#would getting pulled into The Hunt fix me or make me worse its hard to say

[localwarlockunion]

Sorry I'm late, I got added to the Wild Hunt last night and ran and reveled with them for what felt like 100 years plus a day until I landed the killing blow on a stag with bronze antlers then suddenly woke in my bed, willow leaves in my hair, a nameless song echoing in my ears, and my hands still bloody, so yeah, totally missed my alarm and stuff.

[seijorhi]

Finders Keepers

the long awaited (sorry!) zombie au. hope y’all enjoy

Seijoh 4 x female reader & Miya twins x female reader 

TW Blood, gore, angst, um... toxic relationships?

“Let me see.”

It’s little more than a murmur, but in the quiet stillness of the night your voice carries. It hardly matters; Oikawa has you close, tucked under his arm with his injured leg stretched out between the two of you. He could stop you if he really wanted, but he only watches, those tired, wary eyes fixed on your face as you reach for his pants. 

“It’s fine,” he grunts out, yet he can barely get the words out before he’s hissing through his teeth – a knee jerk reaction to the scrape of rough fabric against his wound. His fingers are digging painfully into your arm, and it doesn’t make a difference how gentle you try to be, how many stammered apologies fall from your lips, your fingers are stiff and clumsy and his pants are caked with dried blood and grime, hindering the process.

Pursing your lips, you glance up. “This would go easier if you took these off, you know.”

He cracks a smile at that, strained and tense, but your chest still flutters at the sight of it. “If you wanna get my pants off so badly, cutie, all you had to do was ask.”

“Tooru,” you begin, but he sighs heavily and that brief flicker of mirth glimmering in his eyes fades. Reaching over he picks up his hunting knife, pressing the handle into your palm and letting his fingers slowly curl around yours. The weight of it feels unwieldy and foreign in your hand, and you can’t quite say for sure if the way your breath picks up and hitches is due to your nerves or the way Oikawa’s watching you, his warm hand still wrapped around yours.

“Cut it, then.”

The knife helps, shearing through his pants like butter, but the wound itself is messy – torn threads plastered to congealed blood and dirt – and blunt fingernails sink into your skin and Oikawa grits out a curse when you try to gently ease them free. 

It’s worse than you’d thought. A lot worse. Raked over his right knee, five gouges, jagged and gruesome, raw flesh and muscle exposed beneath. Your stomach roils at the sight of it, bile creeping up your throat, and for a moment you’re astounded by how calm he is, sitting there beside you. 

If it were you, you’re fairly sure you’d be rolling on the ground howling by now, but the only hint of pain Oikawa’s face betrays is the tightness of his jaw, teeth clenched even as he looses a shuddering breath.

“I-I’ll go see if I can find something to…” to what? Clean the wound? Stitch it? You’re not an idiot, unless this little cottage has an incredibly well stocked first aid kit, you know you’re in trouble. And even if it does, beyond the very basics of clean, disinfect and bandage, you don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to fix this.

Iwaizumi was always the one to stitch up their wounds, muttering obscenities under his breath and glaring at them the whole time. It was their own idiot faults for putting themselves in a position where they could get hurt in the first place, he’d say, they could deal with a little pain while he fixed them up. But as you stare at the grisly mess of Oikawa’s knee, there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that this might be beyond even Iwa’s level of expertise. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Iwa isn’t here. 

Makki and Mattsun aren’t either.

And strangely enough, it’s not the fear of the creatures lurking in the woods that’s gnawing at your gut. It’s Oikawa’s injury, the blood and mangled mess that you can’t even begin to fix, the thought of the trap that’s awaiting the others back at the sanctuary. It’s that feeling of helplessness that’s tightening around your neck like a noose.

“Hey,” Oikawa calls, snagging at your wrist when you try to pull away. “They’ll find us, have a little faith.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you nod. “I know.”

You don’t have the guts to tell him that that’s only half the problem.

Making do with vodka and some old bandages you’d scrounged up from a first aid kit under the sink, you do what you can for Tooru’s knee. Working by the light of a few flickering candles, your hands shaking like a leaf, it's a job easier said than done, and you can’t help but wince at every pained hiss and grunt that escapes him. 

It’s a hack job, a bandaid over a gaping wound, but he thanks you for it anyway, pressing an affectionate kiss to your temple as he drags you closer once more. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he murmurs, and the words hang heavy over the both of you; a promise and a sobering reminder in one.

Tucked up in his embrace, you shut your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep. 

Yet the moment you do, you’re right back there again: the hallway doors bursting open and the undead pouring through. Rotting and snarling, the sound of panicked shrieks tearing through the sanctuary in their wake.

Tooru’s hand in yours, yanking you along as he ran. Your heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you gasped for breath, your chest burning. And the fear, the horror that threatened to choke you as the others fell behind, their frantic pleas turning into agonised screams.

Everybody else first. The words spoken before any one of them left the safety of the sanctuary; you’d always assumed it was a grim kind of joke between the boys, a good luck charm. How many times had you heard Mattsun laugh it, clapping Iwa on the shoulder, or Makki for that matter, or Oikawa?

‘Come home safe’, you’d thought it meant, not ‘rip the guns out of other survivors’ hands and throw them back into the path of the oncoming undead’.

And then you’d stumbled, tripping over your own two feet. You remember Oikawa cursing, the pain that radiated up your knees and the palms of your hands as you hit the floor hard, and the absolute, bone chilling terror that surged through you when you looked up and saw one of the undead creatures lunge for you; jaw hanging loose, more ripped flesh and gristle than an actual mouth–

Oikawa was too far away, too slow, and even if he wasn’t, you’d just witnessed the lengths he’d go to for self preservation. You’d screamed for him anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and praying you’d go quickly when those fingers and yellowing teeth dug into your flesh and ripped you apart.

And in the space of a single petrified heartbeat, three shots had rung through the air, a warm wetness splattering against your cheek. Tooru was there, kicking the rotting corpse away from you and hauling you back to your feet, back safely against his side.

But the next one was quicker, leaping over the husk of its fallen friend, snarling and bloody and savage, and then it was Tooru who was screaming, undead fingers sinking into the flesh of his leg, ripping as it tried to claw him back.

Heart pounding viciously, your eyes shoot open in the darkness.

Even with the reassurance of Oikawa’s frame pressed up behind you, his breath warm against your skin, sleep doesn’t come easy, and the dawn brings little reprieve.

Stupidly, you’d hoped – prayed – that somehow through the night he might’ve gotten better. It was early in the morning when you’d felt him start to shiver against you. You’d tried to roll away, to give him space so you wouldn’t accidentally knock his leg, but Tooru was having none of it, burrowing in closer, his grip tightening.

And when you’d felt him start to sweat, his arms becoming sticky and clammy, his shirt dampening at your back, that slow, cloying sense of dread took root inside of your stomach.

Under the first rays of morning light, the true extent of Oikawa’s condition is unignorable. Without the luxury of being able to properly close the wound, blood’s seeped through the bandages overnight, leaving them a mottled, macabre red. His face is pale, a thin sheen of sweat dotting at his brow and with every shallow, rattling breath he takes, his body trembles.

It’s more than just simple blood loss.

You think for a moment that he’s unconscious, long lashes fanned out over flushed cheekbones, but the moment you reach for the bandages, his eyes snap open. “Don’t,” he rasps.

You frown, “Tooru–”

“No,” he says. “It’s fine. Leave it alone.”

Between him and Iwaizumi, and to a certain extent, Makki and Mattsun, you’ve never had much of a say in how things are run. You’ve never questioned that they’re the ones in charge, Oikawa most of all. They’re the ones who’ve kept you safe, kept you alive all this time, and all they’ve ever asked of you is that you do what they say.

And you have. Always. Because without them, you’d be dead. You don’t have to pick up a gun and fight, because they do it for you. You don’t have to go on supply runs because they take care of it, they take care of you. And it’s never mattered whether it’s just been the five of you out there alone, or if you were banding together with other survivors; that’s never changed – no matter how many dirty looks it earned you from the others.

You are their responsibility, but in return, you do what they tell you without question.

But this–

This isn’t like that. This isn’t you begging Iwaizumi to take you with him on perimeter patrol because you’ve been cooped up for what feels like weeks, or pouting because they’re deliberately keeping things from you again. 

And maybe they have kept you in the dark, but you’re not blind and you’re not stupid. The reality of this situation hasn’t escaped you. 

The sanctuary’s overrun, and if – when �� Iwa, Makki and Mattsun make it back, they’ll be walking into an ambush. Even if by some miracle they do manage to all make it out unscathed and somehow figure out a way to pick up your trail, there’s no telling how long it’ll take for them to find their way back to you.

(You can’t bear to think about the possibility of them not coming home; you won’t.)

Right now, it’s just you and Oikawa, stuck in some abandoned cottage in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a rifle and a baseball bat between you. You have no food, no supplies and he’s getting weaker by the minute.

You’re terrified.

And you don’t have the luxury of sitting back and letting somebody else take care of you anymore. You don’t stand a chance of survival without Oikawa, and right now he doesn’t stand a chance without you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shake your head. “Okay, I won’t touch it, but I’m not just going to sit here and watch you get worse.” Smoothing your palms over your lap, you take a deep breath in through your nose. “There’s a prison–”

“No.”

“Tooru–”

“I said no,” he snaps.

Biting back a sigh, you try again, “Tooru, there might be supplies there,” you plead. “Painkillers, antibiotics, something that might help–”

“I don’t need antibiotics and you’re not leaving. We need to stay here where it’s safe until the others find us,” he grits out, eyes narrowing dangerously. 

Normally, this would be the point that you’d back off, running off to lick your wounds before he decided to get mean, but even as some part of you cowers at the mere thought of upsetting him, this time you don’t back down.

He watches warily as you lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, gently smoothing damp brown locks back from his sweat slicked forehead. “I don’t know when Iwa’s coming back,” you murmur. “But until he does, the prison’s our best chance, if I can just–”

“No!” he snarls, cutting you off once again.

His eyes are manic now, blown wide and glazed over, he’s shivering, his breath a faint rattle – but his grip is iron, long fingers clutching at you desperately when you jerk back with a gasp.

“You don’t leave me.”

You don’t want to. 

It’d be easy not to, to sit and stay with him and pretend that your world isn’t falling apart and he isn’t dying. You’ve never been a fighter, always too soft, too weak, too naive to survive out there on your own. The thought of setting one foot outside of that door without him by your side fills you with absolute terror, but what other options do you have?

He might not like it, but you’re out of time – this decision isn’t his to make anymore.

“Tooru, I-I have to, you know–”

“No!” he snaps, dragging you closer. “You’re not leaving me, I won’t fucking let you!”

Your hand trembles when you reach up to take his, easing it from your shirt and bringing it to your lips. Tears spill from your lashes, falling in heavy droplets against the back of his hand as Oikawa makes a pained sound.

“Please don’t go.”

You both know he can’t stop you.

“Keep the gun,” you tell him, mustering up a tight, watery smile. “Anything but Iwa and our boys comes through that door, shoot it.”

—

It seems a cruel, twisted joke that you find a perfectly good truck sitting a little ways up the driveway, just begging to be used – with no way of getting it started.

Mattsun always made hot wiring look so easy, tossing you a wink when the engine rumbled to life, as if it was a neat little party trick he’d pulled out just to impress you. He did it so quickly, so smoothly, ripping the wires out and sparking them like it was second nature, but he’d never bothered to actually explain what he was doing to you.

And why would he? Between the four of them, there’d always be somebody else to take care of it for you. It’s the same reason they never taught you how to shoot, never taught you how to fight beyond the very basics of self defence.

Now, trudging along the side of the barren road with nothing but your baseball bat and a canteen of water slung over your hip, you find yourself wishing you’d paid a little more attention. Ten miles hadn’t seemed that far on paper – it was less than the trek back into town and you’d figured a safer bet, but walking around in broad daylight without any kind of real protection feels like you’re begging to be preyed upon. Yet by some stroke of luck (and despite that persistent nagging sense that you’re being watched) you manage to make it to the perimeter gates without coming across another soul, dead or alive.

The towering brick walls topped with spirals of barbed wire that line the prison complex are as imposing as they are unbreachable, and for a moment, standing there staring up at them, you feel a crushing sense of disappointment. You’ve walked over two hours, left Tooru in pain and alone for nothing. There’s no way in hell you’re gonna be able to scale those walls, and without any kind of bolt cutters or firepower, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to get past the front gates. 

Iwa would’ve known that. Iwa would’ve been better prepared. 

But as you draw closer to the guardhouse, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that it’s not a problem. The heavy wrought iron gate’s already unlocked and open, creaking in the breeze. And really, that should have been the first warning sign, but you’re too busy thanking your lucky stars as you slide on through to pay attention to things like that.

The courtyard is just as deserted. The crunch of gravel underfoot echoes too loud, setting your nerves on edge as you make your way towards the imposing structure. It’s quiet, eerily so – even the birds seem to have disappeared. Is this how all raids feel, you wonder as you climb the steps towards the door. This sense of foreboding dread that settles in your stomach, the goosebumps that prickle down your arms? 

Your grip tightens around the handle of your bat and you press gingerly against the door – just like the guardhouse gate, it gives under your touch, swinging open wide. It’s dark inside; you hadn’t thought to bring a torch and with the absence of any windows lining the corridor it’s near pitch black. Your heart hammers inside your chest, every cell in your body screaming at you to turn around and run back to Tooru, but you’ve come this far already. 

The undead flock to fresh, living meat. It’s been months since the outbreak began; anyone unfortunate enough to have found themselves trapped inside when it happened is probably long dead, and any of the undead likely long gone.

It’s just a little darkness. 

Steeling your nerves you creep through the black, clutching tightly at your bat, toeing your way down the corridor waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dim. Every breath you draw in feels too loud, every step too obnoxious. Deserted or not, the sooner you can find the med-bay, get what you need for Oikawa and get out, the better.

The layout’s simple enough – five looming multi-storied wings breaking off like fingers from the central watch-tower, but you don’t have a clue which one holds what you’re seeking. Your only option is to search them one by one and hope for the best. 

You’d expected steel bars and heavy locks, but the prison reminds you strangely of a school instead; long hallways lined with doors, each with a tiny window to peek through. They’re all open now of course, whatever locking mechanism keeping them shut having failed when the generators ran out. The first few are empty, barren and stripped of everything but soiled mattresses – it should be a relief. 

There’s nothing waiting for you in the darkness but empty halls and emptier rooms. If the others were here, they’d be teasing you for sure. Or Makki and Mattsun would, at least. You always were such a scared little baby – their scared little baby – you’d jump at your own shadow if you didn’t have them around. 

And it’s easier to keep going imagining them there by your side, the jokes they’d crack, the warmth of Iwa’s hand in yours, or Makki’s arm slung over your shoulder. You’d feel safe with them. You wouldn’t need to feel afraid.

But no amount of pretend comfort is enough to allay the heavy sense of dread that’s sitting in your stomach, growing harder and harder to ignore with every passing minute. And the problem, you realise, with the prison being so deadly quiet is that every noise, no matter how quiet, echoes.

Climbing the stairs in the dark, you don’t notice the slickness on the walls either side of you, the red handprints smeared messily over white paint. You don’t see the broken, bloody fingernails littering the steps beneath you. 

You hear it though, when you reach the landing. It’s soft. A quiet, wet squelching, ripping–

There’s no screams accompanying it like there were back when the sanctuary was overrun, but it’s not a sound you’re gonna be able to forget any time soon. In the dark you freeze, not daring to so much as breathe as you peer down the endless corridor, trying to pinpoint which of the cells it’s coming from. 

In the end, you decide that it doesn’t matter. 

They’re quicker when they’ve fed, stronger too, and there’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to be able to fumble past in the dark without drawing that thing’s attention. The wooden bat in your hands feels heavy, your palms already slick with sweat. You weren’t quick enough back at the sanctuary; without Tooru, that thing would’ve eaten you. And suddenly it seems laughable that you came out here, that you genuinely thought you could handle this – fight one of them off if it came down to it.

Tooru needs those meds, you know that, and you might be useless and weak and absolutely paralysed with fear, but you’re not stupid. You can’t help him at all if you’re torn apart by one of those creatures.

Your pulse racing, a potent mix of adrenaline and sheer, unrelenting terror coursing through your veins, you draw in a quiet breath, slowly lifting your foot to back away. It hasn’t heard you yet, and so long as it’s distracted–

“Oi, hurry up! I know what I saw, she came in this way.”

“Jesus, just shut up for a sec, wouldja! Ya don’t need to keep yellin’ at me, I’m comin’!”

Through the grate at your feet, you see two beams of light break through the darkness, the sound of loud, heavy footsteps echoing down the wing. Icy claws tighten like a vice around your heart and you still once more, squeezing your eyes shut as you listen, praying…

The squelching’s stopped.

Grip tight around the handle of your bat, your entire body quaking with fear, you watch with wide, stricken eyes as one of the doors halfway down the block slowly creaks outwards. 

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing, and you try and convince yourself it’s just the wind, that you’re imagining things and your mind is playing mean tricks on you–

A feral snarl rips through the air, and before you can so much as scream it’s crashing through the open doorway, head swivelling as it searches for the source of the disturbance. In the dark you can’t make out much, only that it’s huge, half its flesh torn and decaying, smeared with blood and filth – but you see it when those white, cloudy eyes fix on you, its rotting mouth bared and salivating.

And this time you do scream. You scream for Oikawa, for Iwa, for Makki and Mattsun and the faceless strangers on the floor below as you cast your bat aside and run. You don’t dare look over your shoulder as you take the stairs two, three at a time, slipping and slamming into the stairwell wall, a sharp burst of pain radiating down your shoulder – you can hear it giving chase, the rabid growls and snarls too close for comfort.

Tears flood your eyes, your chest heaving with every desperate breath as your feet hit solid ground once more and you take off.

“Please!” you sob as you run, blinded by the brightness of the torch beam as it’s shone in your direction. “PLEASE HELP ME!”

You can’t outrun it forever. Even now, you hear it gaining on you, its hot, foul breath puffing against your back – it’s just like back at the sanctuary. It’s gonna catch you, rip into you and feast while you choke to death on your own blood and screams, and this time you won’t have Oikawa here to save you. You’re going to die in agony, torn apart and devoured, and it’s all your own stupid fault.

Your throat tightens, more tears springing free. You can’t see anything beyond those two blinding lights, moving now, dancing across the field of your vision. “PLEASE!” you shriek, desperate and hoarse as the undead creature behind you readies itself to pounce.

Please don’t leave me here to die.

And for one heart wrenching second, you think back to your boys, and the words they’d said before kissing you goodbye. Everybody else first. Maybe this is some kind of divine retribution, you think. Maybe when the world went to hell people became cold and selfish and you deserve this for sitting back and letting others die in your place.

“Get down!” the voice yells, and you don’t even stop to think before you drop, sliding across the floor. There’s another blinding flash, a shot fired into the dark and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hug your knees to your chest as the creature snarls in anger and jerks backwards, a gruesome spurt of blood spraying over you.

“Ya fucking missed! How could ya fucking miss?!”

The gun cocks and reloads, another deafening shot ringing out above you and you flinch, your nails biting into the soft skin of your palm–

But this time the bullet hits its mark. The creature crashes to the floor with a loud thump and doesn’t move again. 

You don’t waste a second scrambling to your feet, launching yourself into the arms of your saviour. You don’t care that you’re crying, that you’re covered in blood and filth and god knows what else, you cling to him like he’s a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder. And instead of pushing you away like he probably should, he lets out a short huff that sounds almost like a laugh, his arm curling around your waist.

“I’m the one who shot the damn thing,” the other mutters sourly.

The man holding you snorts, “Nah, yer the idiot who missed.” Belatedly, you realise that he’s still gripping his gun, the brightness you’d assumed to have come from a torch actually from a light mounted to the barrel. He slings the rifle carelessly over his shoulder, drawing back slightly to appraise you. “Now, wanna tell me what a sweet thing like you’s doin’ all alone in a place like this?”

With your eyes now adjusting to the light, you can see that the two of them can’t be much older than you. They’re both tall, broad shouldered and handsome, the same jawline, the same slope to their nose, nearly identical hooded eyes – brothers you decide, maybe even twins. And they’re both smirking at you, not with the relief of just barely escaping a brush with a particularly gruesome death, but with an odd sort of lackadaisical amusement, as if this – skulking through dark, abandoned places, killing the undead – is nothing out of the ordinary for them. 

And from the ease with which they carry their weapons, maybe it isn’t.

Oikawa warned you about men like them. Men in general, really. Even the ones who smiled at you back at the sanctuary, the ones who offered to help you move heavy supplies when they saw you struggling – at least, until Iwa or one of the others stepped in with a poisonous glare. Anyone who wasn’t them was dangerous, a threat, just waiting in the wings to take advantage of a pretty, dumb little thing like you.

And maybe he’s right, but when the one holding you instead drags you closer, wraps an arm around your shoulders and begins to lead you back towards the guard tower as his brother falls into step on your other side, you don’t shrug him off. 

Oikawa isn’t here, and they have just saved your life. That has to count for something, right?

“I-I thought it’d be safe,” you confess breathlessly, trying not to focus on the thumb sweeping over the curve of your shoulder. “Well, empty at least. I didn’t have a choice.” And they listen, sharing glances in the dark as you tell them about what’d happened at the sanctuary, about Oikawa and the desperation that’d led you to leave him and walk miles alone to try and find some kind of medicine–

Until a snicker interrupts you. “Sorry,” the blonde mutters, though he doesn’t look all that sincere when your eyes flash to his. “It’s just…”

“Anythin’ worth taking woulda been snatched up months ago,” the darker haired one interjects.

“There ain’t nothin’ here but the occasional idiot tryna set up camp an’… Well, ya saw how well that turned out.”

It hits you like a gut punch, forcing the air from your lungs in a harsh, gasping breath. There was never anything here, everything… all of it was a waste. You came all this way, left him feverish and screaming himself hoarse for you, risked your life, almost died and–

It was all for nothing.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, they’re still talking but it’s just white noise washing over you. You don’t even realise they’re leading you back outside until you’re walking through the doors, the sudden burst of sunlight making you flinch. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore.

You’re an idiot.

A naive, dumb little girl who was stupid enough to think this half cocked plan was gonna work. That you would make it back to Tooru in one piece, medicine in hand to save the day and prove you weren’t the helpless damsel they’d pegged you for. 

You’ve wasted so much time, for nothing. 

There’s no drugs, no food, nothing that’s gonna help either one of you make it through the next few days and suddenly you’re drowning under a wave of hopelessness and bitter disappointment. You fall to your knees in the dirt, taking both your saviours by surprise, and let out a painful, heart wrenching sob. And once you start, you can’t seem to stop. It’s overwhelming, every emotion you’ve bottled up and shoved aside over the last two days suddenly forced into the light. You cry for yourself, for Tooru – for Iwa and Makki and Mattsun. You cry until it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, and then there’s rough calloused fingers brushing your tears away.

You look up through wet lashes to find the dark-haired man crouching before you, his expression sober. “Ya don’t need to cry, sweetheart, we’re not monsters y’know.”

His brother chuckles behind you, “We’re not about to leave some pretty little thing all alone out here to starve to death.” His hand’s resting atop your head now, smoothing down the hair at your crown. It’s soft and soothing, and you’re so attuned to seeking comfort that you can’t help but lean into it, eyes momentarily fluttering shut. “We’ve got some friends nearby, a nice little hideaway stocked full of all kinds of shit. Everything ya could possibly need.”

“Y-you mean it?” you ask, wide eyes flickering to the dark haired one, who smiles at last. “You’ll share them with me?”

“‘Course we do. Meds, food, weapons. Whatever ya want, it’s yours.”

You take the hand he offers to help you stand, your limbs trembling once more – but this time it’s not from fear or exhaustion, but the overwhelming rush of sheer relief. You could kiss him, kiss them both, but you don’t.

Instead you settle for throwing your arms around them once more, breathless thanks falling from your lips faster than they can catch as you hug them tight. They don’t seem to mind though, sharing almost identical smirks as the three of you head out to an old, beat up camaro parked out by the entrance to the prison. While the blonde slides in the driver’s seat and his brother takes the passenger’s side, you climb up into the back seat. 

“Is it far?” you ask as he kicks the car into gear and peels out onto the deserted road. Hopefully it’s not, the sooner you can get back to help Tooru the better. 

“Nah, not too far. We’ll be home before ya know it.”

Of course, they’re driving you to their friends, but they haven’t promised anything about driving you back to the cottage and Oikawa–

Which is perfectly fine! You’re not going to push your luck, they’re already doing plenty for you. More than they really have to. You don’t even need that much – just some medicine for Tooru and enough food for the two of you to get through the next few days, and you’ll be fine. Whatever you can carry, which, admittedly isn’t much. There’s still a few hours of daylight left, if you’re lucky you’ll be able to make it back to him before nightfall.

Things are gonna be fine. You’ll bring the medicine and once he’s better, the two you can head out to find the others. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’ll be better when you’re all back together, the way things were meant to be. 

You need them, if anything this little venture’s proven that much at least. 

They’d promised that it wasn’t far, and maybe it’s just the exhaustion of the last few days creeping in, or the gentle hum of the engine as the car drives along the long, narrow stretch of road, but your eyelids start to droop, your breath evening out as sleep beckons.

And you’re just dancing on the edge of consciousness when a hushed voice breaks through the comfortable silence, dark eyes flickering up to watch your slumbering form in the rearview mirror. “Ya think Kita’ll be pissed?”

There’s a snort, “Nah. He’s always had a soft spot for strays, ‘specially the pretty ones.” He’s quiet for a moment, almost contemplative before he opens his mouth to add, “‘Sides, we’re gonna take real good care of her, ain’t we, Samu?”

The only reply he gives is a soft grunt of acknowledgement. 

[tommyhardyx]

Redecorating

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Reader Word Count: 929 Request: @retromafia And now something for Alfie: what about Alfie's wife redecorating their house or something and he's grumpy Because he can't find anything now and he doesn't like changes in general and now she's sad that he doesn't like it so he tries to make it up to her and starts complementing the new design? You know i feel like his house is very old fashioned decorated and she'd want something more modern and fashionable like art deco Warnings: nothing Note: this is a shorter one but it was fun to write and I really hope you enjoy it!

With your lip caught between your teeth, you watch as your husband looks around the newly decorated house.

You and Alfie recently celebrated your 6 month wedding anniversary, and when he asked if you wanted to exchange gifts you suggested something a little unorthodox. You wanted to redecorate the house.

When Alfie first brought you to the house you noticed just how… old fashioned the house was, as if he hadn’t changed a thing since he first bought the place. And while the house is certainly nice, it shows its age as well as the age of your husband who doesn’t seem to care about the new trends in society as much as you do.

Spending your days in the house began to feel tiresome, and often you’d go out to visit friends or to cafes where you could enjoy the feeling of living in the modern world for a few hours before heading home.

So when you asked to redecorate, Alfie found he couldn’t say no to you, and you took the chance to surprise him when he took a trip to Birmingham for a few days.

“So, what do you think?” you ask, barely able to contain your excited grin at how you’ve managed to modernise the house.

“Well…” he starts, rubbing a hand through his beard. “It’s certainly different.”

Your smile begins to fade as he turns, and he doesn’t look as pleased as you’d hoped.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask, your initial excitement already dying as he steps towards you. “Your study is still basically the same. I just refreshed the room, I made sure you would like it I…”

Alfie sighs as he comes over to you, his rough hands gentle as he pulls you towards him and kisses you softly.

“It’s fine love, just gotta get used to it don’t I?”

Weeks later and Alfie still hasn’t gotten used to the changes in the house.

While you had left his study relatively the same, everything else in the house just felt off to him. Everytime he tried to find something he could never find it where it used to be, always having to hunt for things when all he wanted was to sit down with a cigar and the paper at the end of a day which put him in an even worse mood.

And you of course can’t help but pick up on those moods, noting the way he grumbles constantly through the house when he’s looking for things or the annoyed look on his face when he enters rooms.

You had tried so hard to turn the house into something you would both love and now the place feels worse than ever because of you.

And so you decide to take matters into your own hands and fix things so your husband won’t be so upset with you anymore.

“What are you doing?”

You swallow, turning carefully from where you stand on top of the dresser to find your husband leaning against the doorframe, Cyril waiting beside him.

“Taking the wallpaper down,” you say simply, though your voice wobbles when your foot slips and you press against the wall to avoid falling.

“And why the fuck are you doing that?” he asks.

“Because you hate what I did to the house.”

Sighing, Alfie crosses the room towards you. “Let’s get you down from there and we’ll talk about this hm?”

You nod and allow him to help you down, his hands carefully guiding you off the dresser and back onto the carpeted floor, his hands settling on your waist as you look into his eyes unable to keep your sadness out of your expression.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Alfie says, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“I just wanted to make the house feel more like our house, not just yours. I made sure I picked things you would like just as much as me but you still hate it,” you explain, not able to keep your eyes on his.

Alfie shakes his head, hand gently rubbing your back as you speak.

“I never said I hated it love,” he says, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I don’t, it’s just a big fucking change for me and I probably should have mentioned I don’t do well with change before you did this.”

You nod, pulling out of his grip to sit on the bed. Cyril takes that as his opportunity to join you and rests his head on your lap.

“You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings,” you mutter.

Alfie laughs at that, his warm and familiar laugh that you fell in love with.

“When have you known me to lie to protect someone’s feelings? I don’t hate what you've done to the house, it’s just very different for me,” he says.

He leans back against the dresser you’d been standing on and you bite your lip a little bit of hope that you hadn’t screwed everything up.

“I can change some things back if you want?” you offer.

Alfie shakes his head as he moves across the room to sink into the armchair, patting his lap. You smile and go over to him, disturbing a sleepy Cyril in the process, and sit on his lap.

“I don’t want you doing anything like that alright? If you like it then I do,” he says.

You grin leaning in to kiss him deeply, your hand resting on his cheek. As you pull back Alfie grins at the smile on your face.

“There we go, don’t like seeing my wife sad.”

@lauren-raines-x @lizyshores @misselsbells06

[nevertheless-moving]

Could you talk more about your gumbo jar jar au or the frog one? 🐸

hm on close review the frog promise draft is a now redundant drabble from this au. Here it is in its entirety:

“I will never join you,” Luke said with a sneer of disgust.

Palpatine, as well as the nearby politicians, Jedi masters, and reporters were taken aback. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, Master Jedi,” the Senator said incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me that you consider yourself separate from the Republic? I know the Jedi Council had disavowed recognizing you but I never could have imagined...” he trailed off, leaving the crowd to murmur in alarm.

“I mean I will never join the Sith,” the rogue master replied calmly. “I imagine you’re responsible for the traces of the dark side I felt amongst the trade federation leaders.”

“The Sith...I see.” Palpatine took a step back, deliberately reassuring tone and alarmed expression clearly indicated that he suspected the man before him of insanity. “It’s been a very long day and you clearly intended to do good by my humble home world. Perhaps your fellow Jedi can take you to the healers so you can-”

“Why are you working alongside a Sith Lord?” Luke cut off the Senator and addressed Grandmaster Yoda directly. 

“A Sith Lord, you say?” Master Yoda replied. “A most serious allegation, this is.”

Basically, Luke derails the Naboo Crisis by absolutely annihilating the trade federation army, only realizing after the fact when and where he is. This means that Padme turns right around from Tatooine and never voices her vote of no-confidence. Now, Palpatine probably had contingency plans in place, but the public accusation by a Jedi of being responsible for the crisis in the first place, despite absolutely no evidence, hurts his image enough that he’s not going to win a vote, because people will think it’s a power grab. 

And it’s funny cause it’s true but Luke only barely knows that! He’s just accusing Palpatine of being behind the first evil thing he sees and he fuckin happens to be right!!!

Anyway Luke doesn’t focus on Palpatine; there are like 10,000 other Jedi around. He commits himself first and foremost to completing his training with Master Yoda because sometime Yoda just dies and fades into thin air so, you know! He’s not going to procrastinate on that again!

He goes before the council and humbly asks to be taken on Yoda’s student (this is right before Qui-Gon can ask about Anakin- literally, Anakin and Qui-Gon are in the waiting room). He gives several extremely vague banthashit explanations of who he is ‘I’m a follower of the Force,’ where he comes from ‘the Force sent me,’ and why they should train him when he’s way too old ‘the Force willed it.’ Yoda is somewhat impressed because those are some real unhelpfully wise answers and- here’s the kicker- Luke actually believes them! 

He is really committed to being a Jedi! Is 110% all about being a luminous being! This is several years after return of the Jedi and Luke has pretty much just been hanging out in force temples meditating with ghosts so he has quintessential Jedi vibes, he just knows jackshit about anything!

What really clinches it for Yoda is the fact that his robe pocket starts squirming and he pulls out a live Nabooian Salt Frog. And hands it to Yoda like, “These are one of your favorites right? :) I saw it and I thought of you :)”

Now Yoda- let’s step back a second. Yoda is old. Yoda, in his youth, was a bit more feral. He’s a top level predator and the order has always celebrated diversity and being true to your origins! He’s hunted with Tortugans on Shili! He’s unhinged his jaw with Besalisks on Ojom! 

But as the Republic’s boundaries caved in on themselves, he was more and more put into contact with Core senators who tend to be unnerved by more, ah, carnivorous tendencies. And the more he was put into high level positions by virtue of being really frickin old, the more restrained he became in his public behavior. 

Decades passed and younglings who only ever knew his more ‘harmless-prank’ feral tendencies were increasingly shocked and scared to see him occasionally unhinge his jaw to eat a scrocodile whole. Some of the prey-origin younglings from that field trip actually avoided him for the rest of the their lives.

So. Yoda is still a carnivore- but- in private. With his padawans and his closest peers. But his closest peers age and die and his padawans get younger and smaller as the decades pass. He took on two herbivorous padawans in a row and as a result restrained himself from openly hunting with another soul for around for 50 years.

And then there’s Dooku. ‘Ah a human,’ he thinks. ‘They hunt sometimes. Well. They’re omnivores at least.’

And Dooku is- and I’m not saying this to shame Dooku- but he’s prissy. He likes...neatness. He’s not afraid of violence but force forbid it’s untidy. So when Yoda, excited to get his ambush predation on, takes 14 year old Dooku who’s barely ever left the sterile confines of Coruscant on a trip to a swamp world- yeaaahh it doesn’t go well. Dooku- he doesn’t mean to, honestly. How would he even know that Yoda might be sensitive about things? He’s Yoda. 

But Dooku sobbing openly and puking a little in a bush and running away from Yoda because his Master is terrifying and gross. It... kind of puts the nail in the coffin for Yoda being open about that side of himself. He doesn’t really have it in him to try again. People’s view of him is too fixed, they can’t handle him also being a flesh creature so he focuses on the luminous side of him which is and always was, genuinely, more important than him.

And that’s been the last 100 years or so. The thrill of a live kill is just a little piece of himself that he meditates away and that’s ok. He has the force. He has the order. He’s old anyway, a real hunt would probably hurt his joints. 

And then in comes Luke, radiating Light and earnestness and Jedi serenity while also holding out a very tasty looking live frog. And Yoda realizes Dooku’s not around, he’s surrounded by a council he trusts and respects and likes, none of whom are 14 year olds, all of whom have seen the galaxy and seen worse. He is almost seizing the moment but there’s a little part of him that shriveled up when Dooku cried that’s having a hard time accepting this.

“Want it for yourself, you do not?” Yoda cackles, playing off the offer.

Luke smiles sheepishly and pulls out another live frog. “I was saving it for later. Forgive me Master, your senses are keen as ever I see.”

And Yoda...it’s not about the bribe, really, so much as the symbolism, and it’s not about the flattery either, but darn is the kid really pulling out the stops to make himself likable. And he is a kid, to Yoda anyway. Everyone is these days. What does he care about numbers when there’s a boy smiling like his third padawan, an adorable Rodian who took great delight in their more amphibious and wild missions?

Yoda snatches one of the frogs and slowly raises it in a parody of a toast. Luke does the same. The rest of the council quietly watches in various shades of bewilderment and bemusement.

They’re not actually going to eat that right? Mace thinks. Ugh I hate frogs the skin is so slimy. Shaak Ti thinks. I cannot believe they’re not even offering me one. Yaddle thinks.

And Yoda bites the head off the frog in a quick snap of his jaws, the rest following rapidly. Luke does the same- a slight assist from the force helping his less specialized mandible tear through skin and bone in a well practiced move. He chews slower, but finishes the frog soon enough, the rest of the council looking on with deep uncertainty and a tiny bit of hunger, but no actual fear. They’re Jedi Masters; they’ve eaten everywhere, it’s just a little weird for a human to be eating a live animal and Yoda as far as anyone knew only ate stew and also they were in the middle of a council meeting.

Yoda belches and Luke smiles genially.

“Take you on as my padawan learner, I will. Much to learn you have, much to teach you, I do.”

Luke beams. The council looks on in shock. 

“Master Yoda,” Mace Windu says hesitantly, “He’s clearly in his late 20s, at the earliest. If this is about the... frog thing-”

“Was a pleasant surprise, the frog. The reason for my decision, it is not. Had some training already, he has. Know each other before this day, we do. Taking over for a Master passed into the force, I am merely. Our custom, this is.”

Luke bows lowly and an initiate is summoned to escort him to the quartermasters and then the long-empty padawan suite next to Yoda’s chambers. 

Qui-Gon and Anakin are brought in and. Well. It’s a little hard for them to simply reject the boy after Yoda just pulled that stunt. He’s sent to the initiates dorm, eventually. Mace Windu has a headache from the shatterpoints blinking in and out of existence. Shaak Ti is delighted to discuss a hunting trip with Master Yoda and his new padawan learner Luke Svader. 

The force dances.

[whitexwingedxdoves]

Foxtails and Rabbit trails | Part 2

A/N: This is part 2 to my collab with @starlessea​ i’ve had such a fun time working on this with Yaz and I hope you all love it as much as we do   🐰 Read Part One Here  Summary:  Daryl Dixon was a good hunter, but there were still some things that he struggled to find. Such as the patience to deal with you. You wore a rabbit’s foot keyring, but Daryl thought you were the furthest thing from lucky. After all, you ended up stuck with him, too.

-  Lying back on the grass, staring up at the cloudless sky, you thought that the world had never looked so pretty. 

The foxtails tickled your cheeks, and you could feel the fresh dew on the leaves as they gathered up beneath your fingers. You tried to focus on their texture, and how you could hear them crunch brittley before they scattered to the ground like autumn confetti.  

You really did try to focus on the good.

But the pain was blinding. 

“Hol’ still, ‘m gonna get ya outta there,” Daryl whispered, but you picked up on the way his voice stuttered over the words.

He got to work on disabling the trap, every little movement translating into a jolt of searing pain which made you cry out for him to stop. Though, the look in his eyes was no better. Even through your tears, you could understand that this was hurting him just as much as it hurt you - maybe even more.

If only you hadn’t been so fucking careless.

You reached out your hand for your satchel, fumbling in the grass until your fingertips brushed up against the soft fur of your rabbit’s foot. It was supposed to be lucky.

What a joke, you laughed, and grit your teeth through the pain.

Daryl disarmed the trap, making you whimper hoarsely once more as the metal jaws dislodged from your ankle. Your knuckles had turned white over that rabbit’s foot - almost matching its snowy pelt.

The man retrieved the rag from his back pocket - that same one you’d joked about not so long ago - and used it to bind your leg to stop the bleeding. 

Maybe that ratty cloth was handy, after all.

You tried to look down to catch a glimpse of the injury, and assess the damage. Except, Daryl didn’t let you.

“Eyes on me,” he instructed, gesturing to himself with his free hand.

You nodded, before letting your head fall back onto the damp grass. You glanced off to the side, noticing the mounds of dirt that crumbled near you.

“Hey, Daryl,” you murmured, “look at all of the burrows.”

The man didn’t look up from what he was doing - tending to you - but he still nodded his head anyway.

“Yeah,” he replied, tightening the makeshift bandage, “see if ya can spot any rabbits.”

And with that, Daryl carried you back to Alexandria - quickly and carefully, looking down at his feet the entire time.

Once you reached the infirmary, the man placed you on one of the beds whilst Denise got to work. She tried her hardest to be gentle with you, but even the softest touch made your skin crawl. Painkillers were given - only dulling the sensation ever so slightly - but they seemed to be enough for the doctor to stitch up your wounds, and replace Daryl’s old red rag with a clean bandage.

“I thought you hunters were supposed to be mindful of your surroundings,” Denise quipped, sending one of her sneaky looks your way as she finished her work. 

You rolled her eyes and shuffled ever so slightly in the bed, trying to get a glimpse.

“Yeah well, it was pretty well hidden,” you hit back. 

Daryl cleared his throat from the corner of the room; he’d been so quiet that you almost forgot he was there.

“Nah, ya got too distracted by the damn rabbits,” he grumbled.

More like too distracted by damn Daryl Dixon.

A glare was exchanged between you and the archer, but your smile got wider the longer you stared.

“Either way, it got you pretty good. You need to stay off that leg.” 

With a stern tone, Denise broke your gaze.

You shook your head. “That doesn’t work for me,” you argued, “I’ve got people to feed!” 

In response, you tried to shuffle off the bed - but a searing pain clambered up your leg and stunted your movements.

“I’m sure Daryl wouldn’t mind taking over for a while. Just until you’re better,” Denise reassured you.

The young doctor peered over her glasses at the archer, only for him to reply with a grunt.

“Now rest,” she told you, pressing your shoulder back down into the mattress. “Doctor’s orders!” 

That first night at the clinic had been quiet - far too quiet. It made you mull over your mistake until it was old in your mind, and heavy on your conscience. 

That is, until Daryl returned to bring you dandelions.

Denise had insisted that you stay where she could keep an eye on you, until the morning at least. But, you missed the comforts of your own room - where it was familiar. The walls of the infirmary were too white and barren, as opposed to your house which was decorated with pressed flowers and furs and much too many books. 

Your foot twitched occasionally, and every time you closed your eyes you could hear the snapping of those metal jaws as they clamped shut.

Sleep would probably elude you tonight.

Your nerves were made even worse when you were startled by knuckles rapping on the window. Reaching for the lamp, you illuminated the figure behind the glass - who also seemed spooked at having been caught.

Daryl stood there, motioning for you to open the latch on the window. 

You did, and the man lifted the pane, letting in the cool night’s breeze. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” you whispered, peering around the infirmary.

Daryl scowled, and muttered something below his breath that you couldn’t quite make out. The lampshade cast long shadows on his face, and you could only see the whites of his eyes poking out from between the strands of hair hanging over them.

“I ain’t,” he rasped back, gesturing to where he stood. “Technically.”

You raised an eyebrow at the man, not expecting that dry humour to come from him. He shook you off, and continued.

“Not stoppin’ long,” he dismissed, lifting up his backpack and fumbling around in it. “Went back out there an’ couldn’t see no more traps.” 

He smirked - faint and dim in the artificial light. But you still caught it.

“Ya must’ve sprung the only fuckin’ one.”

You laughed a little too loudly.

“Just my luck,” you shot back.

Daryl pulled something out from his bag - something you immediately recognised. It was a pelt blanket of soft, tawny fur. You’d made it yourself.

“Olivia tol’ me to give ya this,” he explained, feeding the material through the open window until you could reach it. “She went to get it from yer room.”

The feeling between your fingers instantly brought you comfort, and you ran the blanket along your cheek absentmindedly. 

Before you could reply, Daryl fished something else out from the rucksack and placed it on the windowsill. 

It was a glass bottle of dandelions.

It was a soda bottle, to be exact - probably snuck out of the pantry when no one was looking. You also recognised the flowers; you’d seen them out hunting once and noted just how much you liked the colour.

They looked like sunshine.

“Those from Olivia, too?” you whispered, gently stroking over the petals with your fingertips.

Daryl zipped up his bag and shook his head.

“Nah,” he mumbled, gesturing for you to close the window behind him. “These are from me.”

That was when you realised that perhaps Daryl Dixon wasn’t such a hard ass after all.

Though, your favourite memory from back then had to be the time he brought you bluebells. You’d practically chewed his ear off on one of your earlier trips, telling him all about how pretty they were - but you never thought he was listening.

You’d been sitting in your front room, pressing the previous bunch of flowers between one of your bigger books, when Daryl entered your home that day. Denise still hadn’t given you the all clear to go back out and hunt, and your movements were still pretty limited.

Hence, the constant appearances by the other hunter.

At this point, it had just become a part of the routine. Daryl would visit the house, walk straight to the empty vase on your bedside, and fill it with a new set of flowers. 

Though, today was a little different. 

Usually, he’d drop off some of the meat he’d managed to catch, and then leave. But, today he took a seat on the sofa opposite yours and fumbled with a tangled up cord.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you giggled, sitting further back into your cushion.

“Been trying to fix ya stupid traps out there. Can’t get the knot right,” he mumbled, his patience wearing as thin as that rope in his hands. 

You couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh at his words. 

The irony tasted so sweet. 

Daryl shot you a look which instantly made you cover your mouth. “Come here, I’ll help you,” you managed to say, whilst beckoning him over.

He did as instructed, but not without grumbling.

You took the cord from his hands and effortlessly untangled it. Daryl muttered something under his breath - but instead of prying, you took the victory and proceeded with your demonstration.

“Loop the rope around your hand like this and tie it.” 

Before finishing the action, you handed it over to Daryl so that he could do it by himself. 

“Then you fold the loop over to make ears, just like a rabbit!” you announced proudly, leaning over the man to show him exactly how it should look.

He scoffed. “What is it with you and the damn rabbits?” 

You rolled your eyes at the archer, and nudged him in the side for not paying attention - to which he carried on following your directions. 

“Then you thread the rope through,” you instructed, your hand hovering over his as you watched for any mistakes.

You hadn’t realised how close you were to him until he had finished the knot. You pulled away, and cleared your throat before refocusing on the cord - not daring to dwell on the tension.

“Then you add this end to the spring and leave the other end hanging.”

Daryl nodded silently, inspecting your work like he was trying to recreate it in his mind.

“Thanks,” he eventually whispered, chewing at the corner of his lip.

It didn’t take the man long to spring to his feet and murmur a goodbye before leaving. 

Thinking back on it, you could only laugh at how naive you both had been. 

Those bluebells were the last flowers ever left in that glass vase, but they hadn’t been the last you’d seen during your time at Alexandria. To this day, you still had an old, leather-bound book tucked away somewhere on a shelf - containing all of those pressed flowers with their dried up petals and stems. But, they weren’t the most memorable.

No. The ones you could remember the best, despite not having them laid flat atop a page, were the foxtail lilies.

“You good?” the man asked, guiding you through the long grass.

You followed him slowly, weaving through the wildflowers - being careful not to trod on them. 

Your leg had mostly healed, but your confidence still hadn’t made a full recovery. It was your first time hunting since the accident, and you couldn’t help but keep your eyes locked on your feet the entire time - despite Daryl having reassured you that he’d checked the area three times over.

“Yeah, just feels weird,” you replied, rolling your ankle. “But it’s good to be out again, thanks for taking over for me.”

Despite being out of commission for a few weeks, the people of Alexandria definitely hadn’t starved - that’s for damn sure.

Daryl shook his head, and continued to step through the foxtail lilies. He was leading you back to that new area - to explore it properly this time.

“Nah, ain’t nothin’,” he shrugged, not even sparing you a backwards glance.

You followed his trail, where his boots had flattened the grass and made it easier for you to navigate.

You sighed. “Can’t just say ‘you’re welcome’, can you?”

Something sprung in the distance, and you immediately flinched. It took you a few seconds to figure it out - but you soon realised that you recognised that sound.

You turned to the other hunter, only to find that he was already looking at you.

“Daryl Dixon,” you breathed, a smile already wide on your face. “Did you set a twitch-up snare?”

The man shook his head, before pointing into the distance - at the dozens of burrows you hadn’t gotten the chance to show him that day.

“Not jus’ one,” he announced, as you glanced around the field, counting the traps.

No wonder Alexandria hadn’t gone hungry.

Another one sprung, and made you jump. You couldn’t help it, you slapped Daryl over the back and laughed too loudly - probably making the remaining rabbits scurry back into their burrows.

“Be still my beating heart!” you joked. “I knew you’d come around.”

The lilies tickled your legs as they blew in the breeze, and made you laugh even more. But for once, the man didn’t scold you for scaring away the game.

“Yer welcome,” he replied, and smirked straight back.

Daryl thought of that memory, as he and Judith made their way through the darkened forest, back to the house. 

You had definitely changed him since then - in more ways than how he set up his traps.

Daryl hung behind the young girl, watching her feet as she navigated the thick overgrowth, and stepped over tree roots - her fox tail charm swinging from her jeans. 

It had been his, once. He’d caught that red fox himself in the dead of winter, and kept the brush just like you’d told him to do. Though, Judith Grimes had taken a liking to it as a baby - always reaching for the soft fur with her small hands, and sneezing when Daryl used it to tickle her nose.

It was hers now; it had been since that day.

As if feeling his stare, Judith turned back and called out to Daryl for him to hurry up - unless he wanted dinner to be cold. He let out a grunt and picked up the pace.

He was too damn old for this.

The two of them returned to the cabin before the sun had set, but Daryl could already smell the scent of cooked meat from the pathway, a few minutes back. The lights were on inside, flickering warmly behind the glass windows - as though calling the both of them home.

Judith reached the door first, and rapped on the wood, tapping out their signature knock. As soon as it creaked open, the young girl burst through - nearly knocking you over as she trudged through the house with a wide smile and muddy boots.

 Then, you disappeared behind the frame after her - yelling something about how animals were meant to be on a plate, and not seated at the dinner table.

Daryl couldn’t help but laugh at that one; you always did have a good sense of humour.

But for that reason, the hunter made sure to wash his hands as soon as he stepped through the door - before even attempting to put them on you, and pull you in close.

But once he did, you beckoned him over.

Daryl felt the warmth of your skin as you pressed your forehead to his.

“‘M home,” he murmured, offering out the bunch of wildflowers he’d picked for you on the way back.

They were slightly crushed from his grip - the stalks bent and the petals flaking off - but you still smiled at him in such a way that it made his breath catch.

Yeah, he thought, you hadn’t changed one bit.

“My favourites,” you replied, and placed those foxtails in fresh water at the centre of the dinner table.

-

tags:  @browneyes528​ @phoenixblack89​ @srhxpci​ @jodiereedus22​ @witch-of-letters​ @deadthewalking​

[velvetmel0n]

Insatiable

Summary: The Mandalorian has a run in with some rather odd pollen while hunting for a quarry and you try to fix it

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Automatic dub-con due to the pollen, penetrative sex, sex against a wall, Mando finds a loophole to take his helmet off but everything else stays on, the Child is sleeping don’t worry, little bit of cockwarming, soft ending

A/N: Me, posting fic during daylight hours? I’m just as surprised as you are, who am I

@damerondjarin​ @rzrcrst​ @okay-hotshot​ @beskars​ @acomplicatedprofession​ @huliabitch​ @pascalplease​ @darksideofclarke​ @thesefleshfailures @justawriterwithdreams​ @generaldamneron​ @criminal-cookies​ @someplace-darker​ @amarvelousmandalorian​ @roxypeanut​ @leahsafae​ @bunnyart-blog​ @duamuteffe​ @themandjalorian​ @hopelikethesun​ @dindjarindiaries​ @paniclana​ @winters-buck​ @pedropascalito​ @agentpike​ @hiscyarika​ @lesqui​ @mandadoration​ @the-huttslayer​ @poeticandors​ @tintinwrites​ @mserynlarsen​ @hystericalmedicine​ @queenofheavenandhell​ @himbopoes​ @qveenbvtch​ @bookshelvesandteacups​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​

Something is— something is wrong with the Mandalorian. The fact that he’s returning without the quarry is concerning enough but the way he’s moving, the way he’s hauling himself up the ramp and out of the jungle like he’s hurt is what sends your heart rocketing into your throat. You can’t see any chinks in the beskar even as he steps into the light of the Razor Crest and the rational part of your brain realizes that the lack of any outward signs of injury, that his armor is still in place, should make you feel better. 

Instead what it does is make you swallow, makes you want to reach out and run your hands along the gleaming metal and the thick fabric between the plates, fingers probing for something to fix. “Mando?” You hate how your voice sounds even as it’s leaving your mouth, thin and shaking under its own weight and you feel the anxiety curdle in your gut.

You had just put the Child down for the night and thought it was funny, this odd turn your life had taken in these last months. Going from odd job doer to nurse maid and medic and whatever else a situation may call for. You didn’t realize how attached you’d truly grown to it until now.

The Mandalorian grunts and the sound is ragged at the edges, and you watch with wide eyes as he sits heavily on the cot as if his legs won’t support him any longer and he— he starts tearing at his gloves, at his arm braces. Any other time you’d be fascinated by the skin he’s showing you, normally only glimpsed through blood and bacta spray, but now it only makes your blood run cold.

“Something got under the helmet,” His voice is slurred, the words crashing into one another before they leave the confines of his mouth. He sounds like he drank an entire jug of spotchka by himself and your brain starts to prickle with realization. “Just— I feel so, feel so hot,”

You swallow, careful to keep your distance now when just moments before you had wanted to run to him. “Did you notice any smells? Any...strange tastes in your mouth?” You know enough botany to have dread settling low in your stomach, replacing the anxiety that had been threatening to overtake you. You don’t think this planet houses a lethal strain— uncomfortable, yes. Life altering, perhaps. But not lethal.

The questions make him pause, thank Maker, because this is the most skin he’s ever shown you and already the guilt is gnawing. You know his Creed, piecing it together from the stories you’ve heard about the Mandalorians and from his own mouth, and you are terrified. Terrified that he’ll go for his helmet next, that you won’t be able to stop him in time and then what? What comes after?

“It smelled...sweet, but, but more than that—” He doesn’t know how to explain how it smelled sweet and spiced and soft. As soft as he knows your hands are when you patch him up somewhere he can’t reach, as soft as he imagines other places are. He shakes his head hard to dislodge that thought but it’s already taken hold and now he can’t stop. 

He’s having trouble remembering why it’s a bad idea to reach out for you, drag you into his lap and fill his hands and his mouth with you, gorge himself on sensation until he’s sick with it. He feels like he’s burning up, boiling from the inside out and his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton but it’s watering for you.

His mouth. That’s right, you asked him if he tasted anything. He did— some strange, flavored heat having curled into his mouth and he can’t describe the taste, just knows that it was good and he won’t be opposed to tasting it again. 

“I don’t know, something— something good,” The edges of his voice are fuzzed out by the vocoder but the rasp isn’t smoothed and his words skitter down your spine to settle low in your belly. You had spent months perfecting how you deal with the Mandalorian; friendly, compassionate, maybe a little teasing, but most of all understanding of his Creed and the Way and that meant ignoring the affection that had started to fester not long after you’d met. Ignoring the way your mind wandered at night or when you were alone, and it was all going to come crashing down because he’d had a run in with fucking adamari pollen.

If the circumstances weren’t so dire you think you’d laugh because this is ridiculous.

You swallow and raise your hands like you’re trying to placate something feral, show it that you mean it no harm. “We need to stay away from each other for the next few hours, alright?” You hate the way your voice sounds, thin and shaking underneath its own weight and you aren’t sure what you’re more scared of— him forgetting himself or you letting him. 

He’s breathing harshly but he only tilts his helmet at you, not realizing what you’re trying to say so you try again, tongue flicking over your suddenly dry lips. “You’ve heard of adamari, right?”

That causes him to still right down to his labored breathing and you rush to reassure him the only way you know how. “This one isn’t lethal we just— you just have to ride it out,” Maker, did he bring any in with him? You can feel yourself warming, goosebumps rising on your flesh the longer he looks at you from behind that dark visor but that could just be the Mandalorian himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, not even slightly, but it most certainly is the worst time.

“It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?” The words rumble through the vocoder and you can only nod, seeing the way his hands fist atop his thighs and you swallow thickly. You know you can’t stop him, you know you won’t want to stop him once he puts his hands on you and that’s why one of you has to leave.

“Look, it’s probably going to last the rest of the night. At least,” You tack the words on as an afterthought, figuring you should warn him before he’s too far gone, remembering how depending on the strain and the dosage the effects can last anywhere  between a few hours to a couple days.

You watch as the Mandalorian flexes his hands before he straps his braces back on, fitting his hands back into his gloves slowly as if the movements of covering himself back up are paining him now in some ironic twist of fate. “I’ll go.” The words are simple, brooking no arguments. Maybe they would have inspired more confidence if they hadn’t sounded like they were pushed through gritted teeth.

He hauls himself to standing, a mass of gleaming beskar and you hold your breath as he walks past you, not missing the way he pauses, the way his helmet cants towards you. “Take care of the kid for me,” It’s a forgone conclusion at this point but you understand his need to say it still and you nod, murmuring a simple ‘of course’ into the still air. He doesn’t resume walking right away, instead watching you for long, drawn out moments that make you feel like an ash-rabbit caught in a snare before he stumbles down the ramp, shaking his head.

You’re trembling as you shut the ship back up, not able to tell if your sigh is one of relief or disappointment as he keeps walking into the jungle.

Should you— should you activate the ground security protocols? You probably should in case something other than the Mandalorian tries to get in, but it almost feels like a betrayal as you do. You aren’t afraid of him, not really, and you don’t want him to think that you are. What you’re afraid of is you inadvertently causing his life to unravel because you can’t keep your eyes closed. You’re afraid that it’s the pollen to blame for this, that no part of him actually wants you. 

You try to distract yourself by checking on the Child, sleeping peacefully in his crib and you hope he remains that way for the rest of the night. You press a button on the machine and the canopy slides back into place, blocking out all the lights and noises of the Crest and you almost wish you could join him. 

You wonder if the famed Mandalorian discipline will be enough to keep away during the long hours of the night, that it will somehow overcome the effects of the drugging plant. Maybe he’ll get far enough away before it really slams into him.

You spend hours like this, unable to keep yourself from pacing around the Crest and jumping at every little noise, from the ship settling to the sounds of the jungle outside, and all the while wondering. Wondering how he’s faring, if it’s gotten worse yet. If he’s in pain and if it would have been a better idea to let him stay and help him. He might not have reached for his helmet like you’re so afraid of.

It’s the middle of the night and your nerves have started to dull, sleep beginning to pull on the edges of your brain. Nothing has activated the ground security protocols and you’ve found the rhythm in the noise of the nightbugs and the creatures and the groans of the Razor Crest. The Child hasn’t woken despite your pacing and nervous energy thrumming out, and all is well. 

And then the lights go out.

Adrenaline surges through your body and your heart kicks into a relentless pace and you almost feel like you’re floating with the sudden onset of energy as you spring from your place on the floor. No alarms are blaring. There are no sounds you don’t already recognize and there is nothing banging on the hull of the ship, demanding to be let inside. 

The Mandalorian has returned. The Mandalorian has returned and you can’t see a thing.

Arousal and anxiety clash in your gut, colliding until you’re shaking and you don’t know which is which. The dark serves as a loophole, but how strong is it? The urge to run wells up within you so strongly that you almost gasp, feeling your way through the dark as you try to figure out a place to hide.

What if he regrets it, afterwards? Thinks it’s shameful and can’t bear to be around you anymore? Even worse, what if it’s never spoken of again and you have to live with the knowledge of what he feels like, his skin against your own and buried inside of you and you won’t be able to do anything about it.

Your blood is rushing in your ears as you creep through the gloom, your mind racing. There are only so many places to hide in the Razor Crest and your first instinct is to hurl yourself into the storage closet he calls a bunk and seal yourself up in it but you know that would be asking for trouble. You think if you can make it to the ladder you might have a shot of scrambling up, sealing the hatch before the Mandalorian reaches you.

You’re pointedly ignoring the fact that he probably has some sort of nightvision equipped in his helmet and can obviously see better than you if he’s plunging the Crest into absolute darkness on a whim.

You don’t even think you breath as you move, barely picking your feet off the floor and somehow forcing yourself to go slow, to take your time so you don’t run headfirst into a wall. The goosebumps are back and the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end and you feel so thoroughly watched that you think you can feel his eyes on your like a caress. 

You don’t know how far you make it before you feel a heavy hand on the center of your back, pushing you up against the wall and then the Mandalorian is pressing himself against you, trapping you between two layers of solid metal and you almost keen from the sensation of it.

“M’sorry, I— I tried, so hard, I’m sorry,” He slurs into your ear and all the breath you’ve been holding leaves your lungs in a gust because you’re not hearing the blurry, filtered voice through the vocoder anymore and you can feel his lips on your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin desperately. He’s taken his gloves off too and his hands are everywhere. 

They slip beneath your tunic without warning and his skin is fever hot and rough, and you can’t stop yourself from shaking if you try when he grasps your breasts, cupping their fullness and squeezing, forcing a whine from your throat. He keeps mumbling apologies against your neck, soothing bites with his tongue and gasping for breath because there’s just so much of you he’s never touched, never felt like this and you’re so soft and warm and he’s losing his mind.

“S’okay, really,” You do your best to reassure him but you think the pollen is rubbing off you, it has to be because it’s like once he got you in his arms all that anxiety and fear that was festering and curdling in your stomach turned to pure heat in a single instant and you can feel the wetness already slicking the insides of your thighs. 

His chin hooks over your shoulder and you think he’s trying to watch himself play with you— you have no idea if he can even see but the idea that he’s trying cranks you higher. Your other senses have heightened to compensate for the lack of vision and maybe that’s the reason why you almost cry when his fingers clasp around your nipples. He pinches and rolls the puckering flesh, and you’re unable to stop the sob of his name that leaves your mouth. “M-Mando,”

The sound of that word on your lips, little more than a gasping moan, is what breaks him the rest of the way. The words come pouring out of his mouth then and fill your head up until the sound of them and his touch are the only things that exist for you. 

“Wanted this for s-so long and you— you’re—” You’re letting me, the thought finishes unspoken because he can’t believe it. You’re arching your spine and reaching behind you, clawing at any part of him you can reach and he loves it. He loves the way you taste and the sounds that are pouring from your lips and he’s never been this hard in his life.

His hands finally come unglued from your breasts and rasp down your side, his rough palms catching on your skin and the contrast has you both shaking. The Mandalorian doesn’t waste time, isn’t capable of it as he shoves his hand underneath the waistband of your pants and your underwear and— and he fucking chokes.

You’re so warm and wet that for a moment all he can do is groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his big body shuddering against your own. He drags a finger through your slit, in awe of just how wet you are for him as you rock in his palm. He can’t get over the fact that you’re almost sobbing for him now as he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers sloppily over your clit and he can feel your thighs quiver. 

“Im-imagined this,” He can’t stop himself from talking, needing to get the words out, to let you know that it isn’t pollen that’s caused all this. It only sped up the timeline, pushing him off the cliff he’s spent the past months edging towards. “Didn’t know yo-you’d be this— this warm,” His voice cracks on the last word and he groans raggedly into your ear because at that exact moment he’s slicking two of his fingers into your weeping cunt and some part of him thinks this is a hallucination. This has to be a hallucination because there’s no way you’re this hot, there’s no way you’re drenching his hand and moaning for him.

He tells you as much, rasping right into your ear how tight you are, how good you’re taking his fingers. How he’s been dying for this.

You try to brace yourself against the wall as your hips bear down on his thick fingers, able to feel the dips and ridges  of his knuckles while your free hand clutches at the arm he has wound around your waist to keep you crushed against him. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes and you already feel so full but you’re greedy, and maybe the pollen has rubbed off on you after all because as amazing as his fingers are spearing up into you, you want his cock more.

You try to tell him but when you open your mouth to do so the only thing that comes out is a whimper because the Mandalorian is pressing the heel of his hand hard into your pubic bone while his fingers work, grinding your clit against his hand. You can feel the bridge of his nose pressing into the line of your jaw, his breath huffing over your skin and it’s all too much.

You feel yourself clamp down on his fingers and your mouth hangs open and the only thing you can hear is the Mandalorian’s moan in your ear. He presses you harder into the wall and his hand stills, keeping the pressure on your clit and just curling his fingers within you. You don’t notice how your nails are digging into his wrist and the hand you have on the wall is shaking as it reaches back, blindly seeking the Mandalorian to pull him closer as your hips stutter and grind into his palm.

You don’t realize you’ve started begging him until the buzzing clears from your head. “Please, p-please, Man-Mando, just— I need your cock,” You sound as wrecked as you feel and the Mandalorian grunts somewhere behind you, ripping at his belt before the words are fully out of your mouth. You want to help him but your hands are shaking too much and you’re still trying to remember how to breathe properly when you feel a blunt pressure against your slippery folds.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and you’re rocking impatiently on just his tip, whining at the feel of his hands now gripping your hips to try and hold you still. You still haven’t gotten used to the feel of his bare hands on you and it’s like each brush of them, every squeeze and and rub making you feel almost delirious. They’re hot against you, fingers digging in around the bone and somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you know you’ll have marks later, a roadmap of where and how he touched you  and you can’t wait to trace your fingertips over them in the daylight.

Any control he’s managed to cling to is gone and he’s helpless not to buck his hips, filling you up in one decisive thrust that sends you lurching into the wall. You cry out from the sensation of his cock splitting you open, the stretch pinching just enough for the pain to put the pleasure into focus, sharpening it to a razor’s edge. 

This is what he’s been hiding underneath all that beskar? The thought slides across your mind like a tendril of smoke, half formed and nearly transparent before it blinks out of existence as fast as it came into being because the Mandalorian is rutting over you, armor biting into the backs of your thighs as he tries to press as close as physically possible each time he bottoms out within you.

He’s barely pulling out, as if he can’t stand the thought of separating from you even just the few inches he needs for leverage, is something unbearable and it is glorious.  The tears have spilled from your eyes and his hands are clutching you, arms banding around your front to keep you molded to his chest so tightly that your breathing is restricted from the pressure across your chest but you can’t manage to care.

You aren’t being granted any sort of reprieve from how deliciously full you are and you think you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags inside you, scraping heavily against that one specific spot that’s causing you to see stars in the darkness, pinpricks of light igniting behind your eyelids. His name is falling pathetically from your lips, your high pitched and needy and he just keeps going. His mouth at your ear, slurring how you feel around him, how well you’re taking him and how he never wants to leave your heat. 

You use his voice, so much clearer without the vocoder, as a homing beacon and reach a trembling hand over your shoulder, sifting your fingers through the sweaty curls you find at the nape of his neck. He shudders and snarls when you give them an experimental tug and you feel it right down to your toes— so you do it again.

He digs his hips into yours in a rhythm that borders on brutal and you’re only able to last for so long because the arm around your stomach drops low and he’s pressing his fingers into your clit again, quick and desperate.  And then, almost before you realize what’s happening, your vision is whiting out and your pussy is clamping down around his cock, your flesh pulsing around him as you hang, suspended time time and unable to feel anything but the pleasure as it rockets up your spine and covers your skin like syrup, thick and sticky-sweet.  Your mouth is hanging open but no sound comes out at first and— and then you’re mewling some pitiful parody of his name because he’s fucking you through the first orgasm and on into the second if he doesn’t stop.

Which he doesn’t. You’re sensitive and shaking and he isn’t stopping, driving into you again and again before he stills, cock buried as deep as he could manage and he moans. The sound is broken against your shoulder, blunt teeth indenting your skin and you’re sure you’ve never heard anything better.  Liquid heat fills you, makes you arch and writhe and feel almost like a lothcat in heat. 

The Mandalorian doesn’t move away from you like you had been so afraid of just hours before, doesn’t rush to cover himself or start offering apologies. Instead you feel him panting against your upper back and he slackens his bite, laving at the marks he left with his tongue. He squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, rumbling a single word that has you quivering all over again— 

“More.”

Hours later you’re sprawled atop the Mandalorian, your cheek resting against the cool metal of his cuirass and his cock still buried in you. You have no idea how long you’ve been laying like that, his hand drifting across your back, tracing nonsense patterns along your spine with his bare fingers. He put his helmet back on sometime during the night and as much as you missed the access to his mouth, the sound of his unfiltered voice, you understood.

You’re drifting somewhere between being awake and unconsciousness, only aware of the feel of his hands, the hard lines of beskar pressing into your skin, and how full you feel, reminded of that in particular every time you so much as twitch.

You hum in sleepy acknowledgement when he calls your name, only raising your head when he squeezes your shoulder and gives it a little shake. You rest your chin on your hand and fix his visor with what you hope isn’t a look of lazy contempt, though whatever your expression may have been it melts at the first touch of his hand on your cheek and you can’t resist the urge to nuzzle into his warm palm.  The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that your eyes are starting to drift shut when he begins to speak, soft and slow. “This, it—  it started because of the pollen,” He lets the words hang in the air and you have the sense that he chose the words carefully. He doesn’t take his hand from you, letting you lean the weight of your head into his palm, thumb stroking the delicate skin underneath your eye so slowly you don’t know if he realizes what he’s doing.

You don’t answer him right away, instead you lift yourself up just enough for you to be able to reach his helmet, doing your best to ignore the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls and you can feel him tense right through the beskar. You don’t reach for it. You don’t even move your hands from where they’re braced against his chest. Instead you move slowly and carefully, leaning forward to press your lips to the visor in a soft kiss before you settle back onto his chest.

You hear his sigh through the vocoder, the tension seeping out from underneath you and you feel your lips pulling into a smile as you close your eyes. You’re higher up than you were before, just enough for your cheek to press into the softer spot between his cuirass and his pauldron and you want to hum with contentment. You know that you have to talk about this sooner or later, but for now you only want to bask in the afterglow, in the languid soreness that’s settling into your muscles.

[xenia-cenia]

Razor x Fem!Reader - Trust

A/N - I... have been avoiding writing this one, but he and Albedo are the last two before I can finish off the Mondstadt part of this series. Here’s hoping it doesn’t take me as long as the other ones lol

Post writing authors note: only took 2 hours so a lot better than my other ones

Trigger/Content Warnings: Injury, blood mention, slight manga spoilers, kidnapping, human experimentation mention, abusive sibling, food mention

Word Count: 1,552

Request: No

Summary: Ooooh dottore bad... razor good.... its 1am i have school tomorrow pretend this makes sense

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

You came to him on accident. 

You didn’t mean to stumble into the Wolvendom with blood coating your arm and chased by people who thought of you as nothing more than a Harbingers sister. You hadn’t planned on slipping in the mud and watching with fear in your eyes as your pursuers celebrated their victory. How could you of known that the scream that’d fall from your lips would alert a nearby boy?

Electricity remained in the air as he set his weapon down. He turned to you with a blank expression, “...hurt?”

“Who are you? Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“Hurt.” He pointed at your arm. “I fix.” Razor walked over to you and kneeled, carefully grabbing your arm.

“The Fatui! You’ve just... oh Archons, please help me. I’m so sorry, I got you into this mess and now you’ll be in danger, why did I scream?”

“Fa... tui?” He slightly cocked his head to the side.

“T-They’re people who want me back. I... I’m the sister of-”

“Family?”

You shook your head violently, “No! Not family!” You sighed, “I’m the sister of one of the harbingers. P-Please, tell me you haven’t heard of Dottore...”

“Dottore. Dottore bad?”

“Very!” 

“You scared Dottore?”

“Yes.”

“Razor protect you from Dottore. Join lupical.”

“Lu...” you echoed, “Are you Razor?”

“Razor is me.”

You looked at the mysterious boy and considered your options; either be found by the fatui and forced to face your brother or... follow the boy who saved your life without knowing you.

“Okay, fine.” You sighed, “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded, “Follow.”

You walked in silence and you noticed kindness in his subtle actions. He would hold branches above your head until you were safely past them or pointed out puddles so you wouldn’t step in them.

Finally, you arrived at an opening. Wolves stalked the exterior, looked at Razor and you, and continued their business.

“Ra... Razor?” You whispered, gripping onto his arm and stepping behind him. “Why did you take me to wolves?”

“Lupical. Family.”

“These are your family?” 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You nodded, drew out your words as you started to regret your decision to trust him. “Wolf... family. Alrighty. Annnd... I’m here now. This is what I’m doing with my life.”

“Lupical protect Razor. Razor protect Lupical. Razor trust you. You smell nice.”

“I’ve been on the run for multiple weeks. There’s no way I smell nice.”

Razor scrunched his eyebrows as he searched for the right word, “You smell... kind. Razor trust you.” He turned to you and tried to manage a smile though it looked more like a ferocious snarl, “You trust Razor?”

And maybe you were just tired but for some reason, you did. 

It didn’t take long for you to merge with the rest of the wolf pack, though you couldn’t understand their words you learned their body language. 

The pups would run over to you and wouldn’t leave you alone until you pet them behind the ears. You would pick grass and would weave it into a shoddy crown, and each time you gave it to Razor he’d wear it the rest of the day. 

Happy. You were happy. 

Hunting, flower picking, star gazing. It was simple, but it was the best life you could’ve asked for. A life outside of political intrigue, violence, anger, and human test subjects.

A life where you could smile. A life where your shoulders relaxed. A life where you were trusted and you could trust.

Lupical. Family. You would give anything to keep these peaceful days ongoing. 

But, as with every spot of happiness you found, it needed to be crushed. 

Crushed by your older brother and the troops he controlled as he tracked down your location. As he demanded they wait until nightfall to grab you by your arm and drag you back into his clutches.

“Scream and they die.” He had said with a smile. You knew better than to doubt him. 

“Can I...” you tried to blink the tears out of your eyes, “Can I give them a final goodbye gift?”

Dottore rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. You picked grass, quickly weaved it into a shotty flower crown, and lied it on Razor's chest. And just like that, you were gone.

You were halfway to Liyue by the time Razor realized that you were missing. He gripped the flower crown as if his life depended on it, and tried his best to stay calm. To breathe.

His Lupical were quicker to pick up on your disappearance, they whined and hounded him until he finally picked up on it. 

What was he going to do? You trusted him and you’re gone. Razor hadn’t felt this awful since part of his Lupical died in front of him. He didn’t spend much time grieving, however, he dropped right onto your scent.

You walked next to your brother, your eyes locked onto the ground, you were surrounded by trees and there was a cliff behind you. 

“Why, (Y/N), you gave us quite a scare!” He chuckled after hours of pure silence, “3 months and no message. I almost began to think the worst.”

“I bet you wished for it.” You grumbled under your breath.

“What?” He looked at you, “How could you say that? I love you.”

“You never loved me.” You snapped, your fingernails digging into your palms, “You used me. You only want me back so I can’t tell everybody the awful things you do. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter to you. I’m just here for your appearances.”

“I wanted you back because you’re my fami-”

“Don’t you dare say we’re family. They were my family. They loved me.”

“The-the wolves?” He laughed, “Don’t be absurd! Wolves can’t love you.”

“And why not?” You finally made eye contact with him, “They surely love me more than you.”

He looked at you with a slightly agape mouth, “Surely you hear how ridiculous you sound. You... you need some food. When's the last time you had a whole meal? Is that it? Are you starving? Are you sleep-deprived? What’s making you act like this?”

“I finally found someone who truly cares about me, and you take me away from them! You never want me to be happy. I hate you.” You took a deep breath, “No... hate isn’t strong enough. I despise you.” 

Dottore looked at you with almost seemed like genuine pain. But you knew better. This was the man who’d set scientists to dissect your body if he got bored. This was the man who turned countless children into experiments. 

You hated him. You hated the way he made you doubt yourself. You hated his confident smirk. 

He sighed heavily, “They always did say these teen years were hard... (Y/N), I don’t understand why you’re angry.”

“And that’s the issue! You never understand me. You don’t even try to.”

“Can’t you just listen to me?”

“I have! I’ve listened for years and nothing's ever changed! You take me away from where I’m happy and try to convince me I’m in the wrong for getting upset. You are a terrible brother and even worse person.”

“Ter... oh. Oh, (Y/N), I tried to be reasonable with you.” He shook his head dismissively, “It really is your fault. You forced my hand. You’re going back to Snezhnaya and you’re staying there until you learn your lesson.”

“No, I’m not.” You took a step away from him. “I’ll run. I’ll run each time and I’ll tell everybody what you do.”

He stepped towards you and grabbed your wrist, “If you disappear again, I’ll just be forced to kill all of your... ahem... friends.” 

You bit your lip and tried to keep the tears pooling in your eyes to spill over, “Fine.” You pulled out of his grasp. 

“Are you finally going to listen to me?”

You turned around and looked over the edge of the cliff. A flash of white caught your attention. You smiled to yourself, turned around, and let the tears fall. 

With outstretched arms, a huge smile, and a torrent of tears, you spoke, “I’ll always run from you.” You stood on the edge and let your body fall.

Dottore ran to the edge and grabbed at your clothes, missing by mere inches. He looked over the cliff in fear as he watched you fall through the branches of trees. 

He sighed to himself and tried to contain his frustration. “Damn brat.” He turned to his troops who took the time of your argument to rest, “We continue on. (Y/N) is dead.”

In the tree, Razor looked at you in relief as you sat in his arms. “Safe?”

“Safe.” You replied with a laugh as you hugged him as best as you could considering he was holding you. “He won’t... he won’t bother us anymore.”

“Dottore? Dottore hurt you? Razor not protect.”

You pulled back from the hug, “You saved me.”

He blinked, “Razor... save? You are safe... Razor save...”

You pulled him down by his collar and kissed his cheek, “I love you.”

His cheeks turned bright red. “Love... Razor love... Razor love you.”

You giggled as you pulled him into another kiss, happy to be free from your brother and in Razor's arms. 

“I love you,” you whispered again, “I love you so much.”

[starryeyedweeb]

Walking In On Your Fave Anime Blondes Singing Along to Dolly Parton’s “Dumb Blonde”

Content Includes: Honestly, this could be read as either platonic or romantic- it’s basically borderline crack meant to give you a smile and some laughs. All underaged characters are aged up to 18+. Gender neutral reader, some language

Characters Included: Armin Arlert, Kurapika Kurta, Hawks/Takami Keigo, Tsukishima Kei, Gojou Satoru, Bakugou Katsuki

“Just because I’m blonde, don’t think I’m dumb. Because this dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool.”

Armin

This is actually his power song

Before important meetings and strategy sessions where he’s slated be a big presenter, you’ll always hear him mumbling the same words over and over again under his breath, but you can never make out what they are

Until one day when you’re able to connect the dots 

One such meeting was coming up, and you leave for it before Armin does

He had just told you that he’s not quite ready to leave yet, but doesn’t explain why

You don’t think much about it and carry on, until you realize that you left a part of your harness at home and have to turn back

As you walk back through the door, you notice the sound of singing coming from his bedroom

The voice is distinctively Armin’s, and seeing as you’ve never heard him sing before, you’re actually quite excited

You sneak in as quietly as possible, and much to your amusement, you find him singing to himself in the mirror, pointing back at himself and belting the words almost aggressively

“Because this dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool!”

You wanted to sneak away and pretend you never saw anything, but you can’t resist bursting out into laughter

He jumps around and yelps, his face turning cherry red

“Y/N! I thought you left! I, um...I- this was...”

“Oh, my god.” A realization dawns on you. “Is that what you’re always whispering under your breath when you’re nervous?”

“Um...yeah. It just makes me feel stronger, I guess. I know, it’s so stupid...”

“No, it’s so cute! I promise,” you assure him. “And it’s fitting.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Even though you’re blonde, there’s not a dumb bone in your body.” You wrap him in a hug. “And you definitely aren’t anybody’s fool. Never let yourself be convinced otherwise.”

Kurapika

He’s had a bad day at work.

A really bad day.

He bursts through the front door one evening, eyes bright crimson, absolutely raving about how sick he was of being pushed around and treated like he’s less than he is, spewing out ultimatums such as “To hell with the intel, I’m never going back to being a bodyguard ever again.”

To cheer him up and to get away until his anger could simmer down, you offer go pick up his favorite meal

And as you approach the door with the food in hand, you hear something odd on the other side

You cautiously open the door and peer inside, discovering Kurapika yelling along to the popular song

No, seriously- yelling

There’s no sense of song to his cadence whatsoever, he’s just hollering louder than you’ve ever thought him capable of

He’s also pulled out a basket of laundry and has started throwing it around the room as he continues on his rampage

(It was the least destructive thing he could take his anger out on)

You tiptoe over to put the food on the counter, but he’s still yet to notice you

When he shows no signs of stopping, his eyes growing redder by the second, you eventually clear your throat

“Pika, what are you doing?”

He stops with a jolt, the ending notes of the song fading away in the background

The red of his eyes drops down to his face as he realizes what you just saw

“y/n...how long have you been standing there?”

“Since the first chorus.” You choke down a giggle. “I didn’t know you liked that song.”

“I don’t, I just...” He rubs the back of his neck. “Silly as this is, it’s just the best way I’ve found to relieve my petty stress in a safe way.”

“So... this is something you do often?”

His face grows so red you think it might burst. “...yes.”

You two stare at each other for a few moments, then simultaneously burst into laughter

The kind where your entire body shakes, your stomach hurts, and tears spill from your eyes

When he doubles over to catch his breath, you cross the room to wrap him in a hug, rocking back and forth

“Can I join in next time?” you teasingly ask. “It looks fun.”

Kurapika wipes his cheeks and rolls his eyes with a smile. “Sure, why not? Just don’t tell anyone else.”

Hawks

This was the first time you had ever slept over with Keigo, and what he listens to while getting ready comes as quite a surprise.

He gets up before you do, and you wake to hear strange music coming through the closed bathroom door

You tiptoe over to see what’s going on, sliding the door open as quietly as possible

Not that he would’ve heard you, anyway, because as he’s doing his eyeliner, he’s humming along to the blaring Dolly Parton hit, swaying his hips in time with the beat

When the song reaches its defining line, he pulls the eyeliner pen away from his face and throws his head back, wailing the lyrics to the ceiling with comedic passion

You stifle your laughter behind your hand as he returns to his task, still  oblivious to your presence

Picking a choice moment to reveal yourself, you burst fully into the bathroom and fix him with a mischievous look

“Whatcha listening to?”

He jumps in shock when he spots you, leaving a streak of eyeliner down his cheek

“Fuck!” He exclaims, pouting at the black stripe. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you tease.

“I mean, it’s not what it looks like.” He avoids eye contact, hunting around for makeup remover. “Don’t you just have a random song that gets you motivated, no matter how stupid it is?”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” You hoist yourself up onto the bathroom counter next to him. “Dolly Parton is amazing. ‘Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeeeeene’.”

“You know what? She is. You’re so right.” He points his eyeliner at you, nodding in aggressive approval. “See? This is why I like you.”

And you can bet your ass that every time you get in the car together from here on out, you’re blaring Dolly Parton

There have been several instances when you’ve shown up to missions with it pounding from the speakers as you sleekly step out of the car, ready to apprehend any villains that dare to cross the pair of you

And it’s the most badass thing ever.

Tsukishima

At this point in your relationship, you thought you had learned all of Tsukishima’s secrets.

You were wrong.

It starts completely innocently, with the two of you going with Yamaguchi for a boba run

And when Tsukishima settles into the driver’s seat, his phone auto-connects to the speakers and sends familiar country twangs through the car at a volume that prompts you to clap your hands over your ears

“Shit!” he mutters, fumbling around, unsure which would do the most damage control: changing the song or muting the volume

“Kei,” you guffaw, “what the hell were you listening to?”

“It was an ad,” he insists, eventually managing to get the volume to a favorable range and select a less-embarrassing song choice

“Don’t let him fool you, Y/N.” Yamaguchi’s head pokes between the two front seats. “Dumb Blonde is one of his favorite songs.”

“And don’t listen to how idiotic Yamaguchi’s being,” Tsukishima bites back, but the pink tinge growing over the top of his ears betrays his lie.

“It’s been one of his top five most played songs for about three years now,” Yamaguchi continues. “I think he relates to it.”

“You’re kidding!”

At this point, you can’t control your giggles, and Kei’s jaw grows tighter by the second

“Yeah, and once he has a couple of drinks in him, he’ll shamelessly belt the hell out of it at karaoke.” Yamaguchi’s gaze flickers to his phone as his finger rapidly scrolls. “Here, I have a video.”

“Yamaguchi, don’t you dare-”

Tsukishima reaches a long arm out to steal the phone, but you grab his hand before he can take it

“Aht aht, Tsukki,” you tease. “You have two passengers that you’re responsible for. Eyes on the road, please.”

As he glowers, Yamaguchi shows you a glorious video of Tsukishima absolutely wailing out the Dolly Parton hit into a karaoke microphone, the teammates around him laughing so hard that they almost appeared to be choking

“That’s amazing!” You squeal, belly hurting from so much laughter. “But I can’t believe that video didn’t spread around like wildfire.”

“Bold of you to assume that I don’t have worse blackmail to use against all of them,” Kei snaps.

“Well, you should know that you’re never going to live this down as far as I’m concerned.”

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. Everyone has guilty pleasures.” By this point, his face is the same shade as a tomato, but he fixes you with a knife-like gaze that strikes fear into your heart. “Shall I start listing yours?”

Gojou

(i know he’s technically silver/platinum but he just has blonde energy okay)

The last thing you expect to come home to after a long day of work is Dolly Parton music blaring through your home

And you expect even less to find Gojou standing on the couch, belting the song at the top of his lungs

Beyond the initial shock, you have to admit that he actually sounds quite good, hitting each note to perfection and performing the song with subtle corresponding choreography

“Gojou!” You eventually shout. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, good! You’re home.” He deftly hops off the couch and approaches you with a grin. “I’ve been wanting your opinion on my act.”

“Your act?”

“Yes! The school staff has an annual karaoke contest coming up. I do this song every year, and it’s undefeated.”

“Every year? How have I never known about this?”

“I actually don’t have any idea. I have videos. I’ll show them to you, if you’d like.”

“You’re a little too proud of that,” you giggle. “But if it’s undefeated, why do you need my opinion on it?”

“Because everyone always conspires to try and beat me. I have to keep it fresh. But lately, it’s just been feeling stale.” He furrows his brows, a finger going to his chin in contemplation.

“How are you so serious about this but so carefree when you’re literally about to die?” You grab his elbows and give them a small shake. “Anyway, what I saw certainly didn’t seem stale. Seems like you were having a pretty good time.”

“A good time just isn’t enough anymore...”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter as he paces around the room, more serious than you’d ever seen him

Over a karaoke contest to a Dolly Parton song

He snaps his fingers as he finally comes to his realization, approaching you with a sinister smile

“I’ve got it! You should perform it with me.”

“Are you serious? No! No no no.”

“Come on, don’t be so closed-minded.” Gojou grabs your hand and yanks you up onto the couch with him. “Give it a shot.”

After much protesting on your part and much silly encouragement on his, you try it out to pacify him, and end up being quite the dynamic duo

As he wished, you perform the comedic act at the karaoke contest, and satisfy Gojou by maintaining his undefeated record

“You know that you owe me big time now, right?” you ask as he admires the cheap trophy he’s just been handed.

He grins, draping his long arm over your shoulders. “Anything you want, you’ve got it.”

Bakugou

Bakugou discovers the song after Kirishima and Denki put it on his playlist as a joke

Denki had the bright idea to give Bakugou the nickname “dumb blonde” and figured that the prank would be the start of it all

Needless to say, it didn’t go over very well

There was yelling

And a few punches thrown

You eventually have to pull him away, imploring him to calm down

“I’m not going to calm down until that piece of shit is off my playlist.”

You promptly take his phone and hold it in front of him, removing the offending song

“See? Gone. Now please chill out.”

Flash-forward to a week or so later

You happen to walk into the gym for a late night run on the treadmill while he’s there doing weights

Since he was alone before you entered, his music is hooked up to the central sound system, blaring some heavy metal song as he softly hums along in time with his breaths

You don’t think anything of it, giving him a small wave and going to put your own earbuds in

Until the barely-perceptible lyrics seem a little familiar

You pause to listen for a moment, and shoot him a look of shock when you realize that he is, in fact, listening to a heavy metal cover of Dumb Blonde.

“Is this-”

“Shut up,” he snaps, avoiding eye contact and continuing to pump the machine with frightening intensity.

“How did you even find a cover like this?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m just so-”

“It just helps me work out, okay?” He lets the weight drop with a sharp clang. “Don’t you fucking dare tell anyone about this.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good. Now get on with your workout and let me finish mine.”

He focuses his fiery gaze on the faraway wall, but strangely doesn’t bother to change or turn off the song

And you can’t resist pulling your phone out, pretending to take a selfie while you’re actually, in fact, filming him behind you

“I can see you, stupid,” he snaps. “I’m serious. I’ll fucking kill you.”

You jump in fear, the phone falling from your hands.

“I wasn’t!” You fib. “Besides, it’s away now.”

But little did he know, you had already captured everything you needed to see, and the footage was already on its way to Kirishima and Denki

You know that you’re beyond dead once he finds out what you had done, but the amusement of it all is beyond worth it

Besides, maybe now he’d think twice before the next time he makes fun of someone.

[ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing]

Touch Starved (06 Whumptober)

This one got out of hand. Like so out of hand I don't even know what happened.

Prompt: bruised/touch-starved/hunger

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Touch-starvation: a condition that happens in some human species when you don’t get as much physical touch as you are used to. You crave contact but can’t interact with others for some reason. Long-term it can cause PTSD.

He’d never understood why it could be something so serious, never understood how it could lead to PTSD but looking down at his broken former padawan he thought he might finally understand.

Obi-Wan understood a few things about his relationship with Anakin. One of those things was that he wasn’t ever going to quite understand the man. The other was that sometimes he had to give him space to do the things that he didn’t understand. So when Anakin started sneaking out at night to go to the lower levels of Coruscant, Obi-Wan turned a blind eye to it.

And if Anakin came back a little bruised up with some money, Obi-Wan ignored that too. Pod racing wasn’t the worst thing that Anakin could be doing and Obi-Wan knew that the boy had to do something to get the pent-up energy out. It was an odd system but it was one that worked for the two of them.

Until it didn’t.

The day that Anakin turned eighteen he left that night and didn’t come home until early into the morning. That in and of itself wasn’t odd for him. What was odd was just how he seemed to have had a particularly rough race because he was more beat up than usual.

Still, Obi-Wan just assumed that it was bound to happen sometime. Anakin may have been using the force but even the force couldn’t prevent him from ever getting hurt. He’d merely gone to the Halls of Healing to quietly secure more bacta- as per usual- and left it outside his padawan’s door.

Then the next time the same thing happened. Anakin came limping in and he looked like he might have had another crash. Obi-Wan knew that they weren’t supposed to talk about it so he wasn’t sure how he should approach the whole thing. It was times like this that he wished he could have Qui-Gon’s guidance.

Soon it became a weekly occurrence. Anakin would come in, clearly in pain and unable to make eye contact with Obi-Wan and then he’d go to his room to sleep. Obi-Wan noticed that it seemed to be getting worse, not better and finally turned to the one person that he thought might be able to hear him.

“You must have been pretty desperate to come to me,” Quinlan told him, setting his cup down and gesturing for another drink.

“I’m aware that it’s not exactly...proper. What I’ve allowed Anakin to do and so I needed someone who was unconventional,” Obi-Wan told him, “I wouldn’t be here if I was truly concerned.”

“Alright how about I do some digging for you?” Quinlan asked, “My undercover mission in down in the lower levels anyway and I’m sure that there’s someone who has some information. There always is.”

Obi-Wan gave him a grateful smile.

---

Obi-Wan, of course, was sent on a mission before he could meet up with Quinlan again. He tried to convince the council that it would be best for him to remain planetside but with Anakin gaining his knighthood it wasn’t much of a resistance.

It was nearly a year before he’d returned and he was eager to get back to his and Anakin’s quarters and see the man again. It really had been too long.

But the second he touched down, instead of being greeted by the man in question, Quinlan himself stood at the end of the docking ramp.

“Quinlan?” Obi-Wan asked confused, “I thought you were under cover for at least a few more months. What’s happened? Is everything okay?”

Quinlan’s face was impassive, unreadable to even Obi-Wan and he felt a chill go down his spine.

“We need to talk,” he told him, “It’s important. I’ve told the council that my latest mission was a failure but the truth is I needed to talk to you as soon as possible. It’s about Anakin.”

And that’s when Obi-Wan found out what had changed since Anakin had turned eighteen.

“It’s a holo,” Quinlan said as he handed it over to him, “I- I couldn’t watch more than a few minutes of it. Just enough to confirm that it was Anakin, I fast-forwarded through most of it and then I shut it off. If you don’t manage to get him to stop I’ll have to report it to the council. It’s- I don’t even know what to say, Obi-Wan. He’s going to get himself killed.”

“He’d do something that awful? That you feel the need to report him to the council?” Obi-Wan asked his friend, feeling heartbroken.

Had Anakin done something worthy of getting himself thrown out of the order? What had his wayward padawan gotten himself into and was there any way that Obi-Wan could help him fix it?

“It’s not what he’s doing,” Quinlan told him quietly, “It’s what they’re doing to him.”

Obi-Wan felt like he couldn’t breathe.

---

The holo opens up and it takes a few seconds to focus. Anakin sits in the middle of the room, hands blindfolded, shirtless with his hands secured behind his back. As the holo recorder pans around and you can see that they are suppression cuffs.

Obi-Wan’s breath caught in his throat at the way Anakin’s back was marred, his mech arm forced straight while his flesh arm is contorted in a way that looked painful.

The holo recorder pans back to its original position and then a man is stepping behind Anakin with a knife in his hand. Anakin is pushed to the ground, his cheek hitting the ground with a sickening crack and he lets out a pained noise as the knife connects with his back, digging into his skin and ripping it open as it drags from just above his shoulder blade all the way down to his hips.

Obi-Wan turned the video off. He couldn’t watch it. Just the sight of someone touching his padawan made his stomach roll and he felt like he would be sick. He wanted to hunt the man down, wanted to make him pay for what he had done.

He didn’t want to watch the video.

He needed to know what happened.

He turned it back on and pressed the fast forward button, watching it speed through the recording of a man standing over him and cutting him over and over again. He is joined by another man who begins to do the same thing and then they both step away. He hit the play button again.

Anakin is breathing heavily and there is an unintelligible murmuring in the background. There are more voices in the background and then someone is behind Anakin. He drags his hand roughly against Anakin’s cut up back, smearing the pooling blood around before grabbing him by the neck and forcing him upright again. The hand squeezes and Anakin’s breathing is cut off.

The man leans down and whispers something in his ear before a second person comes into frame, gripping him by the chin and forcing him to tilt his head up. He slaps Anakin across the face and Anakin’s head snaps to the side. The other man releases him throat and he gasps for breath.

Obi-Wan turned if off again. His stomach felt like it was knotted up and bile began to gather in the back of his throat. He felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t- he couldn’t-.

He hits the play button again.

A third person has come into frame and he’s got a wooden implement in his hand. The man in front of Anakin shoves a foot in between his thighs and kicks them apart roughly. The man behind him grips the front of his pants and he uses a knife to cut them open, leaving Anakin completely exposed as the third man steps in.

The cracking sound the wood makes against his hip sends Obi-Wan running for the fresher. The food that he had eaten on the way home makes a reappearance and he’s shaking so hard he can’t think. He pauses the recording as Anakin cries out, the man hitting him in the ribs for the second time. The cracking noise rings loudly in the small space and Obi-Wan would have thought something was broken.

He can’t do this. He can’t-. What in the kriff had Anakin been thinking? And this-.

Force this was stuff that Quinlan had seen before. He’d talked about how unsettling it had been and how nervous he’d been when he became desensitized to it. So what in the hell happened later in the video to make him look so sick?

He hit the play button again, fast-forwarding the holo as Anakin is struck over and over again, welts forming all over his skin as his neck is grabbed painfully and his airways cut off. At some point, someone must have ripped his pants the rest of the way because when he hits play they are tattered remains surrounding him.

“That’s enough,” the man in front barks out when Anakin screams at the last hit. His whole body is red and he’s panting heavily as if he can’t catch his breath. The man kneels and then his hands are moving as he grips Anakin’s-.

Obi-Wan had to pause it again and his chest was so tight that he felt like it was him who was being choked. Why would Anakin let anyone touch him like that after doing what they had just done to him.

There are tears running down Anakin’s face and sweat dripping down his skin. He lets out a pained sound and the holo recorder is adjusted so that you can see the man grabbing his cock and squeezing painfully. Anakin tries to shrink back but he’s gripped by the back of the neck and held in place.

He’s slapped across the face again and this time there’s blood dripping from his mouth. Someone grabs him by the hair and pulls until his face is looking at the ceiling. Someone grabs something and then his legs are being pushed apart further and someone kneels behind him, shoving a hand under him so he can-.

Obi-Wan really couldn’t watch anymore. He turned it off and threw the communicator across the floor. His head was swimming and his jaw was so tense he felt like he could have broken his teeth. He tried to stand but he was shaking so hard he had to sink back down to his knees.

The door to their quarters opened and soon Anakin was in front of him, hands gently grasping his shoulders and eyes searching to look for wounds.

“Obi-Wan are you okay? What happened?” he sounded panicked and Obi-Wan couldn’t help the pained noise that escaped his chest.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin said again and Obi-Wan couldn’t help the tears that started to escape. He wrapped his arms around Anakin and yanked, pulling the younger man into his arms as he started to sob.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin sounded like a scared child and Obi-Wan-. He didn’t know how to even begin.

“Why?” he asked weakly and Anakin looked up from where he was tucked underneath his chin.

“Why what?”

“Why would you let them do that you? What the hell were you thinking?” Obi-Wan choked the words out.

Anakin paused, gathering his thoughts, and then cautiously, “What do you mean?”

“There’s a holorecording,” Obi-Wan looked down at him angrily, “Don’t you sit there and tell me you don’t know what I’m kriffing talking about Anakin Skywalker!”

He pulled the boy tighter to him, expecting him to run away but he just tucked in further to him, closing his eyes as he took a calming breath.

“I- It helps,” Anakin told him softly.

“Helps? You’re- you’re fucking bloody and your neck is bruised and he shoved a- without any- what the hell could that possibly help with Anakin?”

He was so angry all of the sudden. This beautiful, genius, prodigy had somehow thought that having this done to him was okay. He’d thought everything on the holo recording wasn’t a problem. Where the kark had Obi-Wan gone so wrong?

“Well, it hurts,” Anakin admitted, “But it’s- it’s after that helps.”

“After? After what? You pass out?” Obi-Wan snapped.

“No it’s the aftercare,” Anakin looked down, like he was ashamed to say it out loud as tears ran down his face, “When they take care of me after they’re done. Clean up the cuts and bruises, apply bacta, someone usually curls up against me and lays with me for a few hours.”

When Obi-Wan was younger he remembered that he’d taken an interest in force healing. He ended up never being particularly good at it but the medical knowledge he’d learned had never been forgotten.

He’d never understood some of the problems the book had mentioned but he thinks he understands at least one word better know.

Touch-starvation: a condition that happens in some human species when you don’t get as much physical touch as you are used to. You crave contact but can’t interact with others for some reason. Long-term it can cause PTSD.

He’d never understood why it could be something so serious, never understood how it could lead to PTSD but looking down at his broken former padawan he thought he might finally understand.

Anakin had never been accepted by his peers and the only people he really talked to were R2 and Obi-Wan. He would occasionally chat with others but it was clear he was uncomfortable with them.

Once he was no longer Obi-Wan’s padawan they’d spent less time together. They hadn’t had as much time to spar or even have dinner together. They’d found themselves often on other sides of the galaxy.

“You don’t have to do that to get people to hold you,” Obi-Wan whispered brokenly to him, “And I’m so sorry that you thought you had to.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Anakin said after a moment, “The Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachments.”

“Oh dear one,” Obi-Wan told him softly, “That doesn’t mean that they can’t love or touch. All you had to do was ask.”

“But back on Tatooine any slaves caught together were punished,” Anakin told him weakly, “They weren’t allowed to touch each other in case one of them ended up pregnant and they couldn’t work.”

“But your mother-,” Obi-Wan said softly.

“Was punished,” Anakin told him, “You’re only allowed to have children when dictated by your master, and no matter how many times my mother tried to tell them she didn’t sleep with anyone they didn’t believe her.”

“You touched your mother,” Obi-Wan told him, “What about that?”

“It’s different, we were family,” Anakin told him, “Mother and son. And if Watto had wanted he could have demanded we stop. He just didn’t care.”

“You don’t have to be hurt for touch,” Obi-Wan promised him, “Please Anakin tell me you’ll stop this.”

“I-I can’t,” Anakin croaked, more tears falling, “I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Obi-Wan promised, “Any time you want you can come to me. I’ll give you everything you need. I promise.”

“Do you even know what you are agreeing to? Did you see what they do to me?” Anakin asked, looking up at him with wet eyes, bottom lip trembling.

“I won’t hit you,” Obi-Wan said firmly, “Not like that. But there are other ways to get the touch that you need. Less painful ways. There are usually no instruments and people are more gentle. And lube. For force’s sake Anakin you need to learn the importance of lube if I teach you nothing else for the rest of my life.”

“People do it all the time,” Anakin argued weakly, “How do you think I find people to do it to me?”

“With willing partners,” Obi-Wan said sternly, “Can you really tell me you like how it feels? Or do you just like that someone is touching you? That someone is with you?”

Anakin looked down, looking so guilty that Obi-Wan almost felt bad for him.

“It’s okay,” Obi-Wan said softly, rubbing a hand up and down Anakin’s back, “There’s no need to feel guilty. I just need you to answer the question. Do you like it when they hit you or choke you? Does having dry sex turn you on? Because you weren’t hard the entire time.”

“No,” Anakin told him softly, “But the first person who I met said that it turned him on. And it- it got out of hand. He said that I couldn’t stop now. How do I even tell him that I don’t want to do it anymore if I’m not allowed to stop?”

“Leave that to me,” Obi-Wan said and cut off Anakin’s protest with a harsh glare, “I’ll be talking to Quinlan and you won’t be hearing from that man again. Now how do you feel about going to lay down for a bit? I’m feeling quite ill.”

Anakin looked a little lost for a second and then buried his head into Obi-Wan’s neck, body shaking slightly. Obi-Wan’s arms circled his body and he pulled him as close as he could.

“Okay,” he agreed, sounding muffled from where he was buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “I’ll go lay down.”

“I meant both of us, dear one,” Obi-Wan told him pressing a kiss to his temple, “Together.”

Anakin’s breath caught and then he let out a small strangled noise.

“Yes please,” he pleaded quietly and Obi-Wan gripped him tight, standing up and tucking a hand under Anakin’s knees to carry him to his bedroom. Without words, he slowly stripped Anakin naked, and then he was pulling his own clothes off.

Anakin stared as he did, seemingly unable to look away. When Obi-Wan pulled his underwear off Anakin’s dick twitched in interest and Anakin’s face turned bright red as he tried to cover himself with his hands.

Obi-Wan took his hands and led him to the bed, pulling the blankets down and herding him into it. He slipped under the blankets and opened his arms. Anakin happily buried himself into his arms, letting his thighs slip open so Obi-Wan could slip a knee in between them, his half-hard dick pressing against it.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin apologized even as his hips began to move minutely.

“Don’t be sorry,” Obi-Wan told him, “Press against me a little harder darling.”

Anakin couldn’t make eye contact with him but followed the directions, pressing more firmly against him and letting out a quiet, strangled noise.

“That’s it Ani,” Obi-Wan coached, letting his hands slid so that he could toy with one of his sensitive nipples. Anakin tucked his face into Obi-Wan’s neck as he continued to rut against his knee, cock fully hardening as he writhed under Obi-Wan’s hand as he toyed with his chest.

“Feels good,” Anakin breathed, “Feels so good.”

“It’s supposed to feel good,” Obi-Wan told him, “Why don’t you let me kiss you?”

Anakin’s face came back, bright red even as he eagerly tilted his head to allow Obi-Wan to catch his lips. The kiss was sloppy but what Anakin lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm, opening his mouth to allow Obi-Wan to push his tongue in and explore.

Anakin became bolder, rocking his cock against Obi-Wan’s thigh eagerly as Obi-Wan explored his body. Obi-Wan jerked back from the kiss and moaned as Anakin wrapped a hand around his cock.

“Oh darling,” Obi-Wan told him, “You don’t-.”

“I want to,” Anakin panted, “I-I didn’t think you would ever let me.”

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, and then he was grabbing the man by his hips and straddling him, leaning down to pull him into a filthy kiss. He pulled back and looked at Anakin.

“I didn’t think you’d ever want me,” Obi-Wan admitted, “But if you do I want you too.”

Anakin nodded frantically, pulling Obi-Wan back down into another kiss before breaking apart for air and wrapping his legs around his waist, lining up their cocks and thrusting.

Obi-Wan moaned and pressed back down, locking their lips together again. They rutted against each other in a way Obi-Wan hadn’t done since he was a padawan himself.

“You said that there’s a better way to have sex,” Anakin told him, “Please can you show me?”

Obi-Wan was scrambling for the lube before he’d even finished his sentence, unwinding Anakin’s legs from his waist and pushing his thighs apart as he uncapped the bottle.

“It may still be a bit uncomfortable but it’s not supposed to hurt,” Obi-Wan warned him, “You’ve got to tell me if it hurts you.”

“Okay,” Anakin agreed, and then he moaned loudly as Obi-Wan pressed a lubed finger into him, surprised at easily it slid in. He worked it and out as Anakin writhed underneath him and he pushed in a second one, mesmerized by how well Anakin took it as he began to scissor him open.

“That’s it, baby,” Obi-Wan said, running a hand through his hair, “You’re doing so good for me.”

Anakin let out a strangled noise at the pet name and planted his heels into the bed, rocking back and forth on Obi-Wan’s fingers. Obi-Wan dribbled more lube over his hole and then pressed a third one in, spreading them apart as far as he could.

“Oh, oh it feels so good,” Anakin panted, “Oh kriff. It feels so good.”

He sounded so surprised that Obi-Wan knew he’d be paying a certain person a special visit. The man who’d gotten Anakin to hurt himself, to let someone else hurt him.

But right now he had a needy, horny boy in his bed who was looking at him with glazed eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Obi-Wan pulled his fingers out, pressing Anakin into another kiss as he lined up against his hole.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

“Please,” Anakin pleaded and Obi-Wan pushed forwards, sliding into his hole with ease. Anakin let out a stangled noise and then he was clawing at Obi-Wan’s back as he began to thrust into him.

“Oh, oh it’s so good,” Anakin moaned, legs circling Obi-Wan’s waist again as the older man fucked into him. Obi-Wan gasped as Anakin opened his side of their bond, the sensations hitting him so hard that he could barely breathe.

It feels so good. Please don’t stop, please please stay, kriff, it’s so good Anakin is sure he’s going to dissolve into a puddle and Obi-Wan is warm against him and it’s so soft and gentle and it’s the best thing that he’s ever felt in his life and is this what it was supposed to feel like the hole time? I love you, I love you, I love you.

Obi-Wan’s sure Anakin is ripping his back apart as he aims and hits his prostate over and over, drawing out loud moans from him as he takes everything Obi-Wan gives him.

Anakin’s whole body tenses, back arching as he comes in between them, letting out a sob as he presses further into Obi-Wan. The clenching around his cock pushes Obi-Wan over the edge and he comes too, slamming on more time into Anakin’s slackened body and kissing him hard, teeth knocking together almost painfully.

Obi-Wan collapsed on Anakin as carefully as he could, nosing at his neck as they both came down from their high.

“That was amazing,” Anakin told him, “The best thing I ever felt.”

“Did you mean it?” Obi-Wan asked him, “That you love me?”

Anakin blinked, looking unsure at him as he bit his lip.

“Anakin please,” Obi-Wan said, pulling them so they were on their sides.

“Yes,” Anakin admitted, “I do.”

Obi-Wan kissed him again, “I love you too.”

He tucked Anakin’s face into his neck, “You’re mine now you know? No one else will ever hurt you.”

He had a feeling after he was finished with them they wouldn’t ever try.

[comfortwriting]

Best Friends Boyfriend - G.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Part 2 of my slow burn mini-series, inspired by and dedicated to @amourtentiaa , want to be tagged? Let me know!

This chapter is inspired by @amourtentiaa ‘s Owlery which you can learn more about and access here.

Please read Part 1 if you haven't already!

George Weasley x Fem Reader slow burn 

Warnings: Fluff.

You couldn’t get last night out of your head, the sound of George whispering to you, asking you out on a date, how his beautiful face looked from the amber tones coming from the flames that radiated against his face, the way he smiled and licked his lips.

Laying in bed wide awake you kept your hand over your mouth, trying to hold in your giggles so you wouldn’t wake up Hermione and your other dorm mates. You couldn’t believe it - you’re going on a date, with George Weasley, the lad you fancy more than anyone else in the world - the only problem, your best friend, George’s younger brother, Ron, wouldn’t approve and would do anything to make sure the two of you keep well away from one another.

Throughout the whole day, you played it cool when passing George in the common room or the great hall, but as the day moved on and afternoon turned into evening, you couldn’t stop the giggles of excitement from bursting out, and the tint of pink to spread across your cheeks.

You had two hours until you were meeting George, for now, you sat in the common room with Ron and Hermione whilst Harry had Occlumency lessons with Snape.

“What d’you keep giggling about?” Ron hissed at you, scowling “you’ve been at it all day and you’re freaking me out.”

You covered your face with your hands, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the bubbling of nerves and excitement.

“N-Nothing” you replied, “I think I inhaled a dodgy potion somebody was brewing in the second-floor toilets this morning” you lied, avoiding eye contact with your best friend and his crush, Hermione.

Ron gave you an odd look and flashed his eyes to Hermione, who glared at him and shrugged her shoulders.

“Shouldn’t you go to Madame Pomfrey?” she suggested, knitting another hat for the house-elves.

Nodding your head, you got out of your chair and pursed your lips, “yeah, I think I will” you lied again “let me go and get freshened up, she might want to keep me in overnight if the giggles get worse” you smirked, chuckling.

Leaving your friends behind, you hurried off to your dorm room, getting your makeup, clothes, and shoes ready to put on after your shower, placing your clothes and makeup bag on the bed, kicking your shoes on the floor beside it.

“I dunno what's up with her” Ron huffed, slouching in his chair beside the fire.

Hermione continued knitting “Well, hopefully, Madame Pomfrey can sort her out, uncontrollable giggling can get you sent to St. Mungo’s.”

Ron focused on the bobble hat coming together in front of his eyes, trying to make sense of your behaviour today and if there was something else going on after his brother played Hero during the end of your horrific date.

Wearing your best black denim front pocket Pinafore dress over your red and yellow striped turtleneck and black tights, you stared at yourself in the mirror, blushing slightly at the thought of George seeing you dolled up just for him. You pouted, deep in thought and unsure of what hairstyle to do, checking the time you were cutting it close and decided your go-to natural, no school but not overdoing it hairstyle would be best.

“Tomorrow night, where we first met” you reminded yourself, hearing George’s voice inside your head.

Thinking long and hard about when you first met George and where, you closed your eyes and tried to focus, all of your memories whizzing around in your head - you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter knowing that not only did George remember, but he also perhaps thought of that day often.

Hurrying out of your dorm and back into the common room, Harry now sat down with Hermione and Ron, they all seemed taken aback by your appearance, furrowing their brows at you.

“You’re a bit dressed up for a doctors appointment, aren’t you?” Hermione called out.

Ron looked at you from head to toe “I think you’ve overdone it, mate-”

“See you later!” you giggled, a spring in your step as you left the common room, going through the portrait hole.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione exchanged looks, none of them knowing what to think or say was becoming a reoccurring factor today.

“Something isn’t right at all” Ron muttered “she’s up to something”

Reaching the owlery, you felt your excitement and nervousness compete against one another inside of you, being a few minutes early, you had enough time to admire all of the owls around you who were getting ready to go out hunting. Each of them unique and calming to look at, stroke, and hear a hoot. The memories finally coming back to you more clearly.

Your first week at Hogwarts went more awful than you ever imagined, you had got lost on the way to your classes, got into trouble by Percy - your houses Prefect and due to your terrible potion skills Snape put you in a weeks detention, your parents were so angry you received a Howler before anyone else in your class.

Feeling lost, alone, and in need of a friend, you wrote out your worries, concerns and everything else you were feelings into letters, addressed to your friends attending other Wizarding Schools (like Ilvermorny) across the globe.

Writing about your feelings, life, and anything, in general, helped to make you feel better, heard, and less isolated from the impressive and promising classmates that surrounded you.

Walking up the long and steep steps up to the Owlery, your heart melted at the Owls, some sleeping, some bobbing their heads around, and others appearing to be smiling at you. You felt connected to them in some sort of way, and spending time with them, knowing they didn’t care about your house, or how well you could make a feather float in the air made you feel more at ease.

You stared and smiled at your Tawny owl named Penny, you approached her trying to avoid the owl droppings and rat carcasses and stroked her softly, handing her your letters.

“Please deliver these safely,” you told her, tears filling your eyes again “it’s taken a lot for me to write them”

Penny accepted the letters and understood how important this job was, and how much it would mean to you, she pecked at your cheek, little kisses against your tears before she flapped her gorgeous wings and took flight.

Not wanting to go back down to your Herbology class to be a laughing stock, you stayed in the owlery, falling to the floor and weeping.

“If these reports get sent home mum will kill us” once voice spoke out, panting up the stairs.

“Well” replied a similar voice, also panting “we need to change our grades and get one of these owls to send it to her for us, it's why I made a fake replica”

Their voices and footsteps came closer.

“As long as Errol and Hermes aren’t delivering it, we’ll be fine Georgie.”

Two tall twins with ginger hair walked into the Owlery shiftily, both of them stopping in their tracks, noticing you crying on the floor, drowning in your robes.

George’s face and heart softened, he mouthed to his brother ‘leave it with me, I’ll get it sent, let me see why she’s upset’

Freddie nodded and slowly left the Owlery, trying not to make a sound.

You missed Penny with all your heart, after many trips she became so sick and injured no magic, and no amount of Hagrid’s care and love was enough to fix her wings and bring her back to life. When you lost Penny, you lost part of yourself, the Owlery wasn’t the same without her and each time you visited, you would break down into tears.

“You made it, early” George called out, pulling you out of your trip down memory lane, causing you to jump slightly.

You blinked back the forming tears and turned around to face him, the moonlight illuminating his best features through the open arches. “Didn’t want to be late” you replied, smiling nervously, stroking one of the owls.

“You were so little” George chuckled “but even after growing up so much somethings never change”

You cocked up an eyebrow and smirked, slightly confused “what do you mean?”

“The owls” he replied “your love for them, the time you make for them, it’s beautiful”

You could feel your cheeks heating up, your heart rate elevating.

“They’re special to me” you replied, trying not to come across as too shy.

George blushed too, his cheeks mirroring yours as he stepped closer, so close you could count each individual freckle across his face - something you had only done from across the halls or over the table.

“that’s why I asked for us to meet here,” George said softly, stepping closer to you, his breath brushing against you “because you’re special to me”

George took hold of your hand, tracing stars into your palm with his thumb, his eyes taking in your hair, your makeup, your outfit, and shoes. He started to lean in, as did you, your soft lips brushing against his cinnamon scented ones, but pulled away before you could share a kiss, smirking and winking at you.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said nervously “I’ve been trying to give her to you for a while now, but whenever I’ve tried, Ron always got in the way”

You rolled your eyes “he always does” you replied “he doesn’t like the idea of us being together” you frowned, looking away from George and lowering your head, deciding to examine your shoes.

George lifted your chin up with his thumb, smiling at you “he doesn’t have to know” he paused “stay very quiet and follow me” he whispered, still holding your hand.

George walked you over to a very tired looking owl, her wings and body covering something small underneath her. George whispered to the owl “It’s George, she’s ready now”

The tired owl opened her googly eyes, staring at George, slowly and reluctantly moving away from her precious possession underneath her motherly wings. Underneath the wings lay a tiny owlet, its large magnificent eyes opening wide and staring at George, then you.

“I know he’ll never replace Penny” George murmured, wrapping his arm around you “but I want you to have a safe space here, I know how much of that Penny provided for you and I know how much of that changed when she passed away.”

You reached out your hand to stroke the baby, “it’s okay” you reassured his nervous mother “I’m not going to hurt him”

You ran the back of your finger down the Owlets fluffy back, its face showing signs of enjoyment and comfort, something rare amongst owls.

George watched in awe, the memories of you when you were much shorter and quieter flashing before him, now you were a beautiful young woman, with the same heart full of love and nurturing.

Tears of happiness streamed down your cheeks, you leaned into George and cuddled him, your face pressed against his chest, the scent of the burrow engulfing you.

“George - I - thank you, he’s beautiful”

George closed his eyes, taking in your face against his chest, his hand stroking your hair.

“I care for you, Y/N” he spoke out again “I know we were never that close, but you’re not just my little brother's friend to me”

You pulled yourself off his chest, looking up into his gorgeous eyes.

“like these owls, you’re unique, you’re special” he whispered.

“What’s your obsession with these owls anyway?” the tall boy asked, fiddling with his fake report.

“They’re unique” you replied quietly, walking around “they’re special”

George looked down into your eyes, his nose poking yours softly, leaning in, you didn’t pull back and allowed him to pull you gently into him.

His heart and yours racing, as your hand rested upon his chest, and his arm around your waist, your lips grazing against each other, turning into a deep, soft kiss.

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @slutforsebstan @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @xmalfoyweasleyx @freddiemylovelg 

[fandom-blackhole]

Royal AU and dance of romance! Any character. 💖

I hope you don't mind, but I'm going with Din, because I'm in my Din feels right now lol

2. Royal AU 

43. Dance of Romance  

Mand'alor!Din Djarin x Reader

These Courting Balls were getting old, and Din hated that the courtiers were insistent about them. Currently he sat broodingly on the throne, as prominent clans came and went, introducing themselves and flirting as he stately blankly through his helmet. This was the second ball this week, and half of these clans had already thrown their hat in the ring trying to get his hand in marriage, but Din wasn't impressed with any of them. He knew for a fact that each and everyone of them was just vying for the spot of power, for the rights to brag about their position, none of them caring really caring about him. Din knew, that below all the show of wealth and fake smiles, each of the people that presented themselves in front of him inevitably thought themselves better than he, the accidental bounty hunter king. So with a sigh, he ignored yet another member of clan Vizsla trying to engage him, and he scanned the crowd thinking frustrated about all the ways he was gonna punch Paz after dealing with his clan's nonsense since he arrived. Din took in the sight of his people chattering and dancing, and it made him smile slightly knowing that he was slowly bringing Mandalore back.... even if it meant dealing with these damned balls. As he glanced over at the long food table, he saw the servants trying to keep up with all of the people, trying to keep the food full and drinks readily available, and Din hated how tired and run ragged they all seemed. None of them had had a break all week, going from preparing, working, and cleaning up on ball to immediately turning around and doing it again. Din knew he was only making their jobs worse in the long run by dragging out his 'search' for a partner, he couldn't imagine how tired they all were.

Then his eyes fell on you, as you rushed to disappear into who knows where to fix who knows what. He had noticed the last few days how tired you seemed to be each time you came to do your job as his personal servant. Din wished more than anything that you were up there with him, smiling at him or making a joke that he knew would brighten his mood. But he knew you hated dealing with the socialites of Mandalore and he knew while you were being run ragged, you were probably much more comfortable running around rather than being judged through expectant eyes. What Din wouldn't give to be hidden away running around by your side, hidden from their watchful gazes as well.

When you reappeared Din's eyes found you immediately, being able to pick you from a crowd with ease, even as you were dressed as every other servant. Din immediately could feel the smile creep over his face, as you expertly weaved your way through the people avoiding everyone and acting as a shadow that only he could see. But then he saw saw the woman from clan Shrii turn right as you were sliding passed and knock you to the ground, and before anyone could stop him, Din was on his feet storming his way to you. But before he could even get to you, you had already managed to smooth things over and disappear. With a grunt, Din turned looking for your figure again, but unable to find it. So instead, Din made the decision that his headache was large enough, and he needed space. So pulling out his bounty hunting skills, he slipped out of the throne room, heading to his one quiet place, somewhere where no but you ever looked to find him. Once out on the small hidden balcony he felt immediate relief, and a pang of happiness and something else shot through his chest when he saw you leaning against the wall there with your eyes closed.

"And here I thought you were the one that is supposed to find me out here."

He watched a smile slowly light up your face, as you cracked an eye open, watching him walk closer. Then you sighed and pushed away from the wall, "Your majesty, we really should be back at the ball."

Din sighed and looked up at the night sky, neither of you moving to go back to the chaos a few rooms away. Then, the notes of a new song floated from the dance floor out to the two of you and Din turned to you and held his hand out. "Dance with me?"

You eyed his hand hesitantly, before saying, "Your majesty what are you doing?"

"Asking to dance with the best most beautiful person here tonight."

"No... my lord, you really shouldn't dance with me, I am just a servant."

Din sighed, grabbing your hand from your side, slowly pulling you to him. Before placing your other hand on his shoulder, and grabbing your waist, while saying, "But it would be such a shame not to put all those dance lessons to good use."

Shyly you nodded, and the two of you started to just sway, not even dancing, more or less holding the other, while the two of you sorted through the feelings budding in your chests. Slowly you leaned forward and rested your head on his chestplate, a soft yawn forcing its way through your lips, "Mesh'la, you should go to bed, you work to hard."

"No....no I should be back there helping everyone else, they are all tired as well."

Din sighed and leaned his head down so that his helmet pressed against your the top you your head. "Mesh'la-"

"Your majesty, you....you shouldn't be calling me that. I am just a servant."

"And you should not be calling me that, Din, my name is Din, mesh'la, and I want you to use it, " he pauses for a second, before continuing, "Mesh'la, you may be a servant, but... I am just a bounty hunter forced into a place of power, a place I did not ask to be."

He heard you scoff, before saying, "Just a bounty hunter, my ass. Pardon my language, my lord, but you were one of the best hunters the galaxy had, you were up there with Boba Fett.... at least in my opinion."

Din felt his chest rumble with a laugh, as he said, "Mesh'la, you do not need to use flattery, you already hold my heart."

Then you both froze, Din had not thought about his words before he spoke them, but he knew they were true. He did love you, he would give anything to have you by his side, not some snobby power hungry mandalorian from the other room. He want you, soft and caring. You who he knew he would fight tooth and nail to keep happy. And it terrified him waiting for your reaction. Then you pulled away from him, eyes dancing around his covered face, looking for something you could not see. "Din...my lord, you do not mean that."

"I do, with my entire being."

Din reached for your hand again, placing it over where his heart was buried beneath layers of fabric and metal. "Mesh'la, please..."

Slowly you allowed yourself to be pulled back to him. You wrapped your arms around Din's neck as he pressed his forehead against your own as his own wrapped around your waist. "The courtiers aren't going to be happy with you choosing a servant."

"Fuck those old bastards."

Your responding giggle was enough to make Din's heart soar, him pulling you as close as possible, before asking, "Dance with me for the rest of the night?"

"I don't know, Mand'alor, can you keep up it up all night?"

Send Me Tropes

[when-they-write-stuff]

So I actually wrote this! I’ve never written dark!Sterek before, but I saw the gifset and couldn’t help myself. I hope you all enjoy <3

THREE DAYS, FOUR HOURS, AND twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles realized what happened nine minutes after his pack was taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead at the countdown of three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes.

To Stiles, though, time blurred. It was a stain of colors, a snarl at the back of his throat, and the faintest ringing in his ears that made him feel like he was losing his mind all over again.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. It was the longest Stiles had ever been alone.

He was greeted by gunshots first.

At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. A boy who grew up surrounded by wolves, an emissary to a bunch of wild animals. There were rumors about what rested behind the amber of his eyes, but few people chose to believe them. Because he was scrawny, he was human, and it seemed like easy pickings when a group of hunters chose to go after the crumbling pack.

At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. And that that always been the easiest way to lure in unsuspecting prey.

He was greeted by gunshots first. The screams that followed were a welcome sound he hadn’t heard for far too long.

There was something about the smell of gunpowder in the air, the feeling of blood on his fingertips, and the taste of ash in his mouth that made Stiles feel alive. He could be wrapped in the darkest shadows or walking through the heat of a blazing fire and the smile on his face would never waver. At a first glance, he was nothing but a boy. A weakling. But to the hunter watching him tear through their ranks without even blinking, it was like hell had become a place on Earth.

The hunter’s name was Col Henderson. And he hadn’t wanted to take the job in the first place.

Beacon Hills was a shell of what it used to be. At first, Col hadn’t even believed the rumors were true. The rumors saying there was still a werewolf pack patrolling its borders, that is. He’d been hunting since he was old enough to carry a gun and at this point in his life, he wanted a challenge. Something to make him smile when the beast went down; something to make him feel proud when the light faded from the monster’s eyes.

The Hale pack had been fairly easy to round up. Most of them were feral to the point of being wild animals anyway.

It was the emissary that remained elusive.

“A bunch of mutts,” he told the man at his side, listening to the distant sound of snarling wolves from another part of the compound. “Good for nothing but a bullet between the eyes.”

The hunter only grunted, looking tired. And honestly, Col couldn’t blame him. They were all tired. The emissary had yet to come for his pack and they’d been sitting around all day, waiting for something that didn’t seem to exist.

Until the sun touched the tips of the trees, that is. 

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Col first saw him when the compound doors slammed open. He was on his feet in a second, loaded rifle held tightly in his hands. The already dying lights above his head flickered and briefly went out— and when they came back on, a lone figure stood in the compound’s entrance. His head was head tilted slightly and his eyes practically glowed against the faint darkness.

There was a dull spark in them that held nothing but the last remnants of humanity. Humanity that had been clinging to the boy for years now, though that hadn’t mattered for a long time now.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. One that sent a chill down Col’s spine.

“Emissary,” someone breathed. And Col didn’t even realize the word had come from his mouth until amber eyes fixed on where he stood. The boy raised an eyebrow.

“My pack,” he said. “I want them back.”

There was a loud click as the man next to Col loaded his gun. The emissary’s attention immediately snapped to him and Col almost sagged to the floor, suddenly aware of each breath that he had been holding.

“You're going to give my pack back,” the emissary said again, the smile slipping from his lips. He took a step forward and immediately, every gun was trained on him. The boy paused, eyes flashing, but it didn’t seem to be out of fear. 

No, there was a new look on his face, replacing the amused one that had been there previously.

It was cold and dangerous. The bags under his eyes seemed to darken, holding the exhaustion of each day that he’d been without his pack. Around him, the shadows grew as the softness of his face hardened.

“No?”

In the distance, one of the wolves yelped. Loudly.

And just like that, the spark of humanity in the emissary’s eyes flicked out.

Col had faced a lot of beasts in the past. He’d gone after born wolves and those newly turned. He’d taken down a dozen packs and faced an alpha that nearly ripped him to shreds. Col told his blissfully ignorant friends that he hunted deer and then went home to a list full of names— one of every monster he’d ever killed.

He’d seen a lot over the years. But nothing added up to the boy that stood in front of him, eyes turning to stone as he caught the sound of his feral pack in the distance.

Once more, the lights overhead blinked out. But this time, they didn't turn back on. In a moment, the silence had turned to gunshots, gunshots turned to screams. And dammit, Col hadn’t even wanted to take this job in the first place.

He stumbled back, pulling his walkie from its clip on his belt.

“Backup! We need backup!”

Static was his answer. Col stumbled blindly through the darkness, trying to get as far away from the screams of his fellow hunters as fast as he could. There were things he’d heard about the Hale pack’s emissary, but he’d never imagined any of them were true. In fact, he'd laughed at 'exaggeration of it all.

The job of an emissary was to keep the pack connected to themselves, to their humanity. Col hadn’t thought much of the feral pack they’d put in chains but this boy seemed to be even less human than all of them combined. Less than the alpha who had nearly bitten Col’s head off, less than the betas who had snapped and snarled the entire way to captivity.

In his panic, Col stumbled over his own feet and fell hard to the ground, his gun skidding somewhere across the floor. Suddenly, the lights flicked on and when he looked over his shoulder, all that was left were bodies.

The one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski stood among them. His eyes raked over the entire room, not a single emotion on his face. Then, they snapped to where Col had fallen and that smile from earlier tugged at the corners of his mouth once again.

Col shoved himself up and turned, running faster than he ever had into the depths of the compound.

They had come to Beacon Hills with an even number of eighteen hunters. When Col turned the corner, stumbling to a stop as a dozen guns aimed in his direction, there was some part of him that wondered if even double that would be enough.

“Henderson?”

“Don’t shoot, dammit!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed off the cement floor. Col’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly turned around.

“You took my pack,” the emissary said, turning the corner. “Now I’m gonna take them back.”

Col retreated back behind the line of guns. The emissary’s gaze traveled over them all and his eyes darkened. He took a step forward, ignoring the tightening of every finger around the trigger.

“It’s doesn’t matter how many of there you are,” he said, words almost a snarl. He moved closer— Col started to tremble. “I’m going to kill every single one of you until I find them. Do you understand me?”

“Stand down, boy!”

“Do you understand me? I’ll burn this whole fucking place down if I have to!”

Someone fired. Sparks flew.

Somewhere in the distance, one of the wolves howled.

It happened too quickly. Col scrambled for his spare pistol and a crackle of electricity filled the air. Something was burning, the smell like a sour acid began to fill his nose. Col's eyes burned, his hands were shaking too hard to get a proper hold on his gun as he scrambled back away from the fighting. It was like a nightmare brought to life and when he managed to make himself look back, the sight that awaited him was even worse.

The emissary’s eyes were brighter than fire. The air around him swam with the shadows and his face was so pale, it was like the blood drained right out. Distant howls collided with the chaos in the air and Col momentarily flashed back to his latest kill— a young omega, newly bitten. She’d looked at him like he was the Grim Reaper and it had made him feel powerful. Being the predator always did.

For the first time in his life, Col Henderson knew what it was like to be the prey.

The emissary flicked his wrist and Col slammed up against the nearest wall, losing all ability to breathe as the boy approached. There was something about him. Something darker than night, colder than death. 

“Big bad hunter. Where is my pack?”

Struggling for breath, Col managed to point down the hallway. The boy followed his gaze and then hummed.

“Thank you.”

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles had realized what happened to his pack nine minutes after they were taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes ago.

The clock continued to count— three seconds on the timer. Col looked at the emissary like he was the Grim Reaper.

And at second one, the boy smiled.

-

An emissary’s main job had always been to keep a pack connected to their humanity. However, as a group of bold hunters learned the hard way after capturing a bunch of feral werewolves known as the Hale pack, the one known as Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski, barely had any humanity in himself to begin with.

There was a hum under his breath as he released his pack one by one. The betas first and his alpha right after them, whose eyes glowed red as he barely contained a series of whines. The second the chains were off, clawed fingers latched onto Stiles's arms and sharp fangs skated up the side of his neck. Stiles smiled, tracing bloodstained fingers through Derek’s hair.

“It's okay. I'm here now.”

Warm breaths snuffled against his skin. “That was stupid.”

“I know.”

“And dangerous.”

“But so fun.”

Derek drew back, his attention zeroing in on a darkening red patch right underneath Stiles’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

"Only a little."

"Does it hurt?"

“They took my pack,” Stiles said, a dangerous glow in his eyes. “Isn’t a little agony worth it?”

The red of the alpha’s eyes burned even brighter. Derek growled and pulled him into a hungry kiss— one that promised a much more thorough examination later. The man's lips were a little cracked and Stiles could taste blood. Humming at the back of his throat, he kissed Derek harder.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack. The longest he'd ever been alone.

But he wasn't anymore.

They left the bodies as a warning to anyone who dared cross the Hale pack again. 

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 20 - Sci Fi

New part! I've felt more inspired lately, and am happy to share the next installment of the PFTS series.

Warning, a little bit of angst ahead.

Masterpost linked here.

Enjoy!

_____________________________

“That’s amazing!”

Pausing in my exercise with the Mech, I turned to look over at Liam who was standing off to the side of training room. He was watching me with bright eyes, a small container and a water bottle held tightly in his hands.

I stood in the training room holding a sword, practicing different strikes, while the Mech behind me held its own large sword, mimicking my movements through the Connection. The distance between us made it more difficult, but I felt the stuttering in its attacks slowly smooth out as I practiced.

I made an overhead swing, feeling the mild throbbing at my temples increase as the Mech made the same movement just a quarter second behind. Now, finished with the set of attacks I had set for myself, I sheathed the practice weapon and turned towards my enthusiastic audience.

“Hey, Liam!”

Severing the Connection with my Mech, I felt relief as the mental drain halted. Now free to move around, I walked towards him with a smile. “What brought you here?”

He grinned shyly. “I wanted to see you practice. Your control is amazing! I can’t believe you can Connect with your Mech from that distance. Also…” He hesitated, “You seem much more comfortable with a sword than you did with the pistols, no offense.”

“None taken. The sword IS much more comfortable.” I thought about the memory fragments of me refusing to give up using a sword. “I just think I might not be meant for ranged weapons.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy! Here you go.” He reached out, holding up a container of water for me to drink from.

“Thanks.”

“I also brought cake.”

I nearly choked in the midst of taking a drink. “Really? You didn’t have to. At this rate you’re going to spoil me.”

“Good.” Liam clutched the container to his chest, looking pleased. “You deserve it.”

“Whatever you say.” I shook my head, finished my drink and then paused. “…Can I ask you a question?”

His smile faded at my serious tone. “Go ahead.”

“Your mental barrier… if it’s up all the time, how are we standing so close together? Also, you’ve handed me things, and even touched me when you helped me up that one time, right?” I felt excited internally, but tried not to show it. “Does that mean I’m not affected by your barrier?”

“… I wish that were true.”

My heart sank with disappointment as Liam sighed, looking down at the ground. “With people I trust, the barrier shrinks. The more I trust them, the smaller the barrier is. My parents can stand close to me.” His eyes turned towards me again, and then back down. “You… you can get closer than anyone else.”

Liam reached out his hand, and following his lead I reached out as well until our palms touched. He studied our hands with a fascinated but sad expression.

“We are so close, it almost seems like we are touching. But there’s still a barrier.”

“So I’m not touching you?”

“No, not directly.” He looked like he wanted to cry. “I can’t feel it. It’s just the barrier.”

“… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m used to it.” Shrugging, he grabbed my hand and led me over to a nearby table and chairs. “Honestly, getting as close as this is already a miracle.”

I sat down on the chair, watching as he set up the cake on a plate with utensils. “So you really trust me, huh?”

The movement of his hands paused as he ducked his head, blushing. A mumbled “yes” made it to my ears. Chuckling, I didn’t push him any further. I sat and ate, enjoying the cake he had brought. We didn’t talk, but it was a comfortable silence.

I feel like I’ve known him forever, but I just met him recently.

Putting the odd thought aside, I finished the cake and stood up, brushing the crumbs from my uniform.

“Well, thank you for the delicious cake! But now, I'm afraid I have to get back to practice.”

Liam stood up as well, his expression concerned. “Really? Already? I thought the doctor in the infirmary told you to take it easy after the strain during the mock battles?”

“Just a few more practice swings, it will be fine.”

I don’t know how I’m going to save the world without a Connector. The best I can do is try to become as strong as possible, and hope my mind holds together long enough.

I took a stance near my Mech once more, drawing my practice sword. Glancing over at Liam, who still looked worried, I grinned. “Want to join me?”

“No, I’m terrible with a sword.” He slowly returned the smile, and sat down on the sidelines. “I’ll just watch you from here. Make sure not to overdo it.”

“I know. Just a little more practice.” I made the Connection, pleasantly surprised when my head didn’t ache right away. “Honestly, I think I’m tolerating the mental drain better.”

Liam didn’t seem reassured. “Be careful.”

_____________________________

“Be careful.”

I swung my sword in a quick practice swing, and laughed. “I’m always careful.”

“Says the woman who is going monster hunting.”

“You don’t have to come along.”

I was pulled into a warm embrace. “And let you face danger without me? Never.”

_____________________________

I blinked, mildly disoriented by the sudden memory. They had been coming more and more frequently, as if my mind was desperate to piece together who I had been before I arrived in this world.

“Alaira?”

“I’m fine…” I blinked again, but the forest in my memory didn’t fade away, but simply overlapped with the practice room around me.

Where am I?

“Alaira?”

I tried to look around, but everything was fading into darkness. “I’m…”

“ALAIRA!”

Liam’s panicked shout followed me into oblivion.

_____________________________

Well, at least I recognize this place.

I woke up in the infirmary, groaning as I held my pounding head.

“You’re an idiot.”

The stern voice of the doctor pulled my attention, and I looked up at the middle-aged woman who was glaring at me from a few feet away.

“Wow, your bedside manner is so warm and fuzzy.” I mumbled, rubbing my forehead.

“My bedside manner is saved for patients with a brain. You obviously lost yours somewhere, so you get tough love.” She waved a scanner over my head, frowning. “I told you to take it easy after you passed out during the mock battles!”

“I did! I haven’t done any fighting since that day.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What were you doing in the practice room, then?”

“Practicing with my sword?”

“WHILE Connected to your Mech from 20 feet away?? You didn’t think that might cause a bit of mental strain??!” She sighed, staring up at the ceiling hopelessly. “Lord, give me strength to deal with young, dumb students.”

The doctor sat down on a nearby chair, staring at me seriously. “You have to listen to me, Alaira. This is really important.”

“Okay.” I sat up in bed, folding my hands in my lap and trying to appear attentive. “I’m listening.”

“Your powers have grown. You were already S level when you underwent your health check at the beginning of your second year, but now… it’s at least multiplied by 10.” She shook her head. “We don’t even have a ranking for your power level. I don’t know what’s happened in the last month, it’s almost as if you’ve become a completely different person.”

I am a completely different person… at least I think I am. Is it because I’m in Alaira’s body now that her powers have changed?

I had no way to explain that to the doctor though. “So the power increase… that's a good thing, right?”

“It would be… if you had matched with a Connector.” She sighed. “With your current power level, your mental degradation rate has sped up exponentially.”

“…”

“The passing out is just one of the early signs, Alaira. Have you experienced anything else? Headaches…”

Yes.

“Irritability…”

I thought that was just my personality.

“Hallucinations… flashes of people or memories that aren’t real or never happened?”

“…”

I sat silently, stunned.

No… It can’t be. The memories in my head… the mission… Alaira’s memories of dying in a fight against the Hive… me waking up in a different world… could it all be just my mind breaking apart?

She watched my facial expression and silence with a frown. “So it’s even worse than I thought.” She brought up a holographic file and made a note.

“I…”

“No. No excuses, Alaira. You are temporarily suspended from duty until further notice. I can’t risk your safety any further.”

“But, I’m the strongest Guardian we have!” I was desperately grasping at straws. “You can’t sideline me! What if I found a Connector?”

The doctor shook her head. “I don’t even want you trying to match right now. It takes mental power, and could be the tipping point to full mental degradation.”

“But…”

“No. Alaira. You’re suspended. That’s final.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

TOTAL COMPLETION 5%

MISSION FAILURE WILL RESULT IN WORLD COLLAPSE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. PLEASE COMPLETE THE MISSION.

The bright blue words appeared in front of my eyes. I glanced over at the doctor, who didn’t seem to notice them.

Is this real? Am I really here for a mission to save the world? Or is this just a product of my mental degradation?

“Do you understand, Alaira?”

WARNING!

“I do.”

She relaxed. “Good. Then return to your dorm and rest. I’ll notify your father to come pick you up.” She gathered her things and stood up, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s hard, but put being a Guardian, the Hive, all of it to the side right now. Just focus on your health.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

“I know.”

“And Alaira?”

WARNING!

“Yes?”

“Stay away from your Mech and the matching center, okay?”

“Of course.” I smiled. “I’ll just stay in my room.”

_____________________________

I snuck out of my room that same night.

I don’t know what’s real and what’s not… but I really don’t want to risk world collapse and soul destruction. Those both sound pretty bad.

As I crept through the hallways towards the Match center, I thought through possible plans to get me out of this situation.

First. Let's try matching again. If that doesn’t work… Maybe talk to Alaira’s father? See if there’s any research in slowing the progression of mental degradation?

I heard a security guard coming down the hallway. Panicking, I hid in the nearest classroom. The floor was ice cold even through the cloth of my uniform; my heartbeat was loud in my ears as I listened to the guard pass by on the other side of the door.

Either way, I can’t get caught just yet. I can’t risk missing what might be my last chance to match.

The guard had moved on. I waited a few moments just to be safe before opening the door and sneaking down the hallway once more. My mind was racing, circling around the disturbing idea that it was too afraid to touch:

The possibility that everything I thought was real was actually just my mind breaking down.

Am I really Alaira? Why does the man in my memories keep calling me Bel?

Who am I?

What is real?

It was agonizing, every moment of uncertainty. Questioning every memory, every conversation.

I pushed it from my mind, focusing on each step ahead of me. I needed to get to the Match Center.

If I can match a Connector, it will resolve my mental decay, and then I’ll know what's real.

I tried really hard not to think about what would happen if I still couldn’t find a Connector.

I quietly opened the door to the Match center.

“Match unable to be made.”

At the sound of the cold, robotic voice, I froze in place. For a wild moment I wondered if the match computer had sensed me walking in the building, and decided to reject me at the doorway just to save time. But reason set in and I recognized the figure hunched over the panel:

Liam.

“Unrecognized tester. Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” The voice echoed around the room, seeming to almost physically strike Liam as he slumped further in front of the glowing panel.

His hands tightened into fists as he pressed them harder against the machine. “I’m trying to let it down. Just run the test!”

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.”

“Just let me test, dammit!”

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” Despite his franticness, the voice was cold and unchanged.

“PLEASE!” His fist struck the panel as he slumped to ground. “Let me try. Please…”

He was crying, and my chest hurt as I watched. “Please… let me match her.”

“… Match unable to me made.”

“Liam.” I whispered his name, feeling as if my heart was tearing in half.

“Please.” He sobbed into his hands. "I can't... I can't put it down... I just want to help her... please!"

_____________________________

“Please. Let her go. I’ll do anything.” His voice was shaking with fear, his wide eyes staring at me as I was trapped in place, unable to move.

“Just give up. This is her fate.”

“Let her go!” He reached forward desperately, unable to reach me. “BEL!”

_____________________________

“Liam.” I was crying, unable to control it.

These memories can’t just be hallucinations. They are too real. I looked over at Liam who was striking his fist over and over against the panel, ignoring the blood staining the surface as his skin tore under the repeated blows.

He’s just hurting himself. It was painful to watch. I have to stop him.

I started to walk forward, my hand reaching out…

“Liam…”

Before I could call out, I felt a sharp prick on my arm. I tried to turn to around and look, but soon a burning sensation was building deep in my muscle and my mind went blank.

“Liam…” I tried to call him once last time, as the drug injected into my arm forced me into unconsciousness.

_____________________________

Okay this whole passing out thing has gotten really old.

My mind grumbled as I slowly regained consciousness. I blinked, trying to clear the blurriness in my vision. Did a security guard find me? If so, their curfew enforcement is pretty insane if they are knocking out students.

The room around me slowly came into focus.

Wait… this isn’t the infirmary.

It was a pale grey dorm room.

This isn’t’ my room either. Feeling uneasy, I looked around, barely able to move. My limbs felt as if they were filled with lead, my head foggy.

The dorm room was clean, with barely any personal items on the desk and dresser. On the wall was several posters of famous Guardians, a calendar was pinned nearby with a vigorous Mech training schedule.

I have a bad feeling about this…

“Alaira, you’re awake!” A voice called out from the doorway, sounding pleasantly surprised.

I turned my head with great difficulty, my eyes widening at the sight. “…Chris?”

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” He smiled at me, grabbing the chair from the desk and dragging it to the bedside before sitting down. “When you asked me not to take you to the infirmary, I was worried I was doing the wrong thing.”

He seems… different.

“…” I wanted to shake my head, but felt to weak. “No… I was in the Matching Center…”

He frowned at my words, looking confused. “Matching Center? We ran into each other in the hallway. You were on the verge of passing out, and asked me to take you back to your room. “ Pausing, he shrugged embarrassedly. “Then you fainted. I don’t have access to the female dorms, so I brought you to my room instead. I hope you don’t mind.”

“…Liam.” It was difficult to talk. “Where’s Liam?”

“Liam? Do you mean Prince William?” Chris seemed even more confused. “He took leave and returned home after you passed out during your training.”

“But…”

“I think he felt a little guilty at not being able to help you match. Not that it’s his fault he can’t form the Connection.”

“I saw him.” I tried to focus my thoughts, but they kept scattering. “I saw him in the Match Room.”

Chris leaned forward, reaching for my hand. I pulled away, but was too weak to break his grip. “Alaira. You’re undergoing mental degradation. The doctor in the infirmary said you were already in the late stages. It’s common to have hallucinations, memories of interactions with people and conversations that never happened.”

I blinked. Could I have imagined the whole thing? Did I want to think that Liam was in the Match Room trying to save me, instead of running away without telling me?

How far gone was I? What was real, and what was just my mind degrading?

Something’s not right.I remembered the needle prick in my arm, and brought my free hand to the spot in confusion.

“What are you rubbing your arm for?”

“I… was stuck with a needle…”

He shook his head. “That didn’t happen. You hit your arm on the wall when you passed out, so it might be a little sore, but that’s it. There was no needle. Your brain just came up with a reason to explain the pain.”

“…”

“It’s okay, Alaira. It’s okay.” Chris squeezed my hand. “It’s normal to be confused, and a little paranoid. Your brain is breaking under the strain of the Connection to your Mech. We’ll help you. You’re going to be okay.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

TOTAL COMPLETION 3%

MISSION FAILURE WILL RESULT IN WORLD COLLAPSE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. PLEASE COMPLETE THE MISSION.

“Alaira? Do you hear me?” Chris called out, concerned.

“I’m… not going to give up. I have to face the Hive. Save… the world.” My thoughts were still jumbled. I wasn’t sure if it was from the drug or mental degradation. What was real and what was fake was blurring.

“You’re not going to be suspended. You’re going to be the most powerful Guardian the world has ever seen, and you’re going to save humanity.”

I looked over at Chris, feeling confused. He wore a pleasant smile on his face, his posture relaxed, but his grip on my hand was just a little too tight, and his eyes…

… His eyes were different. The color, the shape, was the same… but the way he looked at me had changed.

“Who are you?” I asked quietly, forcing the words out through slightly numb lips.

He looked shocked. “What do you mean? It’s me, Chris. We’ve known each other since the first Mock battle in school.” He chuckled. “You kicked my butt, remember?”

“Now I know you aren’t Chris. You haven’t yelled at me that 'you’re going to follow your dream and I can’t stop it' this whole conversation. You’re not Chris. “

He laughed, a light, easy sound. “You’re right, I’ve changed. But I’m still Chris, I promise.” He reached out and patted the back of my hand, still grasped tightly in his own. “You see, I came to a realization: I was jealous of you.”

“…”

“I know, right? Self-insight from me seems like a foreign concept. But from the first day I was in awe of your skills, jealous of your level S abilities.” He sighed, leaning back, still holding my hand, ignoring my attempts to free it. “My only consolation was that you were a loner, that you couldn’t find a Match. It was the one thing that I beat you in.”

“You…”

“I kept trying to brag in front of you, hoping that you would recognize me. Hoping that you would tell me that I was the real deal, that I was a true Guardian. But that doesn’t excuse how poorly I treated you. How my friends treated you.” His regretful gaze held my own. I felt trapped in it. “I’m sorry. I will do better going forward.”

“…” My head was starting to clear, but it was a slow process.

“Seeing you pass out after our fight… seeing you in the infirmary today… in the hallway just now… I can’t ignore this.” He sighed. “You’re breaking down, right in front of me. And I can’t let this happen… not when I can stop it.”

He got off of the chair kneeling next to the bed. He reached out with his other hand, holding mine between both of his palms.

“Alaira… you’ve already have a high resonance match with me. I can save your mind, and help you save the world. It’s such an easy solution.” He smiled at me, without any sign of reluctance at all.

I felt a silent scream of terror and rage build up in my chest. I wanted to reach out and stop him, to silence his next sentence. Despite my wishes, however, his words came out all too clearly:

“I’ll be your Connector.”

[lis-likes-fics]

Second Chances (Ending 1)

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Reader Warnings: Mention of death? Sorrow? Idk, what for the second ending. Author’s Note: I got bored and wanted to write something, so, here you go. Prompt comes from @maxkirin​. Thanks! :)

~~~~~

"Hey, promise me. Promise me you'll move on."

"You know I can't do that."

"Say you love me. Can you do that, please?"

"You'll get to hear it forever."

"Carlisle, I love yo-"

...

...

...

Three years.

It had been three years since he lost her.

Carlisle tried to move on, he did. Losing her was the hardest thing he ever had to experience in his very long life.

His family supported him, they tried to help anyway they could. They were the only reason he was still holding on, they needed him so he would be there for him.

But it wasn't enough to keep him alive. Even his new granddaughter, Renesmee could only bring so much light into his life. Everyone knew of who he lost, everyone knew why the excellent doctor of the town wasn't as radiant as he used to be.

But no one would understand his loss. No one would understand his pain. Even Jasper, who could feel it.

Even now as he drove to work, using the same route he did everyday, he missed her with all of his being. He couldn't help the emptiness that threatened to seep into his skin again as he thought about the times she decided to join him on his way to work. She would claim its "on the way", but she just wanted to spend the morning with him before turning around and heading the complete opposite way to get to her workplace.

He felt like a small smile was supposed to be threatening to creep onto his face, but all he felt like doing was crying at the memory.

All he had to do was tell her that he loved her too. But he didn't, he didn't even get to say that to her before she was gone.

He sucked in a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, his eyes scanning through his windshield, glancing over at the trees surrounding the road he drove on alone. His eyes caught onto a strange sign peaking out of the trees. He'd driven down this road hundreds-- thousands of times, and he'd never seen that sign there. He looked closely at it:

"For Sale: Second Chances"

He blinked at it, his brows twitching. Before he could pass the sign, he turned into the strange natural path the sign stood next to, driving into the trees and parking his car. He stepped out, looking down the path.

Carlisle narrowed his eyes, tapping into his hearing to see if he could get a clue as to what this was. He sighed and started walking down the path, extra careful of his surroundings to make sure there wasn't some threat lurking in the shadows.

After walking for a few minutes, he came up on a small shack. There was an open sign hanging on the door spray painted on a piece of wood. The windows were slightly dimmed, but he could see through just fine. There were shelves with empty and filled jars, little boxes, and much more.

He lingered at the door for a moment before opening it and stepping inside. He look around the slightly dusty place with curiosity. What was this place? The items on shelves and sitting on the floor along the walls were strange, but they seemed mundane enough.

"Hello?" He called, filling the silence with his smooth, velvety voice.

An lady peaked her head from a door behind the counter with a smile. She seemed to be in her early forties. She wore a hippie dress, a scarf tied around her head, her lips glossed. Her hair was white, but her skin was a rich, youthful brown. She wore gold hoop earrings, and her hands were decorated with rings. There was an excessive amount of necklaces hanging from her throat, but it somehow worked.

But it was her eyes that caught Carlisle's attention. They held an antiquity to them, like she was older than she looked. But she wasn't a vampire, he knew this.

The woman gave a warm smile, a kind of radiance in it, "Hello, how may I help you?"

He formed the question in his head before saying it out loud, "Who are you?"

She shrugged, her smile never faltering, "Just a shopkeep. Did you come in for our sale?"

Carlisle thought again, he was still confused and curious about everything, so he didn't exactly know how to answer, even with a mind as quick as his. "What is the sale?"

"Our Second Chance Sale," she shopkeep said, tilting her head politely.

"What is that?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. A second chance. Is that what you are in search of? A second chance?" She asked, fluttering her lashes, folding her hands together in question.

He hesitated, "A second chance at what?"

"You tell me, dear," she shrugged, "What is it you wish to fix?"

There was only one thing that came to mind, one thing that was always on his mind every second of every day. He would trade in his life to make things right. But this could easily just be some cruel joke.

But, if it was, the worse that could come of it would be the painful thought that he could have made things right but didn't.

He gave a nod, "I would save her."

She smiled again, holding her hand out to him, "Give me your hand."

Again, he was hesitant. He didn't know what to trust about this. In fact, he should have just gone to work and avoided the contact at all, but he hadn't. He felt a strange pull to this place, to something within it. Some feeling.

He handed her his hand, laying it in her palm as he held his breath. She looked down at it, flipping it over in his hand to reveal his palm. She looked closely at it for a while, as if seeing something more in the lines and creases than just lines and creases.

She nodded, grabbing a jar off the counter and opening it without breaking eye contact with his palm. She took a handful of the contents of the jar, the unknown powder being sprinkled in his hand and then the excess powder being discarded on the floor with little to no thought from the woman.

Carlisle watched the shopkeep worked as she closed his hand over the strange powder, kneading his fingers into his palm firmly. When she opened his hand again, the powder had completely disappeared. She looked back up at Carlisle and said, "In a few moments, your second chance will present itself to you."

Carlisle spoke, "What is the cost?"

She shrugged, "Whatever comes of it. If you succeed, the cost is your pain. It will disappear and you shall be happy again. However if you fail, the cost is your happiness. It will never be seen again."

Carlisle gave a solemn look, understanding with each second the graveness of the situation. This wasn't just for her, this was for him. He couldn't fail, he couldn't.

She gave him a stern nod before speaking in a firm voice, "Go."

~

Carlisle's eyes focused on the newspaper in his hands, sat in his home by himself. His children were out hunting, he had stayed back. He looked around, confused and surprised. What had happened?

All he remembered was the shopkeep, how did he end up here?

His phone rang during his quest to understand what was going on. He looked at it and picked it up. 'Alice'

He breathed in deeply before picking up the phone and bringing it to his ear, "Alice?"

Her voice was frantic, disturbed, as she spoke, "Carlisle? Y/N's in danger. She's going to be taken by Victoria."

Carlisle was suddenly hyperaware of everything. Those were the words Alice said to him when he called her that night. This was her second chance.

"How long do I have?" He questioned quickly, already in his car in the garage as he rushed out of the drive.

There was a beat of silence before she answered, "About five minutes. They're at the treaty line."

"Meet us there," Carlisle had no time to elaborate as he hung up, throwing his phone to the seat next to him and rushing to her. He already knew where she was. He'd lived it before. He would not live through what came after again.

He wasted no time in stopping the car with the screech of the wheels against the ground, getting out in no time and seeing the redhead standing with the love of his life. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. He hadn't seen her in so long.

"Y/N," he breathed. If he were capable of it, tears would have sprang to his eyes.

Victoria growled, "It's not as good as Bella, but I'll get to her in time." She was inching over to the edge of the line, closer and closer to the small trench where the river divided the territory.

Carlisle spoke in a demanding voice, "Stop this, Victoria! You won't hurt her."

She redhead sneered, "And why is that?"

"I won't let you, not this time," he muttered the last part mostly to himself. He had his hands held out in front of him.

Y/N looked at him only, her eyes flooded with tears, "Carlisle."

He looked at her, a burning in his throat from sorrow and not hunger. He just needed to save her. "It's okay, my love. You'll be okay."

Victoria yanked her back again, closer towards the edge where she threatened to drop her. Carlisle turned back to Victoria, fury in his eyes that seemed so unnatural on him. She taunted, "Might as well say goodbye."

"Not today," he told her, his tone of voice also sounding foreign on him.

"You made the mistake of keeping her human," Victoria laughed wickedly.

"Hey," Y/N said softly, "Carlisle, look at me."

He did, he would always have his eyes on her as much as he possibly could, especially after losing her for so long. This was his second chance, he would not mess this up.

She, on the other hand, wasn't so confident in making it out alive. She swallowed hard, tears staining her face, "Hey, promise me. Promise me you'll move on."

The words hurt him, they cut like a knife as he heard them again. He would not lose her, he couldn't. Not again.

"I don't have to," he told her just as gently.

She looked him in the eyes with a deepness that touched his soul. How he missed her eyes. "Say you love me. Can you do that, please?"

He nodded, he could do that. "I love you, Y/N," he told her. He hadn't told her this last time. He should have.

She smiled, "I love you, Carlisle."

Carlisle's eyes widened as he reached out as things seemed to move in slow motion, even for him. Victoria scoffed and shifted, moving to throw Y/N over the edge and over where the river was. That's how she died the first time. She'd hit her head on one of the sharp rocks by the river.

But that wouldn't happen again.

Carlisle did something this time that he hadn't done before. He relied on his family for help.

Jasper, at the speed of light, lunged forward and caught Y/N in his arms. He held her close, shielding her head by tucking it in his chest as he curled around her. He fell to the dirt ground, cushioning her fall with his body.

The other siblings appeared from the trees, in hot pursuit of Victoria as she darted the other way for her grand getaway. They ran after her, save for Jasper and Carlisle, who were still with Y/N.

Jasper pulled away from Y/N and Carlisle was by her side in no time, looking over her quickly to make sure she was okay. "Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need help?" He drowned her in questions as he looked her over three hundred times.

Y/N nodded, "Carlisle, I'm fine." She smiled widely, throwing herself in his arms. Carlisle froze for a moment, but not long enough for her to register. She had her arms thrown around her in a flash, holding her a little too tight, afraid that if he let go, it would all end up being some dream.

Tears would have stained his face as well if they were able to. He brought her close, inhaling the scent he missed with all of his being, feeling the body he missed holding. When he allowed himself to pull back enough to see her, he was immediately lost in her eyes and in her smile. He never thought he would see her again, and here she was in his arms.

He captured her lips in his, a searing that rocked his world. It was like gravity didn't exist, like she was the only thing keeping him to the ground. He hadn't felt so free, so alive, in years. It felt like longer. Losing her was the most horrible experience he could ever have gone through.

Y/N was left breathless from the kiss. She giggled lightly, still clearly shaken, "I know you almost lost me, but that was something else. Are you okay?"

She laid a hand on his cheek, and he leaned into it, a smile on his face. His face contorted into a look that told her he was wanting to cry. One of his large, cold hands covered hers and held it to his face. "I missed you so much," he whispered, pulling her into another hug he couldn't resist.

"Missed me?" She wondered, confused by his choice of words.

He sighed contently, "I'll explain later. Right now, just...let me hold you."

She wrapped her arms back around him, holding him impossibly close, "Okay. I love you."

If his voice could crack, it would have there as he responded with so much sincerity that the whole world seemed to shake slightly from the truth in his words, "I love you, too. I love you so much, more than anything in this world."

She smiled, kissing his cheek and continuing to hold him.

His children came back, their looks tense and disappointed. Emmett spoke, quite angry from the news, "She got away, jumped over the treaty line."

Carlisle nodded, "I know." But he didn't care. He would later, though. Right now, he would hold the love of his life forever, he would never let her go again.

He got his second chance.

[xmalereader]

Thomas Shelby X Vampire! Male Reader

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|| Masterlist ||

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This short imagine goes to my friend here!! @fanficsforheartandsoul They had such a wonderful idea that I couldn’t help but write it out! So please enjoy and have fun with the fluffy stuff!

Summary: Reader is a vampire doctor who works with the Shelby family but the Shelby family has no idea that they are friends with a blood thirsty vampire.

Warnings: fluff, bat traits, Thomas knowing everything, blood, gore, and slight angst.

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“Where are you going?” Thomas asks Polly as he watches her get ready. “What? Now I have to tell you everywhere I go?” She shot back as she fixes her hat and grabs her coat that hung by the door. “I’m going to see Michael, he’s been the hospital for awhile now and I want to make sure that he is recovering properly.” She explains to Thomas as she gives herself one last look in the mirror and turns towards the table to snatch up a small dbrown bag which catches Tommy’s eye. “What’s in the bag?”

Polly rolls her eyes. “Do you have to ask about everything?”

“Just want to be safe, Polly. Michael is in the hospital due to a rival of ours getting to him and I just want to make sure that you are safe. Don’t want to lose anymore family members.” Polly can only sign at Tommy’s words as she turns to face him. “These are just apples for Dr. Hemlock. Heard the young man likes fruits more than anything else—its like the poor man doesn’t eat at all due to him working late hours in the hospital.” She collects her things and sighs. “No wonder he is so pale.” She added before giving Thomas one last look. “Well than, off I go.” She says before leaving the house and heading towards her own car that Thomas had gifted her on one of her birthdays.

Tommy walks over to the window, pulling the curtain back he watches Polly drive away from the house. Once she turned the corner and disappeared down the road that’s when tommy steps away from the window and sighs deeply. “Dr. Hemlock, eh?” He murmurs to himself as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He inhales some of the smoke before blowing it out, tilting his head up as he stares at the ceiling and hums. “I didn’t know vampires ate.”

On the way to the hospital. Polly makes sure to park her car close by, not wanting to park to far out and get into any danger If she were to be around an isolated area where she could easily be taken. She makes sure to take the bag of fruit before entering the hospital.

The Shelbys were known around town that even the hospital knew when a Shelby were to arrive, some of the nurses and doctors feared them since they were the ruthest and most troublesome people to deal with and lets not forget that gangsters are not to be challenged. As Polly walks through the hospital halls, her heels clicked against the hard floor as she makes her way towards Michaels room. Upon entering she sees Dr.Hemlock and Michael arguing.

“I already said that you are not allowed to do that here.”

“It’s just one smoke.” Michael exclaims as Dr. Hemlock shakes his head and sighs deeply. “Smoking can worsen your conditions—“

“I’m feeling better!”

Dr. Hemlock frowns and wacks Micheal behind the head with a folder. “Do not interupt me!” He says, glaring at the son of Polly Grey.

“Please don’t hit my son too hard, he can get a concussion.” Said Polly as she butts into the conversation that the other two were having. To be honest she wasn’t really upset about the doctors actions. He was doing his job which is to keep micheal healthy and to make sure that he is recovering from his wounds. “Miss Grey.” Said Dr. Hemlock as he give her a kind smile.

Polly still hasn’t gotten used to the doctors kind personality. It was strange seeing someone warm up to the Shelby family so quickly and without fearing them. Every time someone in town heard the name ‘Shelby’ they would run away in fear, but not this man. This man was different and it frightened Polly.

“I see that you ar scolding Michael once again, Doctor.” She says as she approaches the two once she had dropped her things on the small table that was in the large room.

“He should know better when it comes to smoking in the hospital, it’s not safe for our patients and it could also damage his wounds—and please call me Y/n.” Polly chuckles. “Very well y/n.” She says as she stand next to him and shows him the bag. “I got you something as a thank you for taking care of—not only my son but also the rest of my boys.” Y/n accepts the small offering and looks inside the bag, his eyes widening as he takes out one of the apples. “Thank you Polly, I haven’t had much time to eat but I’ll make sure to enjoy these as much as possible.” He puts the apple back inside the bag and turns towards micheal. “Very well, micheal is slowly getting there but we need him to stay a little longer, still need to make sure that he is healing properly and safe for him to return home but for now you may spend as much time as you want here.” He explains to Polly who gives him a nod. “thank you, again.” She repeats before turning towards micheal who was glaring at the doctor btu y/n ignores his glare and gives the two a fake smile before leaving the room.

Y/n has been working in the hospital for as long as he can remember, being immortal stressed him out. Having to see people that he knew grow old and die away, brings back the doubts and fears of him being lonely forever, but so far he has gained some friends. He’s gotten closer to the nurses in the hospital and would have small conversations with them whenever he has the time and he has slowly gotten closer to the Shelby family. The first time he met them was when Arthur got shot in the shoulder during one of their bar fights. The family quickly took him to the hospital where y/n could be the only one to help out the older brother. The Shelby family were stubborn people on that day, that he had to yell and kick them out of the room. He couldn’t concentrate with all the yelling and arguing that he had to throw out the family until Arthur was taken care of.

Y/n’s actions shocked the doctors and nurses. Everyone in town knows to never argue with a Shelby and that’s exactly what y/n did. Not only did her kick out Thomas Shelby but he also kicked out the entire family! He remembers the nurses murmuring about him and saying how they would pray for him to be okay once Thomas Shelby confronted him about his actions, but y/n wasn’t too worried. He’s dealt with worse things in his past life.

On that same day, Thomas Shelby had approached him and he expected the man to yell at him and to tell him to never disprespect his family like that again. But instead he got a simple thank you from the man before leaving to see his brother. Y/n was very confused that day, wondering as too why Thomas didn’t yell at him or let alone shot him right there and then. That’s because Y/n’s actions had gotten Thomas attention, causing the man to observe him during Arthur’s recovery and to figuring out who y/n really was.

Thomas found out about y/n being a vampire during one of his visits with Arthur. He remembers Thomas searching for him, wanting to ask how his brother was doing and if he would be return home anytime soon. He had searched the entry hospital and found no sign of the doctor, he had asked a few nurses if they have seemed him and they all told him the same thing.

“Dr. Hemlock usually heads home during these hours for a small break.”

Thomas can only scoff at the nurses words.

He once asked for Y/n’s home address but none of the staff members knew where he lived and had no information about his living space. This only caused suspicious to grow inside of Thomas as he leaves the hospital by taking the back doors, leading him exactly to Y/n.

He had found y/n hiding in the alley way, eating rats.

Thomas had witnessed y/n snatching up one of the rats that roamed around the alleys, gripping it in his hand as he stares at it with cold eyes as he slowly kills the small rodent. At first Thomas thought that he was some crazy sociopath but what he saw next was way worse. As he watached y/n from around the corner—the doctor could only stare at the dead rodent, bringing it close to his lips as he opens his mouth to reveal a pair of fangs that sunk into the rodent as he eats away.

That was the first time ever, Thomas felt real fear.

“I seemed to have found a lonely bat.”

Y/n looks up from his apple only to see Thomas standing at the other end of the alley. “Shelby.” He says back as he goes back to eating and leans back against the wall as Thomas approaches the younger male.

“Question.” He says, causing the other to raise a brow at him. “I thought vampires only drank blood, so how come your eating an apple?”

Y/n chuckles and shakes his head. “Not all vampires are like in your bedtime stories. Not every vampire drinks blood, some of us still have a bit of human inside and we enjoy the smaller things—for example;” he holds the apple up to show Thomas as he takes a bite.

“Some of us like fruit while other prefer to hunt and kill innocent people.” He replies back as he chews on his apple and swallows it down, smiling at the delicious feeling of being able to eat something that he really likes.

“What about blood?”

“What about it?”

“I thought that was the only thing you needed in order to survive?” Thomas stands next to him and leans back against the wall as he pulls out a cigerette to smoke.

Y/n sighs. “Some of us can last days, even months without blood since some vampires know how to control there hunger, just like me.” he says softly. “But your a doctor, your surrounded by blood for 24 hours straight, how come you don’t lose control?” The doctor didn’t know if he should ignore Thomas questions but also can’t help but explain to him how his species worked.

“The reason why I can control myself around patients is because I’m used to the smell of blood. I can smell it anywhere and everywhere that I have grown used to being around it but, some vampire can lose control by a simple drop and that’s because they don’t schedule out there meals.” He begins to explain as Thomas listen carefully.

Thomas has know about y/n being a vampire for almost a year now but he too doesn’t know very much about them. His mother would tell him stories about monster like them and how they are vicious creatures who only eat as they desire. He was a young boy around that time that he feared easily, but his mother always told him that they were stories and never true.

Maybe she was wrong the whole time.

“I schedule my meals every week, I tend to eat a current amount of blood that can last me up to a month. So that way I don’t have to starve myself and lose control. Some vampires can’t keep control that they go into a rampage, going from town to town. Devouring anything that crossed there paths—those are meant to be killed. They have lost their human side and shouldn’t be roaming around freely.” He explains to Thomas.

Thomas was always curious about y/n’s kind and hearing this new Information finally helped him understand as too why Y/n can work as a doctor without having to lose control. As he thinks about that another question suddenly pops into mind. He turns his head to see y/n eating the apple in silence as he blurts out another question. “Have you ever killed another human due to hunger?

He noticed y/n freeze, gripping the fruit right in his hand as he lowers it away from his mouth. “Once.” He answers back as he turns to give Thomas a glance. “I was just a teenager, I had no one to teach me how to control myself that I had to learn on my own...” he looks away from Thomas and sighs through his nose. “She was a mother of three—“

Thomas pushes himself off the wall as he stares at y/n.

“I saw her at the market and she was alone, buying food for her kids and husband...I was alone at that time so I used to steal rations from people. I am able to eat some human foods In order to survive but eating to much could cause a deep hunger from the lack of blood.” He stares at his apple and tosses it away. “I cornered her on the way home and tried to take her food but I hesitated. Not because I couldn’t, but because I could hear the blood pumping inside her body.” Y/n hated explaining this part but he trusted Thomas and Thomas trusted him. The two have secrets of there own that only they can share between eachother.

“I lost control and attacked her...I remember telling myself to only take a small amount but once the first drop of blood touched my lips I couldn’t help myself, so I drained her and took every ounce of blood she had inside her.” He pushes hismelf off the wall and tosses the empty bag away in the garbage, making his way back towards the back door that allowed him back inside the hospital.

Before he could head inside he looks over his shoulder to see Thomas standing behind him with a concerned look on his face.

“I became a monster that day and I wish to never become one again.” He added as he swings the door open and heads inside, he takes his coat and slips it on and takes his files. Heading back to work as usual.

Thomas, who stayed behind, can’t help but question himself as to why he decided to befriend the vampire.

Was it because he was lonely?

Or that maybe he was slowly growing a liking towards the man?

He can only shrug to himself as he puts out his cigerette and blows out the last bit of smoke that he inhaled. “I can’t be falling for a man who had died many years ago.” He tells hismelf as he chuckles. “Polly won’t be too happy once she finds out who y/n really is.” With that he enters the hospital to go see his Aunt Polly and cousin Micheal.

[gumnut-logic]

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?!”

He’d done it and he’d done it proper.

“I told you it wasn’t safe. I told you not to go in. But no, you know better.”

Oh, yes, he had done it proper. He hadn’t heard Virgil go off the deep end like this since high school and the time Gordon had decided to not be where he was supposed to be at school pick up and the three hours of terror that followed.

Admittedly, Scott had been just as angry at the time. It was a whole new perspective to be on the receiving end.

“Virg-“

“No, Scott. I’ve had it. You obviously don’t trust my judgment. You think you know better. Well, newsflash, hot shot, you don’t!”

Oh, yes, this was going to go on for some time.

So, he kept his mouth shut. It would be worse if Virgil realised that not only had his jet pack run out of fuel, but it had dropped him from quite a height. Without warning…he must speak to Brains about that. Fortunately, he had rolled down a slope and into an underground lake.

Unfortunately, the slope had been jagged and torn up his uniform somewhat.  There was likely some bruising.

And the lake had been damned cold.

Virgil had been livid by the time he had arrived in Two. Yes, he had told Scott not to go in. Yes, it had been a gamble. But if it had worked, Scott would have been able to locate the cavers much faster than Gordon who was still looking with a second pod while Virgil hunted down their wayward commander.

Of course, Virgil had found him as fast as possible, but the engineer had had the remainder of Two’s flight time and the pod hike down into the massive cave network to stew on the stupidity of his brother.

Scott was forced to agree that he might have a point. But he was not going to apologise. Command decisions were command decisions whether they succeeded or failed. He owed no-one an explanation.

Regardless, he was sat in the back of the pod so far, he may as well be sentenced to the trunk, while Virgil blew steam.

On any other occasion he would have given as good as he got, but to be honest, he wasn’t feeling so great.

The pod itself was clambering up an almost vertical cliff - proof that flying in was far more practical than climbing - and Virgil’s concentration between expletives needed to be focussed. Scott would mention it on the next flat bit.

But then they would be getting out of here soon anyway. Might as well wait until they reached the surface.

He let his head drop back against the seat.

“Scott?” The pod was dangling from an overhang and had stopped moving. Its spots lit up rock inhabited by dangling…things.

He blinked as something flew through the beams.

“Scott? You with me?”

“Huh?”

There was silence a moment, Virgil’s head attempting to turn around and look at him, but failing with an exasperated grunt. “Scott, speak to me.”

“Wh’t do you want me to say?”

His brother grunted and the pod began moving again. This time though, it changed direction and shook harder as if his brother was in a hurry to get somewhere.

Next thing he knew the pod had stopped, the hatch was open, a yellow light was flickering everywhere and a pair of worried brown eyes were glaring at him.

The light vanished, leaving his brother’s helmet lamps to pale him to a ghost creature dressed in deep blue.

“You said you were okay.” It was soft and hurting. The ghost hovering over him just looked sad.

“’M okay.”

“You’re bleeding and suffering from hypothermia. How can you possibly be okay?” It was said quietly, but it cut through him like a knife because with it came disappointment. Virgil turned away and reached for the storage locker below his seat. “I guess I should know better.”

“Virg…” But his brother refused to look at him, even when he folded up the front seat and climbed back in to hunt down exactly where Scott was leaking blood from. Turned out he had cut the back of his leg. Not badly, but bad enough.

The water in his boot was so cold, he hadn’t felt it.

Sure and caring hands removed Scott’s footwear, his helmet, and his baldric was unfastened and tugged off. Virgil, it was Virgil, ever dependable Virgil, was unzipping his uniform, gently pulling him forward and peeling his under shirt off his skin.

He should be helping, but he couldn’t quite pull the energy together.

An emergency blanket appeared and Scott found himself quickly swaddled. A hiss and he was suddenly smelling something warm and chocolatey.

“Scott?”

He discovered his eyes were closed and he forced them open. Virgil was crouched in front of him, holding up a plastic cup of something emanating warmth. He had no hands to take it, but his brother offered it up to him like a baby.

Somewhere in the back of his mind the big brother part of him was outraged and horrified, but he was too busy sipping warmth to care.

A cap was gently tugged onto his head, completely messing up his hair.

Warm fingers brushed the strands out of his eyes.

Virgil was staring at him, so much emotion in that one expression. Exasperation, frustration and worry, but most of all love.

Something inside Scott just melted.

“I’m sorry.” It came out in a rush through a throat that had suddenly grown tight.

Those brown eyes widened and Virgil leant back just a little. His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared for a moment before lowering the safety harness over Scott’s shoulders.

“I need to get you back to Two as fast as possible. Gordon has located the two cavers and is making his way to the main cavern. They report no injuries and once orientated will be climbing out themselves.” His brother unfolded his seat and clicked into position before jumping into it. “You’re the only injury.” The canopy hissed shut and the pod started up, its claws immediately grabbing at rock.

Scott swallowed.

He lost some time after that. The next thing he knew he was in daylight and the pod was stomping over level ground only to be engulfed by the green shadow of Two.

The pod came to a halt and the canopy was thrown open. “Hey, Bro, how you feeling?”

He found enough energy to frown. “I’m fine, Gordon.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that too often if I were you.” He lowered his voice and leant in as if conspiring. “Virgil is pissed.”

“Move, Fish.” Gordon disappeared to be replaced by Virgil. His lips were tight as his eyes examined Scott. “You’re going to ride back in the infirmary and you are not going to complain. After that, you have two days off rescues and if you say anything in protest, I’m reinforcing that medical order via Grandma and her latest interest in exotic soup. You will do what you are told and after a health review we will have a discussion regarding operative safety.”

“Virgil, I’m sorry.”

His brother froze.

“I mean it. You were right and I screwed up.”

Another moment of staring. “I need to get you to the infirmary.”

Scott untangled himself from the blanket and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Virgil, I mean it.”

The engineer looked down at Scott’s bare arm and the hair suddenly standing on end the length of it. A gentle hand reached up and moved his arm back under the blanket. “We’ll get you well, first, then we will discuss this.” His brother’s gazed dipped and for a split second a deep sorrow flickered across his expression.

But only briefly. A blink and Virgil was reaching into the pod and lifting the restraints. “C’mon, let’s warm you up and fix the holes you’ve got in you.”

Scott pushed himself to his feet somewhat wobbly. “Holes? I thought I only had the one injury?”

Clambering over the side of the pod, Virgil caught him and eased him to the ground. “That would be too easy. You, my dear brother, are hard work.” He pulled a hoverstretcher close. “Now make it a touch easier by lying down without arguing.”

“I’m fine, I can walk.”

The growl that echoed off the module bulkheads was positively savage.

Okay, perhaps he should let Virgil have this one. He backed up and sat down on the stretcher.

He was forcibly nudged to lie down and his feet lifted up onto the cushioned surface by a smirking Gordon.

As the stretcher was pulled into motion, his medic brother muttered under his breath.

“So much damned hard work.”

-o-o-o-