ll help us, no questions asked.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Your uncle? And where does this government-hating conspiracy theorist live?”

“Florida.” Wes rubbed his hands together, trying to shake off the cold sweat from his skin. “Or Alaska. Either one works. The farther the better.”

Danny groaned. “Great. So, what? We hitchhike to Florida?”

“I have a bike. It’s my brother’s old one.” Wes hesitated. “But it’s in bad shape.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t have time to fix it, okay?! They showed up out of nowhere. We don’t have time to be picky.”

Danny frowned, pacing. He didn’t have many choices. If Wes was right, the GIW could be busting down the door any minute now. His parents were out of town, Jazz was staying at a friend’s, and Tucker and Sam were both unreachable at this hour. Danny didn’t know how much he trusted Wes—actually, he didn’t trust Wes at all—but he knew one thing: the GIW wasn’t going to stop until they had him. And if they thought Wes was connected to Phantom, they’d take him down too.

“Fine,” Danny said. “Let’s go.”

They crept downstairs as quietly as possible, slipping out the back door. As promised, Wes’s “bike” sat at the edge of the driveway, looking like it had seen better days—years ago. Rust clung to the metal frame, the engine sputtered when Wes tried to start it, and the tires were half-deflated.

“Oh, this is just great,” Danny muttered sarcastically, arms crossed. “We’re going to outrun the government on this thing?”

“Shut up and help me,” Wes hissed, yanking on the choke to get the engine going. Danny rolled his eyes but grudgingly stepped in, using his powers to subtly jumpstart the engine. After a few coughs and splutters, the bike roared to life—well, more like it wheezed to life, but it was running.

Danny climbed on behind Wes, the smell of gasoline thick in the air. He glanced behind them, half-expecting to see the black vans of the GIW pulling into his neighborhood. Nothing yet. But he knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Alright, Weston,” Danny muttered, gripping the back of the seat. “Let’s see how long we last before this thing breaks down.”

Wes glanced over his shoulder, his expression a mix of fear and determination. “Let’s just hope we make it out of town first.”

With that, Wes twisted the throttle, and they shot forward down the empty street, the wind biting at their faces as they sped into the night. Danny could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on them. He didn’t know how far they could run, or how long they could hide, but one thing was clear: for better or worse, they were in this together now.

As they tore through the deserted streets, the tension between them simmered. Danny kept one eye on the road ahead, the other on Wes. Part of him still wondered if this was some elaborate trick—if Wes would sell him out the second he got the chance. But then Danny saw the way Wes’s knuckles whitened on the handlebars, his breath hitching every time they passed a streetlight.

For the first time, Danny realized Wes wasn’t just scared of him. He was scared of the same thing Danny was: the GIW.

[cherienymphe]

When The Party’s Over IX (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, forbidden relationship, violence, semi public sex, jealousy, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, corruption, forced pregnancy, innocent reader, Heyward!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @silkholland​​

➥ series masterlist

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

~

You cried out when Bunny held the wet rag to your face, Cam reminding you once again to hold your head back. Your vision was still spinning, head pounding, and the loud music of the party wasn’t helping. Your hands shook and against your will, every time you blinked, your eyes watered more.

“This…isn’t going to be pretty,” Bunny murmured, rewetting the rag with cold water.

“You think?” Cam commented, wiping anymore leftover blood from under your nose. “Rafe elbowed her right in the face.”

If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d scold them both for talking about you like you weren’t even here. There was a pounding on the bathroom door, and somehow you knew exactly who it was. Your eyes closed as Cam cracked the door, and her tone only confirmed your suspicions.

“What do you want?”

“Let me see her,” Rafe hissed. “I wanna make sure she’s okay.”

“So, now you care?”

“Cam-.”

“When she was trying to pull you off of that guy, you got her right in the face and you just kept fighting,” she spat at him.

“I didn’t know,” your boyfriend snarled back, apparently out of patience as he just pushed his way into the small bathroom. “Move.”

Bunny nastily eyed him, and you sniffed, taking the rag from her.

“Guys, it’s fine,” you finally said, and Cam’s gaze met yours. “Can you just give us a minute?”

Neither of them looked the happiest at that, and you sighed.

“It was an accident, and he’s just trying to make sure I’m alright.”

With a roll of her eyes, Cam eventually relented, Bunny reluctantly following and closing the door behind her. As soon as they were gone, Rafe reached for your face, and you turned your head away.

“Let me see,” he murmured.

“Rafe, it hurts.”

The words came out in a harsher tone than you’d meant, and his fingers brushed along your jaw.

“Please,” he whispered, his own tone pleading.

Past the anger of how this night had turned out, you accepted that Rafe felt bad, and you didn’t have the energy to punish him for an accident. You looked at him, and you watched the way his face fell at the way the area between your nose and cheek was already bruising. A little bit more blood dripped from your nostril, and he hurried to grab more tissue.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Fuck indeed.”

His blue gaze met your eyes again at that, and his brows drew together.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been fighting, you know.”

Rafe pressed his lips together, but you couldn’t hold your tongue.

“The guy didn’t even do anything-.”

“He was hitting on you,” he argued, voice hardening, and you sighed.

“Even if he was, that warrants a fight? You think he’s going to be the only guy in the world who might try and hit on me? What, are you going to fight them all?”

“Even if he was? What, you don’t believe me or something? You don’t think he was?” Rafe questioned, a deep frown on his features as he leaned in.

Not wanting to go back and forth about details, you lifted your hands.

“If you think he was, then that’s all that matters, okay?” you sighed. “…but my point is that you can’t just go around starting fights because of that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, and you noticed some bruising of his own. It was shocking, really, considering he’d been laying into the guy without so much as sparing him a second. His blond hair was messier than usual, and you grimaced at the small stains of blood on his baby blue shirt.

“Why did you even get in it? I didn’t even know it was you trying to stop me, so of course I wasn’t paying attention to who I was pushing away,” he angrily questioned, gesturing towards the door.

“I’m not going to explain myself for not wanting you to get in serious trouble,” you threw back, and Rafe pursed his lips, looking away. “You can’t just go around fighting everyone because you feel like it.”

Pain was flaring in your face now, and you briefly touched your cheek with the rag before tossing it into the sink. Your eyes watered again, but this time for a whole other reason.

“Do you know what this is going to look like tomorrow? How much makeup I’m going to need?”

Rafe dropped his head into his hands, exhaling.

“I know, okay?” he quietly said. “I’m sorry.”

“Pope is already on my ass about my neck,” you sneered, and Rafe slowly lifted his head at that, completely unaware that your brother knew. “If he sees this, you’ll be lucky if I can even step into my front yard.”

Rafe waved his hand, slowly straightening with a frown.

“Woah, woah. Pope saw your neck?” he continued when you nodded. “…and…and I’m just hearing this now because…?”

“…because I didn’t want it to turn into whatever this is about to be,” you whispered. “He was furious. JJ too.”

Rafe’s eyes glinted at that, and he tilted his head. You could see the gears in his head turning, and Rafe leaned against the wall, staring at you.

“Am I safe to assume this was at your house?”

“JJ was with Pope, Rafe,” you sighed, understanding where his mind was headed. “Pope was just looking for something in my room, and JJ was waiting before he got tired of waiting.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you took note of the fact that your face was bruising as you spoke, but meanwhile, you were explaining the reason for JJ’s presence in your house just so Rafe wouldn’t work himself up again. There was a part of you that saw how wrong that was.

“I can’t sit in my house with pounds of makeup on at all times. I shouldn’t have to,” you loudly added.

He pushed himself away from the wall, approaching you and gently reaching for your face. His thumb was softly brushing over your skin, and you couldn’t help the way you flinched.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

“I told you that violence isn’t a normal thing in my life,” you quietly reminded him, and his eyes fell closed. “…and not even just that, but you know how much it scares me to see you like that.”

He nodded, and you continued.

“Not just for your safety, but just in general. It scares me, Rafe.”

“I know-.”

“You say that, but then you go and get into fights,” you pointed out. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Rafe looked towards the ceiling, and you watched him swipe his tongue between his lips.

“So, why do you feel the need to defend something that isn’t going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” was all he eventually came up with.

You reached up to grab his hands, softly asking him to look at you. When he did, his blue eyes were glassy, and your heart clenched. You reminded yourself that what happened was an accident, another accident, and you tried to calm your nerves.

“Please, promise me that you’ll work on this…because I…”

You swallowed, choosing your words carefully.

“This isn’t how I imagined our relationship to be.”

You had his full attention, now.

“This isn’t what I want it to be,” you whispered. “…and I want to be with you, but I don’t want to be worrying over your safety or wondering if another party is going to bring another brawl because some guy looked at me for longer than two seconds.”

Rafe’s face was taut, and he just stared at you, processing your words.

“What are you saying?” he slowly asked.

Your shoulders sagged, and Rafe took a step towards you, hands tightening on yours.

“Rafe, you know what I’m saying.”

The blond swallowed, licking his lip before briefly glancing away. When his eyes met yours again, his frown had deepened.

“So…I defend my girlfriend from creepy guys…and you threaten to leave me?”

“I’m not threatening anything. I’m telling you that this isn’t what I want. Rafe, I don’t want to go anywhere-.”

“So, don’t!”

“So, don’t make me!”

You two stared at each other, frowning, and you tried to make Rafe see where you were coming from. You threaded your fingers through his.

“I like being with you,” you honestly told him, and that seemed to placate him some. “I don’t want anyone else, so, who cares about how some guy looks at me? You’re the only guy I see.”

Rafe studied your face, blond hair hanging into his own, and he stepped closer. When he pressed his lips to yours, you reluctantly kissed him back, wincing a bit with every movement in your face. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, and he heaved a sigh.

“I know you only have eyes for me,” he softly relented. “I know that, but… I feel like you don’t see yourself clearly, beautiful.”

You felt your face heat up at the nickname, and Rafe smiled, brushing his lips over yours again.

“You don’t see how many guys are just waiting for you to give them the opportunity, and because they don’t know I exist…”

He trailed off, and again, you felt guilt eat away at you. You felt Rafe’s heavy gaze on you, and you knew his mind had gone where yours currently was.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again.

“I’m sorry too,” you told him. “I know this being a secret isn’t easy on you, and…I have to realize that it’s making you more tense than usual.”

Rafe seemed calmer, now, and he wrapped his arm around you, the other reaching for the rag in the sink before wetting it with more cold water. Rafe brushed his lips over your cheek before bringing the cool cloth to your skin.

“Hey, hey! Where are you going?”

You slowed to a stop, thankful that anyone milling around in the yard was too drunk to care about why you and Rafe were arguing like some couple. You resisted the urge to sigh, folding your arms over your chest.

“I’m going home, Rafe.”

You wouldn’t look at him, but you could feel his gaze on you.

“Home,” he repeated. “So…what…? You’re just going to walk there?”

“If I must,” you said with a shrug.

That was apparently enough to run up what little patience he had left. Rafe’s hands found your arms, and he forced you to face him. There was a deep frown on his face, and as you stared into his eyes, your heart sank with disappointment at how blown his pupils were.

“What’s your problem?” he finally asked, and you scoffed.

“You’re kind of ruining my night, so I’d just rather go home,” you murmured, shaking out of his hold.

Rafe followed you when you made to leave the yard.

“Hey! Talk to me. Don’t just walk away-.”

“You’ve made it clear that talking isn’t going to do anything,” you said, pausing to look at him. “You’re more of an action kind of guy, so I figured I’d just leave.”

You could see Rafe getting more irritated, and you didn’t have much of the heart to care.

“I can’t enjoy my night when you’re staring down any guy who comes within two feet of me, Rafe…”

He was nodding before you even finished, a sarcastic smile on his pink lips.

“Hell, you can’t even enjoy yourself because you’re too busy wondering who I’m talking to and what I’m talking to them about and what they might say to me-.”

“I…I’m sorry for caring about my girlfriend, I guess,” he cut you off, fingers brushing his chest. “Guess that’s my bad for giving a fuck.”

This time you did sigh, rolling your eyes, and you heard Rafe scoff.

“You know this wouldn’t even be a problem if you just told Pope about us. Unless…”

Your gaze met his, and he raised a perfect brow at you.

“Unless Pope isn’t the only one you’re afraid of telling.”

You frowned, lips parting in shock.

“What?” you voiced your exact thoughts.

Rafe shrugged.

“Can you blame me for thinking maybe this isn’t just about Pope?”

“Rafe-.”

“What am I supposed to think when you practically trip over yourself to make sure even strangers don’t know about us?”

“…because it could get back to Pope! This is a small island, Rafe!”

“You sure you’re not just ashamed of me?”

Your stomach dropped at that, and any anger you felt seemed to dissipate as you processed his words.

“Rafe…”

“I’m a screw up. Everyone knows it,” he forced out, and you watched his jaw clench. “…and you… You have this perfect reputation, and you can go to any college you want when you decide to and…”

“Rafe… Rafe! S-stop,” you finally said, stumbling towards him. “I could never be ashamed of you.”

“Well, that’s what it’s starting to feel like!”

He lightly smacked your hands away when you reached for him.

“You know how much Pope means to me,” you slowly said.

“More than me?”

You faltered at that, hating that glassy look in his gaze, and you glanced away.

“Just because you can barely stand to be around Sarah…”

“You’re hurting me to spare his feelings,” he pointed out, and you closed your eyes. “You get that, right?”

“I know,” you quietly agreed.

“He’s not the one fucking you,” he sneered, and you frowned in disgust. “He’s not the one looking out for you when creeps get that light in their eyes.”

You rubbed your temple.

“He’s not going to be the one paying for your tuition when you finally decide to go.”

You froze at that, hands dropping in shock as you stared at him with wide eyes. Rafe said it so casually, like he hadn’t just mentioned shelling out thousands of dollars to help you with whatever college you chose. Rafe didn’t even seem to realize the effect his words had on you.

“What…?”

He finally stopped to look at you, and he laughed—actually laughed at the look on your face.

“Well, of course, I am. You know I’ll take care of you,” he mumbled, and you released a shaky breath, in disbelief at how this night had gone. “That’s why it sucks so much, you know?”

He sniffed.

“…because I’m…I’m ready to give you the world, and you can’t even tell your brother about us.”

Your gaze found the ground at that.

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe chuckled, and when you looked at him again, there was a bitter grin on his face.

“…and that’s all she has to say,” he mused, throwing his arms up.

You blinked back tears, and Rafe scoffed.

“You know…if I wasn’t a better man…I’d kiss you for everyone to see.”

Your eyes widened at not just his words, but the venom in his tone.

“I wouldn’t give a fuck about showing everyone on this island who you belong to…”

He slowly walked towards you, a deep sneer on his face as he stared you down. You swallowed as he looked you over, and you reminded yourself that Rafe was high, that he wasn’t in his right mind.

“Least of all, your brother and his Pogue friends,” you didn’t like the way he said that. “What exactly is stopping me from fucking the shit out of you in your own house and making sure everyone hears what I do to you when they aren’t looking?”

You pushed at Rafe’s chest, turning away when his hand snatched your wrist with a quickness, yanking you back towards him.

“Huh?”

His face was almost touching yours, and when you pushed at his chest with your other hand, he grabbed that one too, holding you to him.

“It sure would make my life a whole lot easier,” he whispered.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” you choked out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry- God! Is that all you can say?”

You leaned away from him.

“How about I’ll do better, Rafe? I’ll try to remember how hard this is for you?”

You tried to pull your wrists out of his hold, but Rafe only tightened his grip, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How about a timeframe? Hm? Give me something, so I can know when to expect to happily treat my girlfriend like my girlfriend,” he wondered.

“Rafe, you are hurting me-.”

“…and you’re hurting me!”

His breathing was deep, heavy, and his coked out eyes looked between yours. You watched the way his lips trembled when he pressed them together, and he took a deep breath, finally letting you go. You held your wrists to you, keeping your eyes on him as he reached up, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually choked out. “I’m sorry.”

You wanted to say it was okay, but it wasn’t. You swallowed, rubbing your wrists and glancing around. The party was two houses over, and you and Rafe were just…arguing in the street. You shuddered at the cool ocean breeze, and when Rafe dropped his arms, his somber eyes were focused on you.

“I’m sorry,” he softly repeated, reaching for you now. “Let me…let me take you home.”

You bit your lip.

“I really wanted to walk-.”

“I’m not-!”

He cut himself off, hands balling into fists as he swung them at his side. He roughly exhaled, calming himself down.

“I’m not letting you walk from here,” he told you, tilting his head. “Y/N, please. Let me take you home.”

The truth was you really didn’t want to walk anywhere. You’d just been angry, and it seemed silly to cut off your nose just to spite your face as your mom would say.

“You’re…high,” you finally said.

“I’ll drive slow,” he said like it was the most obvious solution in the world, throwing his hands up.

You knew that you shouldn’t get in his truck. You knew that you needed to have another serious talk about his drug habits, especially if said habits were going to result in nights like this. You knew that your conversation resolved nothing but really just highlighted more problems instead. You knew all of this, but you were mentally exhausted, and your face was starting to hurt again, and now your wrists too.

You just wanted to get home, take something, and get to sleep…so you grabbed Rafe’s outstretched hand and let him lead you to his truck.

“You okay?”

You could feel Pope’s eyes on you for the past three minutes while you fixed yourself something to eat, so his question didn’t exactly come as a surprise. You quickly washed your knife, drying it and putting it away.

“Never better. Why?”

You looked at him, and he was staring at you strangely. Specifically, your face, and for a split second, you worried that you weren’t wearing enough concealer, but then he shook his head.

“You just seem…more quiet than usual,” he pointed out.

You avoided his eye, reaching for your sandwich with a shrug.

“Just tired, Pope.”

You brushed by him, and you thought to yourself that it wasn’t exactly a lie. You were tired, among other things, and you just happened to keep those other things to yourself. When you opened your door, you almost dropped your plate in shock, a small shriek leaving you before you swallowed it down. You heard Pope calling your name, and you were quick to slip inside and close your door.

Rafe was sitting on your bed without a care in the world.

“Hey, you okay?” Pope asked through the door.

“Yeah,” you told him. “I just hit my foot.”

He grumbled something that you couldn’t make out, and you set your plate down before hurrying towards your window.

“Don’t worry, I parked down the street,” Rafe said as you peeked outside, shutting the window.

“What are you doing here?” you wondered, facing him.

After that night you’d had sex in your room, you didn’t make it a habit of having him over. As great as it had been, you didn’t exactly want a repeat. It was too risky. Rafe was standing, now, moving towards you, and instead of answering your question, he just kissed you. You slowly kissed him back, still wondering why he was here.

“I wanted to check on you,” he finally said when he pulled away.

“Oh,” you said, unconsciously touching your wrist.

The movement caught Rafe’s eye, and he gently took one, heaving a sigh as he brushed his finger over it. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he was clearly struggling to voice whatever was on his mind. When he brought your arm up, he gently kissed the inside of your wrist, and you couldn’t fight your small smile.

“I don’t like getting like that.”

Your face fell, eyes softening as his gaze met yours.

“I don’t,” he sighed, pulling away and sitting back down. “…but when I feel like you don’t care about this relationship as much as I do…it hurts.”

Your heart sank, and your gaze found the floor interesting all of a sudden as you shifted on your feet.

“Yeah, no, I get it,” you softly replied.

“I just feel like it doesn’t drive you crazy that we have to hide. That I can’t even hold your hand in public or take you to that ice cream shop you like or happily tell some asshole that you’re mine-.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

You were staring at each other, now, and you glanced away.

“How would you feel if some girl was always trying to hit on me? Or making eyes at me? You’d hate it.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell Rafe that he was Rafe Cameron, and so girls were always making eyes at him. It couldn’t be helped, especially since they thought he was single, but you didn’t make that his problem.

“I just feel like the only one who cares.”

“You know that’s not true,” you argued, moving towards him. “You don’t think it would be easier on me too if everyone knew?”

He gave you a look.

“Yeah, it would be hard at first dealing with Pope, but eventually…I think he would get over it. It’s that part that I dread, Rafe,” you told him. “The part where Pope looks at me like I completely betrayed him and then he doesn’t look at me at all for…months.”

“You’d have me,” Rafe murmured in response, and you swallowed a sigh.

“I actually like my brother, Rafe. Of course, you don’t get it.”

You moved towards your desk, proceeding to remove your makeup.

“I don’t want him to hate me,” you whispered.

You heard Rafe move after a while, coming closer, and your eyes met his in the mirror as he knelt behind you. He took your makeup wipe from you, and you let him, watching as he finished removing it for you. Both of you reacted to the nasty bruise that spread from your face to your cheek, you with a quiet sigh and Rafe with a troubled glint in his gaze.

When you turned to look at him, he swallowed, reaching out and letting his fingers just hover over the darker patch of skin. You closed your eyes when he leaned in to gently kiss your cheek, his other hand coming up to rest on the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and you nodded.

“I know,” you told him with a small smile. “It was an accident. You didn’t know it was me.”

You watched him stand before sitting on your desk.

“I shouldn’t have been fighting, anyway.”

“No,” you lightly said, shaking your head. “You shouldn’t have.”

Rafe gave a light chuckle at that, and when his eyes met yours, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a small crooked smile.

“I see the way they look at you…and I just lose it,” he confessed. “One minute you’re there and the next it’s like you aren’t with me anymore and some chump is taking my place.”

You reached for his hand, frowning.

“I know you won’t leave me…but I can’t help but let my mind run wild.”

Rafe rubbed his forehead, exhaling.

“I’ll try to work on that…I promise,” he assured you.

You looked down, never realizing how insecure Rafe was. It made your heart hurt because he had no reason to be, and you didn’t know how to make him see that you weren’t going anywhere. That there was no reason to worry every time some guy so much as looked at you. You only wanted him, and you didn’t think that could be any more obvious.

“Stay,” you whispered, and he lifted his gaze. “Please.”

You bit your lip.

“Everyone’s asleep, and I want you to stay.”

Rafe grabbed your sandwich, holding it to your lips, and he watched as you took a bite.

“I shouldn’t…”

You frowned at that, and you worried that Rafe was still a little upset. You stood, standing between his legs, and your gaze was pleading as it held his. You slowly leaned in, pressing your lips to his, and Rafe, eager as always, kissed you back. You fully leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when you pulled back, Rafe reached up to brush his thumb down your lips.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me,” you quietly offered. “How much you don’t have to worry about me leaving you.”

Rafe held your gaze for a while, and eventually, he stood. You walked backwards, taking him with you, and you smiled when he leaned in to kiss you again.

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

The Demigod On Earth - Steve Rogers x Reader (The God of a Massive Pain in My Ass)

A/N: As soon as I watched the Loki Series Finale I knew I had to write this

Summary: A mysterious figure comes back from the dead... again.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff! Light Angst! Loki Spoilers!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

The God of a Massive Pain in My Ass

You smiled softly as you looked over your shoulder at JJ who was excitedly telling you and Steve about his day at school. The school had been visited by the local fire department for a fire safety talk and JJ couldn’t stop talking about all the cool things he’d learnt.

“They brought a dog too! It was a dalmatian!” JJ exclaimed.

“Oh wow, does the dog fight the fires too?” Steve asked as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. 

JJ laughed and shook his head “noo! They stay at the station to keep everyone company”

“Aw that’s very sweet” you commented, running your hand over your bump and returning your attention back to the front.

As Steve turned the corner someone stood at your front door caught your attention. Your blood ran cold as you instinctively reached out to grab Steve’s arm “Stop the car here” you told him.

Steve instantly did as you said “What’s wrong” he said, eyes wide with worry as he looked over at you. 

“Nothing, just take JJ to the park while I deal with something,” you said, not taking your eyes off the person at the front door. 

Steve followed your gaze before swearing under his breath “Right okay yeah sure” he nodded. 

“Thank you, I shouldn’t be long 20 minutes max” you tell him unbuckling your seatbelt. 

“Sweetheart” Steve said putting his hand on your arm as you were about to get out of the car “Don’t get too stressed” he reminded you his eyes dropping to your bump. You shoot him a look that had him immediately backtracking “But you know I’d say this is warranted”

“Yeah I’d say so, 20 minutes” you huffed as you got out of the car. 

You waited until Steve pulled away again and was out of sight before you turned around to face your visitor who had the audacity to wave at you. You clenched your fists before storming up to the front door. 

His mouth had barely opened when you swung and punched your brother Loki square in the face “What the fuck is wrong with you!” you screeched. 

Loki groaned, hand cupping his jaw “I deserved that” 

“Seriously what is wrong with you?! Do you get off causing pain to your loved ones? Do you not understand how horrible it has been to grieve you multiple times only to find out you’re fucking alive! You didn’t think to come back and help us against Thanos?!” you shouted at him hitting his shoulders and chest.

“I couldn’t” Loki sighed.

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t” you sneered. 

“I couldn’t because he did kill me, that was the moment I did die, or at least that version of me” Loki sighed with a sad look on his face. 

Your screwed your eyes shut and shook your head “What?” you said unable to make sense of what he was saying. 

Loki sighed “I can explain if you would let me” he said holding his hands up in a defensive manner. 

You took a deep breath before looking up at Loki, you could see the sincerity in his eyes, eyes that looked tired and like they’d seen too much “okay, but you only have 15 minutes now before Steve and JJ gets back and beware the dog” you said as you pulled out the key and opened the door. 

As expected Scout came bounding over and was his usual wiggly self. It was difficult to stop the smile that threatened to break out as you watched Loki try and negotiate the golden retriever. You led him through to the living room, sitting down as soon as you could because you’d worn yourself out already. 

As soon as he could Loki sat down on the opposite side of the couch, hands ringing together nervously “did Steve tell you about his time when he went back to get the stones?” Loki started, you nodded in response “well I’m the Loki who took the tesseract after Stark lost it” he explained. 

You hold your hand up to pause him “Wait, so you’re from 2012? So the dark elves and Thanos that’s not happened to you yet?” you asked.

“Yes, it’s technically my future, I’ve seen it all play out at the TVA” Loki explained.

“TVA?”

“The Time Variance Authority, they control the timeline and ensure everything runs correctly” Loki explained, you blinked in confusion so he explained some more “Me taking the tesseract wasn’t supposed to happen, by me taking it I became a variant and they arrested me” 

“So you created a new timeline and they arrested you to get rid of that timeline?” you guessed.

“Yes, exactly that! But there’s more to it” he said before recounting his story of the TVA and Kang the Conqueror. 

“So right now all the timelines are loose and it’s causing time to unravel and if you don’t stop it the entire universe will cease to exist” you said pinching the bridge of your nose and trying desperately not to stress out too much about it. 

“Yes, but I know what I need to do, and it will work. I just wanted to make amends because I won’t be able to visit ever again,” Loki sighed.

“Why not? Don’t get me wrong I’m still pissed at you but I just got you back” you muttered.

“Someone needs to hold all the timelines together once I hold on I won’t be able to let go again” Loki explained “There’s no other way, I wish there was but I’ll be able to see you, watch over this timeline, maybe there’s one where we were all still together, you, me, thor… our parents”

You let out a watery chuckle hearing that, after everything you never expected Loki to refer to Odin and Frigga as his parents again “that would be nice” you said wiping away a stray tear. 

Loki gave you a sympathetic smile which just made you cry even more, this was the brother you grew up with and you couldn’t believe he was back only to leave for good.

“Sorry, it’s all the hormones” you apologised as Loki wrapped his arm around you and pulled on in for a hug. 

“That is an exciting development, I saw a boy with Steve too,” Loki said.

“That’s JJ we had him a year before the snap, he’s Steve’s mini-me,” you tell him with a warm smile.

“Urgh another one” Loki groaned which earned him a punch to the arm. 

“And this one will be a little girl” you smile gesturing down to your bum. 

Loki smiled warmly “Well if she’s anything like you she’ll be a handful, you were a nightmare child” he smirked.

You gasp and shove his shoulder “Only because of your bad influences, I recall both you and Thor egging me on”

Loki just chuckled and shrugged his shoulder, his expression turned serious when you heard the car pull up outside “Can I meet JJ?” he asked quietly. 

You sighed “he thinks you’re dead, I don’t know how to explain all this multiverse stuff to him” you admitted shaking your head “It’s already been confusing enough that I came back but Nat and Tony didn’t”

“We don’t have to tell him, I can say it’s part of my powers that I’m able to visit” he suggested, creating a duplicate of himself across the room which said “Just this once… please”

You let out a long sigh but there was only one answer. How could you possibly take away the opportunity for JJ to meet his uncle. The brother who meant so much to you growing up. 

“Okay we’ll see how he is but if he gets upset or confused” you warned. 

Loki held up his hands “Then I’ll go and keep watching on from afar” he promised. 

You smiled softly before standing up to go greet Steve and JJ. You spotted Steve was lingering by the car trying to stall until you opened the front door. 

“Mommy” JJ called out as he ran up the path to you “What’s going on?” he asked as he hugged your legs. 

“Nothing sweetie” you reassure him “We just had a surprise guest, one who would like to meet you if that’s okay?” you asked him. 

Steve arched a brow as he walked up to join you so you gave him a reassuring look to say it was all okay. 

“Okay” JJ nodded as he took your hand. 

“Good, he’s very excited to meet you” You smiled softly as you led JJ inside the house towards Loki. 

To your surprise, Loki was pacing back and forth in the living room, but as soon as you walked back in he spun around and smiled proudly back at you “Hi” he said his voice catching slightly. 

“JJ, this is your uncle Loki,” you said introducing him. 

JJ tilted his head as his brows pinched in confusion “I thought you were up in the stars?” he asked. 

The corners of Loki’s lips twitch upwards “I am, but I have special powers that allow me to visit you, only this once though” Loki explained as he took a few tentative steps towards JJ. 

“Powers?” JJ asked. 

“Yeah, look at this,” Loki said as he knelt down and created a bright green bunny to appear in midair, you bit back a laugh as you recalled him doing similar tricks when you were a child. 

JJ’s eye lit up at the fake bunny, you smiled as he rushed over to Loki to get a better look. Steve moved to stand in JJ’s place beside you, wrapping his arm around you and pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“You feeling okay?” he asked softly. 

You nodded your head watching as Loki and JJ got to know each other “yeah, he’s not back for good but I’m glad I’m getting to see him one last time” you admitted quietly. 

“How is he back?” Steve asked. 

“He’s the Loki who stole the tesseract when you went back for it, but by doing that he created a new timeline and this is a variant of the Loki we know, but he knows what happened to our Loki” you explain “Apparently all the timelines are loose and unravelling at the moment but it's okay because he’s going to go back and hold them all together” 

Steve blinked a couple of times, his mouth opening and shutting as he tried and failed to comprehend what you just said. He finally shook his head and let out a long breath “I’m glad we’re retired and don’t have to deal with this anymore” he muttered.

You snorted “You can say that again, although it is interesting to think of all the different timelines out there, how different our lives might be in them”

Steve shook his head “they wouldn’t be any different, I would have found you in every universe and timeline” he said. 

You smiled softly up at him “I love you”

“I love you too” Steve smiled as he leaned down and kissed you softly. 

A short while later Loki stood up from where he’d been hanging out with JJ “I think my time is running out and I have a few more places to visit”

“Aww can’t you stay?” JJ complained. 

Loki smiled softly “unfortunately not, but I’ll be watching over you so I’ll never be far” he said gently ruffling up JJ’s hair. 

JJ still pouted but stepped forward to give Loki one of his bear hugs “Bye Uncle Loki”

“Bye little one” Loki smiled softly as he hugged JJ back. 

“JJ why don’t you and Dad go make a start on your homework while I walk Uncle Loki out” you suggested. 

“Okay say hello to Auntie Nat and Uncle Tony for me please” JJ pleaded. 

“Consider it done” Loki promised “Now get on with your work, intelligence is your best weapon”

JJ grinned back up at him before making his way over to Steve to make a start on his homework. You and Loki made your way back outside, pausing on the front porch neither of you really wanting him to go. 

“Are you going to see Thor?” you asked.

Loki chuckled “Yes, got any tips?” he smirked. 

“Take a shield, he’s got a mean axe now” you warned. 

“Any chance I can take Steve’s?” he asked hopefully. 

You laugh “Oh so it’s not too patriotic for you now that you need it?” 

Loki shrugged “I might change up the colour scheme, green and gold might look good” he smirked.

You snorted and shook your head “Well you’re out of luck because he gave it to Sam when we retired”

“Damn, I’ll think of something” Loki sighed.

Silence fell between the two of you “I wished you didn’t have to go” you sighed. 

“Me neither, but that's the hero gig right?” Loki said. 

You chuckled “Yeah it is, I’ll miss you” 

“I’ll miss you too, but as I said to JJ, I’ll be watching over you, being a proud big brother as your family grows” Loki smiled, resting a hand on your shoulder “I need to go now”

“Okay,” you muttered, your voice thick with emotion as you stepped closer to hug him tightly for the last time. 

Loki hugged you back, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head before stepping back. You watched him walk down the path towards the road. He looked back once before an orange doorway opened and he stepped through, disappearing for good.

“Goodbye brother” you whispered.

Sharing is caring so please reblog if you enjoyed this and maybe even leave a comment to make my day!

I have no schedule, please don’t ask when I will be updating!

Masterlist / Masterlist

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[thelastbarricade]

Bloodhound.

pt. 1 of ? [ part 2 ]

[ read on ao3 ]

summary:

Cooper Howard is not a gracious, kind, nor giving man. When you wake bound and bleeding--seemingly left for dead after having previously traversed the Wasteland for months with him--you're reminded of this.

word count : 2.7k

tags: the ghoul x you, the ghoul x oc

warnings: violence, swearing, (will add more as the story progresses)

notes:

Say hello to my first fic attempt in...two years? Oh boy. All comments and feedback very much appreciated and feel free to hit me up in my messages and start a convo!

Narration and form may not be entirely polished so please pardon my dust.

xx korine <3

“You are not seriously going to fucking leave me here?!”

The warehouse you’re slumped over and hog-tied on the floor of groans and echoes around your shattering scream. Dust smears across your clothes; caked thick across the concrete floor as you squirm. The taste of metal and rust in the air causes your stomach to turn, bile bittering your tongue.

You came to consciousness like this. Tattered rope and torn clothing binding your ankles beneath you. Arms pulled so tight at the back you feared for the ligaments about your shoulders. Not that he’d cared to check for comfort. It was for the best, at least that’s what he’s decidedly convinced himself about now. Cooper Howard: wayward Ghoul and the Wasteland’s infamous Bogeymen was a dirty, dastardly, trifling man. He did things simply because he could. Didn’t matter the reason or rhyme, so long as the tune rang the same and the caps continued flowing. Who could blame him? World continued spinning regardless, and hungry a man as he was—fella’ had to eat.

“Mother fucker!” Blood trickles down your temple to bloom across your lips as you spit your words—venomous and vehement—in his direction. You kick and fight against your restraints, wrists red and angry to match their maker. Now that warrants a chuckle from your partner.

Partner? Captor?

Friend.

At least that’s what memories bound 'round the countless campfires and shared meals had lent their assumptions to at one point. Your mind reels over the titles and labels, if any, that you had once held Cooper to.

Oh you were fucked.

As if it even mattered anymore. He’d drugged you, some sleeping agent based on the sick in your stomach and thick weight of your limbs lingering. Whatever agreement you two had had as of yesterday seems to have gone up in flames.

“Nothin’ personal, darlin’.” The Ghoul's calm and cool facade only further enrages you. He eyes you with an eerie ease. That curious perk in his brow and tilt in his jaw ever-present.

You were going to rip out his throat with your bare fucking teeth. Tear what amalgamation of leathery ruin was left over that thick skull of his off and to shreds with your own two hands. Whatever nerve endings were left un singed by that almighty fucking bomb in his body were yours. You were going to dissect them inch by inch until all he could feel was you stripping him of the last thing humanity had granted him—pain.

Your chest heaved, blood in your veins threatening to set you alight thanks to all the adrenaline. Fuck the dehydration and starvation: come night the Radroaches would be having a feast. Not to mention the bloody fucking pack of fiends that’d been on your tails for the past week straight. You eye the bloodied tourniquet you’d bandaged so carefully the night before still dangling from the Ghoul's left leg. The grotesque blade that had torn into his already mottled and marred flesh had cut a mortal wound that would have felled any smooth skin. It had been taking longer to heal than usual. A sure sign Cooper’d been running low on his usual stock of vials. Shit, things like this had happened before and you’d both dealt with it. Got him back in his right mind and hit the road like nothing had happened. He hadn’t sold you then, hadn’t abandoned you then—but now?

What the hell changed?

Cooper turns away for a second; whipping the tattered fray of his trench coat aside and tucking something into his back pocket. You seize your seconds and shoot both heels out toward his injured leg sideways with all the might you can muster. It works. The ghoul is brought to his one good knee in a second before you. Not that you’ve any weapon or hands to follow through with anyway. It’d simply been in vain but even that you would take over letting him just walk away. From you. From this. Us. You feel his calloused fingers wrap themselves around your chin. He jerks your face within an inch of his. The growl in his chest barely escapes his lips as his other hand clutches the wound you’ve undoubtedly re-opened. You sneer through his hold on you. His breath is hot and vile. Comforting. Familiar.

How could he? No—how fucking dare he?! You grind out what moisture you have left on your tongue and spit it directly in his face. Saliva and blood freckle his marred cheeks. He shoves you aside. Like nothing. Like dirt.

Wasteland fucking scum.

Not that you weren’t. Cooper knew you were no angel, no savior, and sure as hell no saint. You’d more blood on your hands than any of the usual ruckus he’d found himself shacking up with or against. It could be said that was the reason he’d kept you around, but you knew better. Didn’t you?

Cooper could have partnered with any low-life Wastelander. Ones far bigger and far more dangerous than your likes. But it was you he stuck with. You who’d taken countless blades, bullets, stimpaks and Rad-X…all for him. The fucking horror that he was, you fucking took it all. Asked for nothing in return. Nothing more than a fucking voice in the void, not even a comforting one. Snide comments, limitless ridicule. Taken it all like tonic and swallowed it up like a naive child. You’d just not wanted to traverse the wastelands alone. Was that so much to ask? Apparently so.

Your stomach shifts violently; retch burning its way past your lips as you vomit beside yourself. Cursing yourself for your weakness you wrestle your restraints to kneel before him.

“Should’ve killed me when I was under, Cooper.” It takes all of your composure to stifle the sob in your throat and shove out a feigned a chuckle in its place. “I promise you…” Your eyes begin to burn, blurred. “I promise I’m going to make you wish you had.”

There’s a stiffness in his body language you chalk up to his wound. A hardened hesitation. You eye the loaded holster on his hip, wishing for once he’d just man up and use it. The ghoul straightens above you. The wide brim of his hat casts most of his face in a shadow. Hollowed eyes devoid of even the sentiment of emotion. Bastard. Behemoth.

Your binds smart and ache at your spine and your fingers flex instinctively. Even if you’d the luck about you to manage the gun away from him in his injured state, what would you do with it then?

'You’re a shit shot and you know it.' Cooper's words echo in the confines of your thoughts. They were warmer last they’d been spoken. A ghost of his touch fluttered at the memory. An uncharacteristically shaky hand. A rough touch pressed over yours as he guided you. Fingers finding yours like a self-conscious schoolboy. Like he was afraid if he moved too quickly you’d startle, leaving him standing alone in the fallout. You could have called it endearing once upon a time. Now? His comment just felt like a blade salted and shoved through an already gaping wound.

The ghoul catches your eyes lingering on his holstered belt. “Want me to put you onto somethin���?” He’s mocking you. You can hear it despite the salacious tone. He's eating this up. You steel your expression. Tears still paint your cheeks but you refuse to acknowledge their presence.

“Enlighten me,” You straighten yourself in slight, scooting closer. “I’ll even say please .” Your voice mock-softens. You pout, attempting to look as lost and vulnerable as possible. “Please, mister.” Your ignorant expression fades away. The smile teetering on your lips borders on manic. You could almost feel the pincers piercing your skin when the roaches descended upon you. Taste your own viscera bubbling up into your throat. Work out the curses you know would be solely meant for the man before you in your head. Even in death, you wouldn’t be able to escape him. Even in death, you would still be left wanting—him. How fucking pathetic. How fitting. So this was the Wasteland’s fate for you. Who were you to deny it?

It all happens in a blur then. You close your eyes, feeling the sweet scrape of a metal barrel press a bruising kiss at your already battered temple. Cooper's lips are gnarled, curled into a snarl as he descends upon you. A fistful of your shirt finds itself between his fingers. Always a temper, that one. It almost matched your own. You suppose that’s why you loved to play his game. Cooper’s nostril twitches as your eyes flutter open. You gaze up at him, knees ghosting the ground beneath you. The way he held you felt disgraceful. Divine.

“If I was a better man I’d paint this here pavement with those pretty little brains a’ yers.”

A scoff leaves your lips. Between the both of you, there was no good: only the bad and ugly. You’d committed no virtues in your twenty-odd some years on the surface and neither had Cooper in all of his. He drops you, pressing the barrel against your cheekbone and following the curvature of your cheek to your jaw. His eyes linger for a moment on your lips and you lick the blood drying itself there.

“Fiends’ll finish what I cant. Give me all the time I need to heal and with them on my trail—I can’t. Sorry sweetie, seems you’re the canon fodder today.” His voice echoed out across the warehouse, unrelenting and cold. The chill of his words drowned out the heat of the scorching sun.

What the fuck. What the actual FUCK.

Eyes wild, you buck—pushing the gun away with the thick of your skull. The ghoul relented then, reupholstering his weapon. In a second he’s stepping away from you. His blood-stained and grime-covered coat descends into the dark hallway across the warehouse. Walking away. Away. From you. Leaving you.

You scream and kick and writhe. Your voice blows out the entirety of the building you’re in until the walls and earth are shaking as above and so below. Everything about you had imploded. Every belief you’d been gifted and so naively accepted. Set aflame and blazing so bright you hadn’t realized such a thing could consume. Hatred. You felt your skin shed in your bindings. Heart a roaring scorch from deep within your chest. Much like you imagine the Ghouls may have at some point. You were birthing yourself anew. Alone. Bearing the weight of this world by yourself once more. You were better off alone. It was Cooper who’d had the dastardly deed of convincing you otherwise. Dangling a kinder fate before you only to rip it from you once the fruits of his labor had set their seeds deep in your psyche.

—

After you’d had your tantrum you settled in the dust and dinge of the cold cement floor. Your heavy breaths softened, silence becoming you. The sounds of the building had settled. When you were confident no lingering eyes or ears were upon you you whipped the heel of your boot back towards your bound wrists. Spindly fingers worked their way between the rubber and sole. Jackpot. The hilt of a pairing blade—one you’d more commonly used on your dinner—slid against your touch. Cooper was something of an expert with knots, but even these were shoddy and rushed enough that your rusted blade was up and through in a matter of minutes. You could blame it on your newfound vigor as well. Adrenaline seethed in your veins. You could taste your indignation over the copper of your blood and it only spurned you further. Quicker. Slice, cut, tear. Harder. Faster. There.

“Fucking—” You tear the fabric around your ankles free next, almost slicing yourself in the process. A slew of expletives falls from your lips as you stretch the cramps from your body. A few items from your camp still lay a few feet from you. You gather what you bother to into your bedroll, slinging it over your back. At least he’d the decency not to steal from a prospected corpse. The thought makes you snort.

Focus.

The daylight peaking in from the second-story windows was high on the horizon but fading ever so slightly. Daylight was on his side and he’d have at least an hour's lead by now. You were used to navigating the waste in the dark on your own but you wouldn’t prefer it, especially defenseless. Save an almost salvageable pairing knife. Great.

You eyed the dark hallway the Ghoul had exited through. Amongst the littered trash and mounds of dust covering the floor, you noticed the faintest trail of crimson splatter. Barely recognizable amongst the ruin to the naked eye. Almost black in its dried form until you mottle it with your touch. It splits and spreads. Fresh enough to tell its color apart from the surroundings. Not yours either. A surge of sadistic excitement fills your lungs and you find yourself moving. The blood continued to fall in steady, dropping off here and there where you’re sure Cooper had adjusted his stint. Poor boy really was wounded, wasn’t he? Your nostrils flared at the thought and you pushed it aside. No bother. The more wounded an animal was the more desperate its attempts to run. You crawled up through the broken concrete crevices that ran along the side of the building. Sand and grit slow your ascent, but not by much. Not nearly enough to throw you off his trail.

Cooper hadn’t kept you around for kicks. Hadn’t even kept you around because you could shoot after he’d taught you. You were still shit, after all. Cooper had come across you in an exchange. A dead end on a bounty even the best couldn’t manage to crack. And he would know.

You paused. His trail rounded the far back corner of the warehouse, turning on a whim and abandoning the lower ground for higher. Heading…east? You checked your markers, double-checked, triple-checked. Either he was just a fucking idiot or was blood loss even a thing for ghouls? Nearest settlement was west and the fiends would be steering far and wide from the larger ones. It’d be suicide to pivot back the way they’d come.

Come on, Cooper. You’re making it easy.

Low on vials and bordering insanity in some podunk rinky-dink saloon back room you’d convinced him or he’d convinced you, once upon a time. It didn’t matter (probably) that you were basically being bartered to him for your services. It was the man in the cheesy cowboy hat or being sold for parts. Pissed off the wrong bunch and with no allegiances on the surface to put faith in you…well, didn’t really matter now, did it?

Your jaw pulsed under a constant grind, realizing you’d be abandoning safety if you continued on after him. You had to trust yourself—but it’d been so long. An eternity with how the Wastelands days came and went. You cursed the Ghoul for cradling you in the farce of safety over these past few months. Always having someone at your back, your side. An extra pair of eyes and weaponry…it’d been a luxury you couldn’t afford. It was all just borrowed time. You just had to remember who you were. Before Cooper. Before The big bad Ghoul swept you up in fantasies and make-believe and made you forget how horrendous this world could and would be. With or without him. Tension crept between your shoulder blades as you continued to climb. You rolled it away with ease now. Fingers clawed themselves into the mounds of sand and you wiped the salt and sting from your head wound. You would force yourself. Shove the reality down your throat like a loaded barrel just to remember. Remember that between the big cities and the wilds on either side, you were known to all lowlife and company as a ‘Bloodhound’. No one could outrun you. No one could outtrack you. Cooper Howard should have known that. --

[loveinhawkins]

Hi! I've never messaged you before, but your writing is some of my very favorite on Tumblr! I love that you have Steve as a poetry fan, and a fan of Simon and Garfunkel! I was reading the poem Richard Cory, and it made me think of a young Steve, the one people only see as a King, as a spoiled rich boy, not seeing his pain and trauma. Even his friends seem to gloss over it. And I can imagine him and Eddie in English class, and Eddie barely paying attention, but seeing how Steve subtly reacts to the poem when they read it, and Eddie wondering if maybe there's more to him than he'd previously thought! I found out that Simon and Garfunkel made it into a song, too, and that really sent it home! I hope you have a wonderful day, thank you for sharing your wonderful stories with us!

you are so kind, thank you so much. i hope you have a wonderful day too ❤️

oh, this has so many things i love. the poem & simon & garfunkel references (cw for references to suicide in both the poem & song lyrics), how Steve views himself and his high school persona vs how Eddie sees him—like, I could quote the whole poem but:

he fluttered pulses when he said, “Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

Steve glittering as he walks! Eddie in denial that his pulse is also fluttering! ❤️

and them fleetingly crossing paths in high school is one of my absolute favourite things to think about, as well as them sharing the same English class at some point.

And when they read that poem… Eddie silently notices things. How Steve’s reaction stands out amidst the typically bored, glazed-eyes expression of other students. Eddie can see out of the corner of his eye how Steve reads the poem over and over, the subtle swallow, the shift in his jaw. The crease in the middle of his forehead that somehow seems more than just straightforward confusion.

But then he puts it out of his head—until, that is, an English period when the teacher says the whole lesson is just for silent reading. And Eddie hears a, “Psst,” coming from his left.

He doesn’t realise that it’s Steve Harrington trying to catch his attention, assumes it’s just someone trying to piss him off, so he snaps, “What?” a little harsher than warranted.

He almost does a double take at the way Steve shrinks back in his seat—not obviously so, but just enough for Eddie to notice.

“… Nothing. I’ll leave you alone,” Steve says shortly.

Eddie feels a flash of guilt. Sighs. “What?”

“Just… you’ve done this class before, right?”

“Fucking astute observation, Harrington.”

“Shut up. I just…” And Steve hands Eddie his photocopy of the poem, points at the top of the page. “Do you get this stuff?”

There’s a pause where Eddie scans the poem—and, Jesus, there’s a lot of annotations. Like, a lot. There’s even parts where Steve’s writing gets all cramped in between the stanzas, because he’s got a helluva lot to say, apparently.

Then he sees the part Steve’s pointing at, where there’s a scrawl of: Metre???

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “I get what… it’s, like, the rhythm of it. Where the emphasis is on each word and stuff.”

Steve actually has the audacity to roll his eyes at Eddie’s, in his opinion, very generous explanation. “Yeah, I get all that in theory, but I can’t, like, hear it, y’know?”

And well, Eddie’s in a band. He knows a thing or two about rhythm. So he leans over and taps the rhythm out with his finger on Steve’s desk. He can’t remember the proper term for it, but he rambles, “It’s the same rhythm in Shakespeare plays? Kinda like a heartbeat.”

It must click for Steve, because sometime during Eddie talking, he starts tapping out the beat, too. Their knuckles almost touch. Not quite.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve says distractedly, as he takes his paper back and starts writing again.

And for the rest of the lesson, Eddie has to consider the fact that Steve Harrington truly knows his name, like he didn’t even have to think about it; like the freak moniker didn’t even occur to him.

[kastlequill]

iii/v. ‘til my pulse loses time: pulsus paradoxus

pairing: kyle gaz garrick x f!reader word count: 1.7k synopsis: the third time you save gaz tags: whumptober, infection, wound tending, hurt/comfort, medic!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here ← prev | next →

III.

You had lost count of how many times you’d warned him about the risk of infection, which was already quite high given the sheer frequency at which he acquired open wounds.

Best keep that thing covered, soldier, had been your soft-spoken command to close out his fourth visit in the span of a month and a half. That time, a stabbed forearm, and the time before that, a nasty gash down his spine, and so on. I don’t want to see you back in my infirmary for a long while, copy?

But it seemed your cautioning had gone in one ear and out the other. It wasn’t that Gaz didn’t know how to protect himself, nor was he incapable of mitigating the damage he sustained in combat; the sergeant was a competent man, something that you greatly appreciated when it came time to patch him up.

Rather, it was more so the case that he treated his life recklessly. Surviving was one thing, but exiting the fray unscathed? That was an altogether different and separate objective which, in his mind, warranted far less concern than completing the mission.

To him, the game plan was very simple: successfully execute orders, then get the hell out of there. Bonus points if he kept the majority of his body intact and functional.

For a soldier, this logic made total sense. Such a thought process was to be expected from someone who had spent over a decade honing his physical form into a weapon and had thus learned how to mentally detach himself from his personhood whenever necessary. During the firefight, his muscles and limbs moved in accordance with years of conditioning and training, acting on autopilot. Gaz, the man who brought you lunch on your busiest days and made damn certain none of your rowdier patients were giving you shit, faded into the background; what he did became exceedingly more important than the fact that it was he who did it.

For a medic, however? The stunning lack of self-preservation irritated you to no end.

And today, that irritation spiked to a record peak the instant he walked into the medbay with unfocused eyes and beads of sweat on his brow bone, jaw slightly loose, chest heaving for air.

“Hey, Doc,” Gaz said with a wince, the greeting sounding more like a croak than anything else. He pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. “I’m not feeling too good. You mind if I. . ?”

Those were the last words to leave his lips before he all but collapsed into your waiting arms. Ignoring the worry that had begun to churn in your gut, you immediately helped him stumble to a nearby cot then gradually sat him down. Instinct took over, spurring you to quickly gather your medkit, don a pair of surgical gloves, gently open his mouth, and stick a thermometer under his tongue.

High body temperature, difficulty attending to external stimuli, fast pulse—textbook signs of an infection.

You were thankful that the nurse was too busy checking on another admit to notice how you cradled his face in your hands for a beat longer than was necessary after removing the thermometer. “Gaz, I need you to stay sharp, you got that? You have to show me where you’re injured so I can do my job.”

Blinking a little more awake, he gave a curt nod and lifted up the front end of his shirt to reveal what looked to be a knife wound slightly above his left hip. If the accumulation of dried pus was anything to go off of, it must have been at least a week old.

That’s definitely infected, alright.

“Why didn’t you call this in?” You lightly pressed into the inflamed flesh around the problem site, assessing its tenderness, but stopped when he let out a low, pained hiss. “We could’ve gotten it squared away in less than half an hour and saved ourselves the trouble.”

His half-lidded stare locked onto your alert, wide eyes. “Y’told me you’d rather I not come around for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you getting sick of me already, Doc. It’s bad form.”

It took everything in you not to flinch.

Of course a soldier would interpret an offhand joke in its most literal sense. Your playful tease had been intended to disguise genuine concern. Instead, the man had gotten the impression that you were annoyed by his insistence, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

In reality, you damn near prayed to any and all deities for them to shorten the time between his visits and lengthen his stays.

“That isn’t—” You swallowed an overwhelming wave of mixed emotions. “That isn’t what I meant, Kyle.”

He grinned, suddenly very coherent and present. “So it’s Kyle now, is it? Well, if I’d bloody known some measly infection is all it’d take for you to call me by my name, then I would’ve fuckin’ done this ages ago.”

Heat rushed towards your face, mostly pocketing itself in your cheeks. Some reassurance followed suit; Gaz couldn’t be too bent out of shape if he still had the energy and mental faculties to. . . to flirt with you.

As you cleaned the oozing gash, flushing it out with cool water and dabbing on a topical antibiotic with a Q-tip, the sergeant lowered his head to watch you work, eager to witness you in your element. Perhaps it should’ve annoyed you because of how frequently his forehead bumped into yours, but you understood his curiosity well. It was only fair, considering how often you wondered about him in the field; what he did, how and why he did it.

Who he became.

The occasional graze of your fingertips along his ribcage made the skin there to ripple, and he released a shaky exhale. “What’s the verdict, then?”

“Nothing that oral antibiotics and proper wound care won’t fix. But I want to keep you here overnight for observation and rehydration.” You stuck on a lopsided bandage and used your hand to smooth out any crinkles in the adhesive. When you lifted your face to address him more directly, the slight brush of his nose against yours caused a hitch in your breathing, and you jerked backward, startled by his closeness.

A pleased hum emanated from his throat. “Always lookin’ out for me. Soon as I get this blasted thing sorted, I’ll thank you properly.”

“There’s no need,” you assured him, stepping further out of reach. “Just focus on getting better, will you? This prescription is over the course of seven days. Don’t let me hear you’ve been skipping your meds.”

Needing to put several meters between the two of you, the shelves at the backend of the clinic were the perfect escape. There, no longer in view, you sifted through various supplies until you found an open box of penicillin, counted fourteen tablets in total, then funneled the antibiotic into a standard orange prescription bottle. By the time you returned to his cot with the medication, the sergeant was already munching on a couple of crackers, courtesy of the nurse.

He visibly straightened at your arrival and softly said, “Thank you. I mean it.”

Just doing my job, was what you should have replied. Nonchalant; not the slightest bit personally vested in your patient outside of the clinic.

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll stop getting hurt all the damn time,” were the words you muttered instead, sounding like a petulant child. Or perhaps you simply sounded like someone who gave a shit.

Because you did. You, a tested combat medic who should honestly know better by now, cared deeply about him, a special operator who risked his life daily so that the rest of the world remained relatively out of harm’s way. And given the horrors you’d seen both on the battlefield and in the infirmary, to care for someone like him was a terrifying notion.

What a nuisance, these matters of the heart.

His eyes dulled at your response, and you were consumed with the desire to bring back the light in those brown depths. “You know I can’t.”

The confirmation, though expected, still stung. Knowledge was such a curse, you decided. On some occasions, it benefited you to wield it, but on others, it only brought inescapable suffering. Regardless of the consequences, the possessor of said knowledge was forced to carry it within them always, robbed of a chance at blissful ignorance.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you sighed, lips settling into a resigned smile. “It was worth a shot.”

From then on, the remainder of your tending to him was spent in silence. Not an awkward silence, nor an angry silence; just silence. A neutral, comfortable silence—your favorite.

All that was left to do could’ve been passed off to the technician or even skipped entirely, but you felt compelled to go the extra mile where he was involved. You wet a rag to rid his forehead of sweat and used a tissue to gently dust away the crystallized mucus in his tear ducts. Before you had the opportunity to assist him in laying flat on the cot, your pillow-fluffing was interrupted by the slight weight of cold metal meeting the warm skin of your neck.

A dog tag. His dog tag.

Your brain momentarily short-circuited. The gravity of the action was not lost on you, nor was its heavy implications. Not in the least.

“I’ll try. For you,” he clarified, resolutely holding your gaze, an oath on his lips, “I’ll try.”

Good enough, you thought. Because it had to be.

This would have to be enough, whatever this was. This, a fledgling, precursory thing. This, stealing moments with him during the brief lapses of warfare, hidden behind the plastic tarp covering the infirmary. This, assuaging your anxieties by catching sight of him from afar, the distance between your clinic and his barracks too vast. This, an invisible threshold, a nonexistent white line that warned do not cross. This, the space decreed by professionalism somehow both too much and too little.

This would have to be enough.

tbc.

[marvelmusing]

Keep Him Safe

Part of the Light & Love AU

Pairing: sun summoner!Aleksander x Fem!Darkling!Reader

Summary: An incident at the training grounds ends up with Aleksander in the infirmary, causing you to abandon your meeting to seek out answers.

Warnings: mentions of canon level violence and minor injury.

My Masterlist

Ivan glances over at you for the second time in the last few minutes, no doubt observing the deep frown tugging at your brows as you read over the latest annotations on your map.

Once again you reach for the ring that usually sits on your middle finger, intending on turning it over the digit as you think. Once again, you remind yourself that you’ve misplaced it.

This morning, you had been distracted by Aleksander’s presence in your bedroom and as a result forgotten the ring that had been a staple of your outfit for the last decade.

When you had returned to your rooms at noon the ring was nowhere to be found and you were drawn into another meeting before you could engage in a lengthy search.

Now, you and Ivan are discussing your plans for his upcoming trip to Chernast. The Fjerdan front has been particularly taxing for your soldiers over this past month.

Thoughts of training with Aleksander give you hope. With your guidance, perhaps his summoning will improve. After that, it is only a matter of time before he will be strong enough to control the Fold.

A knock at the door to the war room pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Enter.”

An oprichnik opens the door and you study his nervous expression as he bows lightly.

“Excuse me, General, but there’s been an incident at the training grounds… involving the sun summoner.”

Instantly, you stand, mind filled with anxiety and worst case scenarios.

“What happened?” you demand, already making your way over to the door.

“Combat training, a squaller used her powers against him and he’s been taken to the infirmary.”

Nodding curtly, you open the door and hardly spare anyone a glance as you speak.

“You’re dismissed.”

The shadows curl around your feet as you stride through the corridors towards the infirmary. Visions of Aleksander lying unconscious, bandaged and in pain, taunt you. The Little Palace has always been a place of safety, you had made sure of it, so that every Grisha could grow up without fear of being dragged from their beds to be thrown on a pyre like so many Grisha of the past.

They are supposed to be safe here.

He is supposed to be safe here.

A deep anger stirs inside you. Grisha have always faced hostility from the otkazat’sya and yet that never deters them from fighting amongst themselves. Whichever squaller had hurt Aleksander would soon understand how little you care for petty squabbles.

From what you have seen of him, Aleksander is always even tempered. Sometimes his thoughtfulness catches you off guard, reminding you to be aware of his perceptive nature. You can’t imagine him losing his temper enough to warrant someone using their powers against him during combat training - risking not only a lecture from Botkin but a punishment from you.

No one touches your sun summoner.

Whoever has hurt Aleksander will face the consequences.

Every step closer to the infirmary has your heart beating faster. There aren’t many Grisha being tended to, meaning that you locate him quickly.

Some of the tension in your chest eases at the sight of Aleksander sitting on one of the beds as a healer works on his hands. He notices your presence immediately, looking down rather sheepishly as he nods in acknowledgment.

“General.”

As casually as you can, you sit down on the edge of the empty bed opposite him.

“Aleksander. What happened?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“An accident.”

As the healer stands, you raise a questioning brow at her.

“The damage?”

She glances between you and Aleksander before she reports,

“Two broken ribs, a slight concussion, and bruised knuckles.”

The muscle in your jaw twitches as you clench your teeth together. Nodding at the healer, you dismiss her with a small,

“Thank you.”

Aleksander settles his hand over yours and the shadows that had slowly been lengthening around you begin to fade, pushed back subconsciously by his light.

“I’m alright.”

“Who?”

He hesitates.

“Zoya. But it was my fault.”

A frown creases at your brows as you try to picture Aleksander goading her into a fight.

“Explain.”

“We were sparring… and she made a comment about you. About us.” Us. Despite being hundreds of years old, that two letter word sends your stomach into somersaults as if you are some sort of blushing schoolgirl. “I accused her of being jealous, in front of everyone.”

Zoya is determined young woman and a powerful squaller. Before Aleksander arrived at the Little Palace you had been considering promoting her, though his presence has taken up so much of your time that you had mentally rescheduled her promotion. Her actions today have you reevaluating her value to you.

It’s likely she believes Aleksander is replacing whatever position she could have potentially held beside you. As if she could ever compare to him in your eyes.

Looking down, you smooth your thumb over the top of his hand.

“That’s no excuse for breaking the rules. You could have been seriously hurt.”

He nods.

Perhaps a month ago he would have been afraid of what you might do to Zoya and have argued on behalf of the squaller. Now, he seems content to stay quiet and bask in your attention, trusting that you won’t do something monstrous despite the dark urge that simmers beneath your skin at the thought of Aleksander being hurt by one of your Grisha.

It’s then that you notice something.

He’s wearing your ring. The thick silver claw ring that you couldn’t find this afternoon. The same ring that you had used to draw out his power on the day you first met. It usually sits on your middle finger, though it fits perfectly on Aleksander’s littlest finger.

“This is new,” you remark softly, tracing your fingertip over the claw.

He blushes, the tips of his ears turning scarlet, as he begins to remove it. Settling your hand over his, you still his movement with a shake of your head.

“No. It suits you.”

His cheeks glow with a pretty pink warmth as he looks down at your hand, still clasped over his.

“I’m sorry for taking it.”

“Don’t be.” What’s mine is yours, you add silently. “Please, keep it.”

His eyes meet yours, dark depths glimmering with curiosity, as he no doubt attempts to figure out what this means.

He shouldn’t look so puzzled as your motives are rather simple. While he has refused to wear your colour for the time being, your ring is a subtle enough claim for the other Grisha to know exactly who he belongs to. To know that Aleksander is yours.

The corner of his mouth lifts as he admires the ring, tentatively curling his fingers around yours. The breath in your lungs halts as you feel his power entwining with your own through the amplification that resides in your bones. It feels like the first glow of summer sunlight after the harsh winter months, warming your very soul with his power.

Living without your other half for centuries, fighting for Grisha alone, has been bleak. Knowing you are unable to use your creation without a sun summoner, has left you out in the cold. But now the sun is finally warming your face, offering you the first glimmer of hope in the form of your lost love. The same face, same name, but a different life. You can only hope that this life will be kinder to him than his previous one.

Slowly, you trace the pad of your thumb over his now healed knuckles as you admit in a low voice,

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Aleksander.”

-

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[two-white-butterflies]

a man who knows | aem. targaryen

Description: Aemond falls in love with a commoner.

Rating: Mature 18+ [angst]

Author's Note: finished watching Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral, so this is defo inspired by Remedios x Gregorio.

(THE HOUSE WITH THE RED DOOR, ESSOS)

He woke up in the middle of a humid room. A woman was staring at him - with widened eyes that were surprised to see him alive. She was wearing a cotton dress, a cheap fabric that was easily available to the lower classes - he could make out the gentle slope of her curves. If she was whore, then she was in the wrong bed.

"Water," he managed to choke out.

"Here," you replied - handing him a goblet of water. It came as a surprise when you saw this man lying in the middle of the fields - he smelled like smoke, ash and pig - but he was breathing. You couldn't bare leaving him alone to die. "Where am I?" he inquired, eyes searching the room for any signs of danger.

"E-Essos," you stuttered seeing that he was clueless.

His accent sounded Westrosi - his attire was for royals, and he didn't know where he was?

"Fuck, Vhagar." he cursed, attempting to stand up - the pain on his shoulder causes him to fall back on the bed. "I'm sorry is there someone waiting for you?" you ask and he shakes his head. His family didn't even know that he left. "I must return to Westeros, I offer my thanks for keeping me here - my lady. But I must leave." he thanked, searching his pockets for the gold that he kept.

His jaw clenches feeling that it wasn't there.

He removes the dagger from the scabbard, pointing it at your jugular. "Thief," he accused with venom - seeing the life drain out of your face. You suddenly turn pale - not the kind that looks like paper, but the kind that warrants fear.

"Release her," your father commanded in a cold tone, his eye trails towards your father - still dressed in his commander's attire. "Your servant has stolen from me," he accused - still not wanting to take the dagger away form your neck. "She is my daughter, and she is in no need of your gold." your father corrected.

Aemond slowly lets you go.

"I apologize," he says rigidly - unamused to see you sprint away.

Aemond cursed himself. His first mistake was calling the commander's daughter a 'servant', his second mistake was placing a dagger on her neck. Oh, he was fucked - he wouldn't make it back alive. His older sister will win the war without him. Damn all.

"I understand that you are from the west, Prince Aemond. How is life there?" the man asked, taking a bite of his meat. The entire halls were decorated with gold and silver - the magnitude of its splendor rivaled his own home. "It is as the same as it is here, my lord." he replied cautiously - thinking of ways to seek the man's sponsor.

His eye trails towards the occupants of the table. One was an older woman with red hair and pale green eyes, she wore jewels - one that shone like moonlight. One was a maiden with a ring om her finger - but she was wearing back ('A widow' he thought) and beside her was you.

"Well, have a pick of my daughters - they are young and intelligent. Although I must admit, you scared my youngest with your little show." he chuckled, pointing at his five daughters. They were all beautiful - of different kinds, but he was drawn to you. "Go ahead, apologize to her." the man pushed - excited to see a prince bow his head at his daughters.

"The daughters of this house are not frightened with a simple attack, father - and worry not my prince, it wasn't your fault." you open your mouth before he could open his. A smile is etched on his face. "I agree with you, my lady - which is why I must apologize." he lowered his head - seeing that your face was illuminated by the candle's rays.

"If you agree with me, then you do not need to apologize." you smiled bitterly, satisfied with his displacement. He clenches his fists, but continues eating with joy. Your father laughs, proud of you.

"Of course, it matters not - one should always apologize for an accident caused by one." Aemond argued, not wanting to lose. "Then apologize," you moved an eyebrow, changing the tides upon him. You wanted to know if he was truly sorry - or if he wanted to fight with you. "I'm sorry, fair lady." he smiled playfully, ending the banter.

"I don't accept your apology," you crossed your arms - earning shy giggles from your sisters. "What can I do to earn your approval?" he flirted - amused by your spitfire nature. You didn't respond to him after that - you were never the one to flirt with another man. You weren't one of those cheap fucks - you were the youngest daughter of the greatest general in the free cities - he had to earn you.

"The most intelligent girl in town - not one suitor dares to fight for her hand." a servant mumbles while following Aemond and Alvira down the small market. "I apologize for my sister yesterday, she's always been the most rebellious - but we all adore her." she smiled, adjusting her youngest son to be settling on her hips.

Alvira was a petite girl - she barely reached Aemond's shoulders. She was the oldest of all five siblings - the wife of a slave master. She handled her father's household while her husband managed warfare. "She is interesting," he responded for lack of a better word.

"Papa has been trying hard to find someone who would marry her - but such is the nature of the youngest child. She's the last to leave the nest - if she ever does." she chuckled, eyes filled with love. "Do you have siblings, my prince?" the woman asked and his eye shrinks.

Does he have siblings?

He has an older brother who doesn't deserve his post. An older brother who is the reason for his sleepless nights. An older brother that he'd die for - but would never support.

He has an older sister with white hair and milky skin. Her stories were like lullabies and he'd burn the world if it meant keeping her safe. He has a younger brother. He'd burn the world for him too.

"Yes," he responded plainly - passing the stall filled with fresh oranges. He sees you there again - inspecting the fruits for the right tenderness. "(Your Name)" your sister calls, placing a hand to your shoulder. "Have you chosen the oranges for father's cake?" she asked and you shake your head.

"All of them are too tender, some are too hard." you complained with annoyance. "Let me help you," Aemond took a step forward - unaware that your shoulders bumped with each other. He reaches for a fruit, bringing it to his nose. "This one," he announces - placing it inside your basket.

Your eyebrows merge into each other - reaching for the fruit and touching it.

He was right, it was perfect.

"I'll leave the both of you, Saif is about to cry." Alvira stated while looking at her son's face. Red and annoyed, it was.

"Alright, please stay safe." you remind, smiling at the band of servants that were walking after her. "Aren't you going to leave with her? I'm not here to entertain you, princeling." you rolled your eyes, quickly walking towards the other side of the market.

Aemond couldn't help but smile at your dismissal of him. He keeps following you - waiting until you send him away. "Will you stop following me?" you groan, holding the basket close to your body while one of the guards paid for you. "No," he answered - and for a second, he forgets about the conflict in his home. He forgets about war.

"Childish," you mumbled - aware of the eyes on you. The rumors will spead tomorrow, but today - he was your only problem.

He could hear music from the other side of the island - locals were dancing and playing their instruments. "Would you like to join them?" he asked, trailing behind you with his hands inside his pockets. "I don't dance, princeling." you hum - already used to his company. "There's always a first time for everything," he shrugged. "I'd rather not," you roll your eyes - feeling the music invade your eardrums. "Would you rather speak of business? I heard that it bores you," he warned.

He needed gold to travel back to his home - seeing that Vhagar had no plans in returning. Your father was the only one who could provide him with that. He needed your help.

"Anything that comes out of your mouth bores me," you insult.

"Watch me dance, it'll entertain you." he dared, taking the hat off your head and placing it upon his own. "Give it back," you internally groan but he keeps dancing, leading you towards the center of the crowd.

"Not if you dance first, my lady."

The both of you only grew closer with every passing day.

"Dragons, you're fascinated with them?" Aemond takes a step inside your room, gazing upon the tapestries that decorated it. He recognized a few dragons, namely Balerion and Vhagar. "My mother was a whore from Lys - she came from the blood of Valyria." you informed, placing three books on your bedside.

"I wouldn't be shocked to see you capable of riding a dragon," he chuckled - in bitter remembrance of his own. "How about you, my prince? When will your dragon return?" you asked - excited to see her.

He sat upon one of the day-beds, popping a grape inside his mouth. "Only Vhagar knows when she'll return. If she ever does, which is why I need your help - and you're gold to sequester a ship to Westeros." he replied with a sigh. He almost forgot about the war - he almost forgot about his duties.

"I'm afraid I am as goldless as you." you admit.

All of the gold you partially owned - belonged to your father.

"Your father then, you must help me convince him." he pleaded, and you take a step forward - sitting beside him. "My father will only do it if you give him something in return." you informed.

Your father was kind - but he was cunning. Aemond was aware of your insinuation - your father wanted marriage.

The gods were on his side - because the following day, his dragon landed upon your family's courtyard. Screaming for her rider. "Tis' not everyday that one sees a dragon," Meena smiles - leaning on the pillars for support. She was a warrior - like your father and she garnered the same fascination with dragons as you.

"Commander (Your Last Name), I thank you for the hospitality that you've shown me. I'm afraid that I have to cut my visit short, as duty calls for me in the other side of the sea." he smiled at your father, holding a dragon saddle in his right hand.

"Anything you ask of, my lord - I will give it to you." he thanked but your father waves him away. It was an interesting premise but the commander had no interest in dipping into the politics of a kingdom far beyond his reach. "All we ask of, is for you to remain safe." Irri bowed her head.

You were the last person that he wanted to offer his goodbyes. "I had fun," he smiled in a strangely stoic posture. He'd never forget your family - he'd never forget the red door that had lemon trees in the garden. "Vhagar has been kind to me," you answer - touching the dragon's snout with care. "Dragons fascinate you, there are dozens more back home. You can leave with me, nothing ties you here." he offered - holding hope that a romance could blossom.

"A man does not offer escape with a woman - if he does not hold a little love for her." you smiled teasingly. He was a prince, yet he was cut from the same cloth as the rest. You could read him like an open book. "He does." he admits, placing a hand on Vhagar's back. "I like you, and I want to love you. I find you interesting." he professed.

His eye twinkles in the sunlight.

"I like you too." you respond with a blush. "I packed a few letters in your saddle pocket, I hope that you'll read them." you touch his shoulder - pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"This is the end, then? I'll never see you again." he says for certain.

"Then, I've had the honor of knowing you - at least once in my lifetime."

(HARENHALL, WESTEROS)

Aemond sat by the fire, finally finding the courage to open the letter from you. He hasn't stopped thinking about you - regretting to ever step foot back inside his home. Helaena was dead now - his nephews and nieces were cold in the ground. There was no family to protect.

My prince,

I've only begun to realize that I don't know your name. I don't know your name yet I've fallen deeply and madly inclined with you. I adore you, but I cannot say that I love you. I cannot love a man who is not truly mine. You tell me that you are a warrior - and that I have no doubts. You are the strongest of the strong - the loveliest of the lovely, but I cannot reach you. I cannot reach a hero.

I can only love you when I know for certain that you are mine. I can only love you when you know that your duty in the battlefield is over, and that you have reached your limit. But you are not that - not yet.

And so, I will adore and like you from afar. Adoring and liking a man in the clouds that I will never reach.

Yours, (Your Name).

He finishes reading the letter - he looks outside the window to see his uncle camped outside the castle. My name is Aemond. He says to himself, saddened at the thought of you never knowing him by name. And I'll come back to you.

@bellstwd @nyctophilic0vitnir @fan-goddess @mizfortuna